Oh, I think they have always been there. Kind of like that family member you never want to introduce to your friends. As long as I didn't talk about them, they didn't exist did they? At least not in my world. Not in the one I so cleverly crafted for everyone else to be a part of. But when I finally decide I want my freedom, they decide to come out and play and they don't know how to play fair! All of my insecurity and shame are perfect playmates for the hurt I hold onto in order to punish myself for not being good enough.
Putting those feelings into words is like breathing life into something I really wish would just rot in the hell I summoned it from. It spews forth like poison seeking to destroy all the good things that being honest has given me and doing a damn good job of robbing me of my new found freedom.
I hate her, this hurt can't let go of. I can't seem to make my way out of the black hole she's opened in my heart. I can't find my lifelines (the ones God said I needed to let go of). Can't find my life. The life in which I want honesty. The one where I live in freedom. The one where I can admit to being needy. The one where I believe I'm beautiful . . .
I believe in you and I reach for hope
Dangling from a threadbare rope...
"I Believe In You"
"I rise before dawn and cry for help; I have put my hope in your word." Psalm 119:147