I’m going through some of my old journals. I feel incredibly alone at this point in my life, and when I find myself in these places, I get comfort from reading what my teenage self wrote. It’s almost like someone else wrote it, not me; and I relate to it perfectly. Tonight I came across a poem I wrote exactly 12 years and 2 days ago (3/30/05):

Who will come to your rescue now?
Little Girl, dry those eyes,
Soldiers don’t cry
You fight alone, remember?
People leave you
Rely on no one,
No one but yourself
This is a time of war,
Not compassion;
Compassion makes you weak,
Makes you vulnerable
Hide your emotions
Keep it all inside
What is your problem
Little Girl?
I told you, soldiers don’t cry!
You are alone
Isolation makes you stronger
Crying is holding you back
Why won’t you listen?
Stop trying to break free!
It’s impossible
You are a hostage
There’s no way out
No escaping this time
Who will come to your rescue
Little Girl?
No one.

When I wrote this, I wasn’t doing trauma work. I actually hadn’t told anyone about what I had been through. I really just assumed that I was crazy. Over 12 years later, I still refer to my younger self that was abused as “Little Girl” or “the girl that he hurts.” I have such a hard time making her a part of my identity.

Tonight, I feel just as alone as I did 12 years and 2 days ago.

16 days prior to writing this journal entry in 2005, I was going to attempt to kill myself. I wrote a suicide note in my journal, took 12 Tylenol, but then decided to stop. I was sick for a couple of days, but never told anyone; I just journaled about it. I don’t even consider it a “suicide attempt” now because when I tried to kill myself a year after that, it was legit….I didn’t stop taking pills until I passed out.

My heart hurts for that teenage girl who has all of these traumatic experiences locked inside of her. And even though I feel so incredibly alone right now, even though I am once again afraid to cry and afraid to be vulnerable, I do not feel like I am being held hostage by my trauma anymore…not like I used to. While the memories, feelings, and sometimes flashbacks are still present, I know that the work I have done these last 20 months have been my attempt at rescuing that Little Girl. 

 

 

 

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