Write it Out

Exposed

I said the thing, used the word, invoked His name. It sounded foreign. Unknown. Distant and valueless. It would hurt him to know. He values admiration. Expects adoration. Is insulted to receive any other kind of attention. A year ago - how do I explain? A few days ago I was asked why I missed a significant fundraising event last Fall. 

"I experienced a concussion," I calmly said. 

I made a mental note of just how calmly I said it and then immediately felt awkward because I had no follow-up to that. As expected by most everyone I've said it too (which aren't many), the person gave me a surprised look and showed immediate concern. I knew not what to say without shedding more fragments of that past life with a dangerous man I was lucky to have gotten away from. 

"It's OK. I'm alright," I said in a knee-jerk reaction.

We do that, it turns out, to make you feel better, or less guilty, or not sorry about our circumstances. All it does is diminish an experience that deserves acknowledgment. I hate I did that, but there was no way to walk it back without getting into the details.

I said it calmly and conversationally to another person. That's growth. It has to be.

domestic-violence-awareness

In Color

I've craved the feeling of painting while at home. My weekly visits to my favorite pottery store aren't enough lately. Several years ago I bought a few of those adult coloring books that are supposed to reduce anxiety and increase concentration. They frustrated me. I was impatient. Didn't even like the metallic color pencils I purchased for the sake of the tin they came in. 

Photo Credi (c)deyanira.

I've changed this past year. Part of me is calm. Part of me is erratic. Part of me still cares. But, most of me is looking for colors I've never seen before. Colors he'll never know or understand. It's these days I've turned to that which once caused me strife. See what I've done now? Added color to pages designed to entice and draw us in. 

I've listened to my heart through music and stumbled through the lyrical maze. Each time, the pain that once pulsated through my pores and streamed down my cheeks is harder to find.

I've turned to colors to amend my mood, give me perspective and a better life. Cheesy? Maybe. True? Definitely. Coloring these black and white pages and adding my color to them makes me happy. Happy, like a child. Happy, like I used to be - that innocent, kind of cheer. Do you remember that feeling? It was the sense of the present. Of being fully immersed in your mind and creation. Remember?