Inside (136)

To everybody out there I seem calm and collected. I can seem extremely in control, like I know what I’m doing.

And it drives me nuts.

Because everybody thinks I’m completely fine, nothing wrong here…even though inside I’m a total mess. My therapist once said that she didn’t think even the best psychiatrist in the country would have known what was happening to me back then. That I shut it all away, and what I show to people is an entirely different person. That actually made me feel proud, a bit. Someone inside was so proud that no one would know. The same part of me that is so proud when somebody says I’m closed off, and don’t let people in. And it also makes me mad, that people couldn’t figure it out, that I never allowed people to know. And sad, to be alone. And crying out, now, for someone to break down those walls. To not have to be alone with it all.

Inside is a mess. A mess of ages, of experiences, of emotions, of control, of lack of control, of wanting, of pushing, of pulling, of being completely at odds. Outside is a relatively rational, calm, collected, understanding, controlled, unflappable (as my teacher always used to tell me) person.

I’d really like my inside to begin to match my outside now. I’m so tired of the chaos.


I have always been an uncertain person. For as long as I can remember. And whether I was like that before or not, my childhood would definitely have made me an uncertain person.

And it’s an annoying thing to be, to never be totally sure, to not want to make decisions, to always hold back. Except this is one way that I’ve adapted. Because i’ll be really really uncertain. Anxiety will kick in, I will be going over and over, no quite sure…I think this, but what if that’s the wrong thing, the wrong answer, the wrong thing to do. Until at some point I switch all of that off (I dissociate), and I go into ‘just-do-it mode’. Where I keep my head upright, I look forward and I just do. I push all those other voices far away and I get on with it. And you know what, I kind of like this about me. I don’t like the feeling uncertain, not at all, but if I’m going to be like that I’m glad I have this way to manage. After all, most of my decisions are made this way. It feels kind of resilient.




Ugh some more. I don’t feel free, that’s why this word is crap. To any onlooker, I absolutely am. And fuck, get over yourself pocketbrit, first world problems right here…compared to so many people out there you are so damned free and should be grateful, not here, moaning, yet again.


But actually, screw that too, I’m reflecting on a word, that’s all, and like I said, I don’t feel free. I feel trapped in a life that I don’t seem to be able to have control over; I know, logically, that I do make many minor decisions all the time which place me in control of my life (which therefore should infer freedom, and yet, it really doesn’t feel that way). I don’t feel like I am able to know what to do with my life, I don’t feel like I am capable of risking things and giving things a go if there’s a potential for failure. I don’t feel like I can escape my current reality of remaining in the town where my parents live, working in their business and seeing them regularly. Isn’t that so weak? Seriously pb, grow up…if you want to do differently, do it. Nobody else can do it for you and you can’t blame anybody else for not doing it yourself.

But its not really about that…I absolutely am a coward in ways, but this is trauma, this is attachment, and screwed up family dynamics, and the recent aftermath of telling my family (sort of…all they’ve made me do is keep it a secret from other family members that they consider more important…my abuser being one of them). This is the fact that the family I belong to, the only family I have, and perhaps the only family I will ever have, want to keep me quiet, want to ignore my pain, push it aside, tell me its no big deal, that he matters more. And I feel trapped. My emotional freedom perhaps, (at some point in the future, and likely not ever fully emotionally free), lies in leaving them and living a life where I am not forced to keep the most vile family secrets. And yet, that’s a life without a family…maybe that’s freedom, but what does that involve giving up? Won’t I feel so alone? Won’t I miss all the good times? Won’t I think of them all the time? Won’t I wish I hadn’t given them up? Won’t I wish I could take it all back, just for one moment of feeling like I belong somewhere, even if I’m only allowed to belong if I keep my mouth firmly shut? But also, do I even really have those things by staying?


I also don’t feel free in my body. Especially lately. My one body feels like it’s containing several people. Several people that I’ve on and off acknowledged are there for a couple of years, but that’s 98% off and only 2% on until recently. Now it’s about 85% on and all I want to do is revert it back to that comfortable 2%. I have an image in my head of an old wooden trunk in a loft….i’ve picked up my wee one and put her in there, upset though she always fucking is. I’ve told my young one to get in, she doesn’t talk much, and she’s just gone in, eyes watching me. My sullen, ‘told-you-so’, sarcastic, detached, scary one gets in on her own accord, like she expects it and is rolling her eyes and shaking her head, and seething at me, for never stepping up and helping, for always being a disappointment. And finally I scream and shout at my teen, who argues back and rages. She won’t get in, not without me physically forcing her. And that’s exactly what I want to do. I want to get her in there and push her back, and put my foot on her and hold her down if I have to and put all my weight on the lid of the trunk to try to close it fucking shut, even though it can’t really fit all these stupid people to begin with. I want to scream back at them, to tell them to get lost. That I want nothing at all to do with them. I want them gone. I want them dead. And I’m meant to be the one in control, the one that gets by and lives our life, and is functioning. Not so functioning, is it, to be scared and spinning because I can’t shut my brain up?

So, this doesn’t feel like freedom. This feels like being locked in a cage with people I really don’t like and don’t want to have to interact with, yet are coming right up to me and crying/raging/talking incessantly in my ear. I want quiet, but I can’t have it.