Parts Still Buried Alive
PhoenixRising
Registrant
Parts Buried Alive
I have been wandering. Running away perhaps. Stops and starts. The wandering started once I began a process of unraveling the experiences of my childhood. I had blocked them for so long, and it was easy to do. Blocked them by filling up time with work.
And then when I moved, I would move into places with established communities. An easy Family. It was great, but indeed eventually I found I was also avoiding the pain. Pretending. The deep fears and pain, the reality of what the experience was for me, was perhaps too much to take all in. This past year I have been living alone; and have been less distracted, been underemployed, just scraping by, and I am hoping that this was so I could have the space to finally confront the deeper wounds. Sometimes I wonder. But I cant avoid them. Much as Id like, they are unhealed, and they fester. And they are there, at the bottom of this pit, and I wonder if I will survive, and then if I will climb out.
Shame and Guilt. Thats what arises this morning. Pain. I remember my older brother molesting me. Climbing on top of me. I shared a room with him and another older brother. Night was not safe. I find it difficult to sleep now. Vague memories have returned. Not feeling safe while on a changing table. Seems impossible. Then I read that babies can read faces. Then I read an article this morning about a Representative in Illinois who was found with child porn. He had a video of a six month old. A six month old. Words dont describe my anger. I am constantly reminded of the violence of a world; and yet perhaps, still shocked. How? If I could transfer just one thimble of the pain I have felt to these people, I wonder perhaps if indeed it would be enough to kill them.
Shame and guilt. A feeling of responsibility for a familys welfare when I was 3. Carrying that role into adult hood. Can I save someone? Diving into other peoples rabbit holes. It seems so right, but all of it was learned as a child; a child who would have to help his handicapped father work his arms and legs, and then would get chased and hit by the same man. A child who just wanted to create a feeling of safety; but in the long run has learned that he couldnt really trust any of them. That indeed for the sake of their own survival they would easily deny events.
I lived in a family that was constantly in a state of turmoil, a sick and violent father, 4 siblings that had all experienced some form of inappropriate sexual activity, little money, a suicide attempt by a sibling, a rapethere is also that which I dont know. Secrets. You see my family believes in stuffing the past. I go along to be with them, and indeed, then live into a story that does not support me, for my work in life has been so much about reclaiming a small child from a world that was not safethey have said, we wont go back there..and I realize part of me is stuck there.
Parts of me. So, shame for a life that feels unlived. Mostly about wandering to find pieces of my soul that I have hidden. I work to realize that I will never be able to put them together into the story I wanted, and that now my path is to find the parts of me, and write a new one. It feels daunting.
Parts Still Buried Alive
I have wandered this world
Each place digging a hole
Seeking the hidden; lost
Parts of my soul
Each one cries at night
Dont make this my grave
But I am uncertain
Of which I can save
Sleep isnt easy
For the screams they deprive
I am haunted by visions
Of parts still buried alive
I have been wandering. Running away perhaps. Stops and starts. The wandering started once I began a process of unraveling the experiences of my childhood. I had blocked them for so long, and it was easy to do. Blocked them by filling up time with work.
And then when I moved, I would move into places with established communities. An easy Family. It was great, but indeed eventually I found I was also avoiding the pain. Pretending. The deep fears and pain, the reality of what the experience was for me, was perhaps too much to take all in. This past year I have been living alone; and have been less distracted, been underemployed, just scraping by, and I am hoping that this was so I could have the space to finally confront the deeper wounds. Sometimes I wonder. But I cant avoid them. Much as Id like, they are unhealed, and they fester. And they are there, at the bottom of this pit, and I wonder if I will survive, and then if I will climb out.
Shame and Guilt. Thats what arises this morning. Pain. I remember my older brother molesting me. Climbing on top of me. I shared a room with him and another older brother. Night was not safe. I find it difficult to sleep now. Vague memories have returned. Not feeling safe while on a changing table. Seems impossible. Then I read that babies can read faces. Then I read an article this morning about a Representative in Illinois who was found with child porn. He had a video of a six month old. A six month old. Words dont describe my anger. I am constantly reminded of the violence of a world; and yet perhaps, still shocked. How? If I could transfer just one thimble of the pain I have felt to these people, I wonder perhaps if indeed it would be enough to kill them.
Shame and guilt. A feeling of responsibility for a familys welfare when I was 3. Carrying that role into adult hood. Can I save someone? Diving into other peoples rabbit holes. It seems so right, but all of it was learned as a child; a child who would have to help his handicapped father work his arms and legs, and then would get chased and hit by the same man. A child who just wanted to create a feeling of safety; but in the long run has learned that he couldnt really trust any of them. That indeed for the sake of their own survival they would easily deny events.
I lived in a family that was constantly in a state of turmoil, a sick and violent father, 4 siblings that had all experienced some form of inappropriate sexual activity, little money, a suicide attempt by a sibling, a rapethere is also that which I dont know. Secrets. You see my family believes in stuffing the past. I go along to be with them, and indeed, then live into a story that does not support me, for my work in life has been so much about reclaiming a small child from a world that was not safethey have said, we wont go back there..and I realize part of me is stuck there.
Parts of me. So, shame for a life that feels unlived. Mostly about wandering to find pieces of my soul that I have hidden. I work to realize that I will never be able to put them together into the story I wanted, and that now my path is to find the parts of me, and write a new one. It feels daunting.
Parts Still Buried Alive
I have wandered this world
Each place digging a hole
Seeking the hidden; lost
Parts of my soul
Each one cries at night
Dont make this my grave
But I am uncertain
Of which I can save
Sleep isnt easy
For the screams they deprive
I am haunted by visions
Of parts still buried alive
