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Maybe I’m dying.  I have one of those stomach-aches you feel in your spine. My stomach is distended.  The ache is coming in waves and cramps of newly felt muscles.  I ate something very bad.  My body doesn’t like me.  My mind is the cause.  I’m going through an emotional shifting, of sorts.  I think.  I don’t know.  Maybe I’m dying.

My father was a sick man.  My father was broken.  But that doesn’t excuse what he did. He beat me physically. He belittled me verbally. He tore me open emotionally and  psychologically. My daddy was the perfect storm. I am just know realizing how bad he was

I have been ashamed of myself — ashamed
of my self – since I was taught the shame feeling.

I overheard the two of you in the kitchen, talking.  You were talking about me. I was causing a problem.  You were worried about someday explaining sex.  How would I take it?  I was so sensitive, already, at five years old.  Daddy was disappointed. I was hiding in the pantry.  I hid a lot.  I liked to be in dark places back then.  It helped me forget my body. I always hated my body. My cousins pinched it and called me fat. I was always causing problems. I was somehow wrong.

I’m realizing how wounded I’ve been—abused I’ve been—in the past. It makes me very sad. It isn’t depression. It’s sadness.  I was abused in the past. I am finally accepting. I’ve never felt this way before.

I’m not in another depression. I’m just sad right now. I need to go through this sadness.  I think I’m grieving.

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Listen! I will be honest with you;
I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes;
These are the days that must happen to you…

– Walt Whitman, “Song of the Open Road”

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• To All My Old Bosses
• Great Porn Moment
• Liars