You are all alone, no one wants you with your dark secrets, that is a ghost in me who delivers these bitter soar messages. I hear them in my head every single time someone shows up with their imperfections or with an attempt to open their heart to me.

Behind the words no one loves me, no one wants me, I am all alone, hides the suffering and the pain of having been left abandoned in the hands of two very sick parents who instead of supporting my growth taught me how to better destroy myself.

This message has followed and whisperers secretly but loud enough for me to be entirely consumed by this painful energy I feel in my head but learned to numb in my heart. This message who s drowning my head in sink telling me don’t waste your time he, she, knows. He and she Knows that you are not wanted.

The ghost tell me that I married a man who on some level an unhealed part in him knows I can be left alone, neglected, hurt quietly.

This wounded part in him knew the second we met that I was that good girl who would listen and follow him to the fire pit, destroy all that he had constructed in his healing journey and burn in hell together.

That part in him knew that I had the skill he looked for in a women. A skill I learned from my mother which is standing by her husband no matter how dark and insane he lets those part in him take over his light.

Also attracted to this girl who is going to be by my side, by me, no matter what, no matter how much I abandon and neglect me, her and our relationship. She will be there because she knows no one else will have her. She knows know one but me wants her. She is mine now. She is my possession.

Then there are those parallel phrases and situations that I experienced and heard from both my parents and my husband when I am absolutely quiet in my room afraid of making a sound that could cause trouble or pain and suffering and conflict. I hear foot steps coming close to the bedroom door I get even more quiet even more invisible. My heart stops my breathing too. I hear the hand of my predator of my parent placing a hand on the door handle, my eyes are filled with terror the heat in my body is preparing to run for my life but I freeze. My mind stops working my body is paralyzed the door opens I see his face her face and my husband says “just checking you r still alive” and closes the door right back behind him and walks away. What just happen brings back all the pain of the isolation and neglect, so I yell the following “that is so freaky and weird that s exactly what parents would do” they would not hear a sound from me and thought I had died. Just open the door wide enough to see I was still breathing and had not murdered the shell they gave birth to and walk like machines away from the one thing in their lives they could take out all the inner hatred they kept hidden from the world but visible to me.

I yell at my husband like if he was those people who crucified me who nailed me to my cross of their sinful nature. I saw the two moments in one. I saw him bitting me up with that iron bar I saw rapid flashbacks of so much violence.

I began to spit poison at him hurt him telling him he was heartless numb and insensitive around someone who is in the middle of processing the worse possible childhood nightmare hurt.

You are hurting me he would say. You are putting your shit on me.

I don’t know how not to. Because all I see is not me hurting you. All I see is you hurting me and me pushing that back onto you.

I know how to keep my heart close and push away it is something I do and I am not even aware of it has become automatic. I close my heart and I don’t see the hurt inside. I only see the hurt externally and hold it there. When it comes to close to remind me of the hurt in my heart I yell at it. I slap it. I hurt it and push it away.

The intensity of the pain I am remembering bringing out to the surface is unbearable is too much it will consume me and drive me insane. I will get locked up. It want to destroy it all it wants to destroy the love that was not there for me when I needed it the most when I was innocent and open for it. The suffering of what is coming back on the surface that for so long was the was pushed aside and kept a dark secret, all the avoided pain that was becoming a cancer, that was showing in all my failures to be a consistent source of light that poor into a kind and loving parent to myself and my daughter, a partner friend member of our society who, is to intense to handle to sit with to do nothing about it. To do nothing about it. To just witness it making it s way out of my heart.

I gave birth to a beautiful shell dressing an old soul who wanted something more than just us. For the first time in my life I was deceived when I thought that I was wanted. Unconditionally wanted by someone. For the first time since I remember, I was wanted. My past the heaviness of it that was publishing a broken version of me in our society was welcomed open heartedly. This time someone brand new whom I thought as innocent and pure was not going to take advantage of my brokenness, little did I know. A child picks up on all the blind spots and pocks at them to have them disappear. A child can be a more powerful vehicle for healing than any other relationship when there is a healthy support and a program to hold the mother and the child. Unfortunately I did not gravitate toward the help that would support my child while getting support for myself that is my deepest regret. For me the blind spots my child innocently pointed represented the fifteen years of daily horrors I had experienced, the neglect, the abandonment and the pain of that all came at me in a way I could not handle.

I made some attempts to spiritual bypass the torture from my past and for a minute I felt some freedom I felt reconnected to a part in me I had lost, to a lot of parts in me I had pushed away and neglected in order to survive. The happy part had been push down quite a bit. The playful part in me . Most importantly the part in me who knew that there was more to life than the secret I kept to myself out fear that my dad would kill me. There was more than just being severely punished and being wrong all the time. Being unwanted. Unloved. Being corrected for being a child in a form of torture. Torture like having your head pushed down into a sink full of water until you think at age of 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 until fifteen the words that s it I m going to die, this time he is going to kill me. There was more to life than not being wanted by the two people in my child life who were suppose to bring some comfort some kindness some love and was none. That part was happy to be rediscovered it celebrated for some time.

being something that she could get in having power and pleasure. Something I couldn’t no give her all at once because I knew it could destroy her.