My mind is so full of things to express, but my heart is always telling me to hush up. I don't have answers; only questions. Things that shaped who I am seem noteworthy, but some of them feel so shameful. I committed no atrocities, but was subjected to quite a few.
Why, why, why do the negative experiences stand out so sharply in contrast to the normal, acceptable ones? I wish I could just forget the trauma, but who would I be?
My faith gives me hope, but it also leads me to think I should attribute some of who I am to the evil that's plagued my life, and I don't want to romanticize those nightmarish experiences. In so many ways I am those memories, and I can't forget them. Maybe I should, but I can't.
Everything leaves its mark. Time heals wounds, but the scars are so much more than just skin-deep.
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