Monday, December 21, 2015


So, I got to see Barbara and Francis on Friday. It was really, really nice. It feels so good to just be able to talk and not feel judged. I can be honest and I'm not going to meet horrified, shocked eyes.

Francis leveled with me about how I was actually unnecessarily mean to that language table person I told off. It is better, or at least not cruel, to tell people "nope," rather than "not only no, but fuck no, and I hope you choke on a bag of dicks." But I think Francis was proud that I could connect that my reaction was tied to how I felt abused by the native community and how being asked to provide language teaching made my brain jump into survival mode. I snapped because part of me felt I was in danger.

It makes me feel heartbroken.

Like I'm broken, and I thought I was more whole. It's painful. I really am still scared. My anger is still defending me. I do hate myself, blame myself for the bad things people did to me as an adult.

Francis said I need to keep telling my story. It did help to talk with them. To have my feelings acknowledged, and have Francis tell me he recognized the feelings and thoughts. I dunno how to tell the story though, to others. It's's such an unhappy, secret story. It's long, and convoluted, and sick. I don't want it to be a part of me, much less a part I tell about. It's a story people don't want to hear. How do you tell a story like that?

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