I sit here, staring at the off-white walls that surround me in my house—no—my home.
I listen to my body, my chest pounding, mind grasping, lungs reaching.
Heart running on empty for the moment, not because it doesn’t have love, it does.
Running on empty because for the last 22 years it has been longing to be loved by the one who created it—its’s still longing.
Closing my laptop, trying to draw in a breath that will calm my senses, pull me back to this place in time, remind me of where I am—safe.
My mind echoing with her words.
My skin burning to be held.
My pain stinging to be acknowledged.
My inner child begging to be forgiven for things beyond her control.
I feel the tears form in my eyes; afraid one swift blink will send an avalanche of emotion I don’t have time to deal with.
I look up, the popcorn ceiling is white, and the light is bright in my eyes, but I strain to keep them open begging the tears not to fall.
As hard as I try to stop them, they flood my face, no amount of holding back can keep this hurt inside.
Deep breaths—Inhale 1 2 3 – Hold 1 2 3 – Exhale 1 2 3 –
I close my eyes and feel it for a moment. I know that its real, no matter how hard she might try to convince me it’s not. My chest feels empty, the pain is immense, and the sadness is overwhelming.
The voices in my head fight for my attention but for now I cannot focus on them, real life is waiting for me on the other side of the door and I must pull it together.
Wiping the tears from my eyes, taking another deep breath –Inhale-- I reach for the door handle, --Hold – ready for these feelings to go away, twisting the handle—Exhale— I let go.
In this “reality” I intellectualize, I analyze, I put off the feelings for another time.
Times like when I sit at home, on the couch, in the dark, by myself, and listen to ‘The Fosters’ Theme song, close my eyes, pretend that someone is singing it to me, and cry.
Over the next two weeks I will do that a lot. I will think, and try to put my feelings into words soft like clouds as to not offend or hurt.
I will try one thousand different ways to articulate the pain I feel in a way that enables growth and understanding.
I will get my hopes up thinking things will be different.
I will walk into the room, open up my laptop, start session, and feel broken afterwards.
I will spend 50 minutes being as open and vulnerable as I can be, and I will be hurt again and again, by someone who will never understand what it like to be her child.