I drifted off to a land that was free of all pain. It saddened me to come back.
I was alone in the dark, staring at the prescription bottle. I loved the way its contents drifted me to a place where everything felt good. Even the emotional pain I never thought a pill could fix was gone. They were narcotics prescribed for an injury to my back, but they were helping more than my back. Those pills helped the state of my emotionally abusive romantic relationship, the verbal assaults from family while they constantly put me down when I was not doing what they wanted. As much as I never wanted to conform, it seemed less painful, but was it? Keeping peace caused me mental and emotional catastrophes. It may have felt good not to be everyone's punching bag because I was submitting, but it did not feel good going against what I knew was right. My self-sabotaging ways began early in age. They manipulated me on many levels, shaping how I interacted with people until I started healing. Everyone in the household either fought or wanted to fight me at some time or another. It was the saddest shit I had ever seen, and I wanted nothing more to do with them. I was always wrong for defending myself, never them for causing the altercation.
A situation like that is only one reason I lived in a state of depression and ultimately wanted nothing to do with life. Besides medication, when I got older, I medicated the childhood trauma with partying, attention from men, and shopping. If I did not get my fix, people saw a side of me that made them question where they went wrong. No one knew my internal struggles. Anytime I would attempt to tell them, I would hear, "that's your family," or "you are tripping," or "girl, you crazy." Maybe now people get it, but to share some of what I do now meant I was the crazy one back then, not the one causing the pain. Black people are so traumatized that we blame victims. We have never progressed beyond how we were brought up, so it will negatively affect our children and their children and their children until someone wakes up. Growing up black was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do. I continue to unravel daily as I learn and grow, identifying what is happening in my family line and healing it.
It took me many years to get to peace with whom I am. I had to shed off a lot to find myself. There were raging waters I fought against that were only trying to cleanse me once I stopped resisting. I discovered those delicate parts of me on shore. Every time I weathered the storm, I learned something new about myself and the gifts I possessed. I learned to think for myself and be confident in my ability. It was amazing to watch my transformation. My life has been far from easy. Please do not look at me and assume so. The process is not pretty. It is not cute as most make it seem. It won't just happen. We have to put in the work. Even when we fall off, we must get back up and dust ourselves. Look at yourself in the mirror and declare that you are worth it.
- What patterns can you identify in your family line
- How did you observe they coped it with
- How were you affected by those patterns
- How do you cope
- Do you still cope similarly when you find yourself repeating the cycles
- Do you want to unpack it and heal it
Thanks for reading. I hope the information shared helps you discover what's limiting you and the steps to take to overcome it.
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