First I want to thank and give great appreciation for those who dare stand by me. Who have listened and heard my words. The ones who have understood my journey and stayed with the content of my pain and not rushed to the outer limits discussing the reasons for my parent's inability to parent. But, for those who have stayed by me and attended my words, my pain and my art.
The ones who have followed me along...weak and confused, hurt and angry and watched and encouraged my growing.
Folks who have walked with me through my darkest times...are now able to "Like" my episodes on Facebook. I know that this will seem childlike, but sadly the Like button is so telling of the content of who you are.
It is the tap on the shoulder, the eye contact and encouragement...especially when it is so deeply personal.
The 'unliked' folks are teaching me great things.
I am learning how it is to speak up and not be heard. Or to have the conversation be re-directed to a space three steps removed from the actual wound. AND, how it feels to be a child trying to get someone to respond, to stand up with you.
It is not the silence of your enemies that affect you, but the silences of 'friends'.
I feel that my voice is that of a child, a victim who is daring to break the silence and I am just shocked at how non-impacting it is. How life appears to go on as usual.
In the same group discussion, the annoymous shield was broken, and it felt like someone had inadvertantly opened the closet door.
The full thrust and heart of the intentions behind the "Call Me Mental" project IS to break the stigma.
Stigma is the closet.
Stigma is the silence.
Stigma is not so much the silence of those who watch me come out of the closet BUT those who are in the closet wanting to remain hidden.
I am fascinated by this all.
How not only do I no longer fit back in the closet, but there are folks who are 'out' but that I feel are just pretending and who really would be more comfortable with me being silent.
I am not even sure I can articulate the experience of breaking the silence and hearing silence...
What this feels like to have an artful presentation done and for the discussion NOT to be on the subject of the episode? It is like if they were to watch a film on quilting but talk about the person who typed up the pattern.
Honestly, I am blown away. By those who have dared stand with me....and the silence after I broke the silence, again.
And, how some feel we are further along and that we will not repear the history of my family....Really?
I can only visualize the trauma of being traumatized and to have it all ignored. For life to quickly return to normal, for the good folks to overlook and avoid any contact with the wounded child. For the subject to be shut down...or never even begun.
Being set aside untouched.
It is these feelings of not being touched, of them holding back and away that make us feel that something is wrong with us. That we are now untouchable and for sure unspeakable.
We become ostracized and the things being discussed are not even close to the heart of the matter...abuse of a child.
We are too yucky to touch...and talk to...or "like".
I can't make me touchable.
I can't make me kind.
By them staying away from me, they are showing me who they want to be near.
I know, to the depth of my soul, this behavior for whatever reason IS the source of our stigma.
We feel what you all can't do...and internalize it.
I refuse to feel ashamed, because you are ashamed to be with my wounds.
You too, will not define me. Just as I refused to carry the shame of my father, I also refuse to carry the shame of those who can't touch me.
I know the walk now of the untouchables.
I know it isn't our 'sin' to carry.
I am giving this back to you all.
It isn't the silence that I have broke, but that I am asking you to look again at yourself looking at me.
