i’m playing catch-up on 3 posts and it’s already late, so this might not be so good.
when i thought of loud, i thought of shame. and i know shame is going to be a word one of these days in the next year too (he’s kinda the star of both mine and pocketbrit’s shows), but i’m fairly certain i’ll manage to piece together a few words for that post, too. because that thieving bastard is one of the noisiest guys i know.
shame feels like one of my most constant and oldest companions. historically, it is his voice that i hear most, it is his voice that washes over me if i have a millisecond of pride or happiness. he also seems to get extra loud in my brain (and my body) when i’m tired or sad or beaten down…and keeps me all three of those things, too. i know now he’s just trying to make sure i’m safe, trying to crunch me down into a teeny-tiny non-threatening version of myself, trying to protect me, trying to keep me under the radar. i don’t need that anymore, but he’s soooooooo slow to get the memo. and, in fact, the more convinced adult me becomes about not needing him, the noisier he gets.
when shame gets loud in my body, i feel his presence as a fluttering stone in my gut, a vice at my chest, the noisiest hissingest whisper in my ears. his ugly, soul-shrinking words make my insides wilt, and then liquefy. he and his buddy fear often arrive hand-in-hand; shame with a megaphone up to his lips, amplifying the litany of my offenses (mostly being wrong and existing at all), and fear with a stun gun, plugging up words in my throat, catapulting me backwards into the terrifying frozen past.
it is mythical how powerful his hold is on me, even still, even with all my skills and knowledge and logic and grounding exercises. even when i can call his bluff, even as i recognize his lies. even when i’m adult. that guy, and his loud, interrupt-y ways, bring me to my knees regularly, and i hate it.