That old familiar feeling.

I guess we have to be able to name our feelings in order to be able to fully feel and process them. When you were never shown how to recognize and name feelings growing up, the journey to name them and let them out – rather than shove them down – feels next to impossible sometimes. I often feel shame. And hopelessness. And overwhelming sadness underneath apathy. And sheer terror and fear underneath endless rage. Everything hurts. In my body and in my mind. I am afraid of everything. Sometimes I feel brave, but most often I just feel broken and weak. I hate feelings. I hate remembering. It consumes you when you let it all in. At what cost? I hope there is another side to this. I hope there is actually something to this idea of diving into your past traumas and I don’t just come out on the other side of it more fucked up and even more traumatized. But what is the alternative? A life of numb dull irritability where everyone feels like the enemy and you have to protect yourself and attack back any perceived threat or shadow? I hate him. My father. He is a monster. I don’t want to remember, but I also know I have to. I hope something becomes more clear. Because I’m in the dark. I guess writing helps. I just need to get these words out of my head and this held breath out of my chest. I just want to be able to breathe. And breathe I shall. Breathe or die trying.                                            – Blue

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