I had my first run in with trauma when I was just 5 years old.
It was a little past midnight, & I was sitting in a cold, grey office telling a therapist & police officer what had taken place a few short hours before.
Through innocent eyes, the world became tainted.
My childhood had become a series of traumatic experiences.
Experiences that would shape me into the person I am.
Experiences that burned deep into my bones.
It became a routine throughout my child hood; trauma coming & visiting me.
I had grown used to her.
It felt like an old friend.
I began to miss her when she was not there, & then I began to crave her.
Eventually, I began to seek her out.
I had become an addict to trauma.
By the time I reached my 20’s I was a master at handling situations that would make most people fall to their knees.
I had thickened my skin so much that when I stood among the rubble of my life, I looked like a statue.
I was skilled in keeping my emotions locked up deep beneath my surface.
I had perfected the art of laughing when I felt like breaking.
Trauma created this spitfire women who felt like nothing could ever stop her.
I had become so reliant on trauma to define me, that when life was calm, I would panic.
I could fix things, I could get through things.
I could calculate my every move & played out multiple possible scenarios.
I uprooted my life when I felt something coming.
I learned to sabotage relationships so I would never feel the pain I once did.
I planned my escape well before having anything to run from.
I was always ready, sword in hand, waiting for the next fight.
I had believed that I was a courageous survivor of heart wrenching circumstance.
At one point, I was.
But I can not be a survivor anymore.
The child who was a victim of circumstance has grown up.
The responsibility for my life has started to rear it’s mature head.
I can no longer blame my traumatic experiences anymore.
I need to curb my addiction.
I have clung to my trauma as if it was a trophy.
Something I can hold up & show off.
But it is starting to burn my hands.
The weight of it is becoming to heavy.
I fear that once I let go, I will have nothing left.
But I am letting go.
I let go of trauma, a beautiful disaster.
I release her from my grasp.
When my pride screams out against me I bite down on it so hard my tongue bleeds.
Every ounce of my low-confidence self cries as I set her free.
She has selflessly offered many blessings & lessons to me.
And for all this I am grateful.
As she smiles & fades away, I realize that I was never her prisoner.
She was mine.
– Your Favorite Gemini