We all have our curtains. The ones we draw closed, pulling them back only every so often for just the right people.
I’m real familiar with mine. They were pulled tight for a long time – years –protecting the darkness swirling behind them from seeing any kind of light.
We keep up appearances. We pretend we’re something we’re not. We wipe our eyes and check our running mascara in the mirrors inside our visors, and we take deep breaths as we walk into the public place where we so don’t want to be.
But we have to. Because regardless of the shit behind our curtain, we have life to do. And talking about why your eyes are watery or puffy, or why you’re exhausted or not feeling right, or why you can’t use the map on your phone because someone is tracking you….is just. too. overwhelming.
So here I am, years after leaving, pulling back the curtain. Finding release, empowerment, therapy and flow in writing – the only thing I’m positive I’m good at – and I do it and share some of the most bizarre and most unnerving experiences, making it public while knowing everyone can read it – including the one insanely vengeful adversary who liked that curtain closed.
But I like the light. It helps me see better. Much better.
It helps me think better. Helps me create. Helps me explore. And helps me feel a fraction of the empowerment I’ve earned for overcoming the shit I did.
That’s why I’ll pull back another curtain.
That adversary, the one who delights in curating trauma, quotes my own work back to me. Sit with that.
He can’t speak to me, because legal consequences restrict that. But he does quote my own writing back to me.
It’s not intimidating. It just further illustrates the sadistic reality he lives in, a place I think most rational people want no part of. I’m sure that’s a safe bet.
It’s meant to rattle me. It doesn’t.
It just forces me to pull back another curtain, because I don’t make my inbox public, although he believes he’s entitled to it — in the past snaking his way in to my inbox, finding a statement I had prepared for a judge, and typing portions of it back to me.
Next level. I know.
I have earned my recovery because I survived the shit that got me here. I’ve earned the right to let the light in, too. And I’ve earned the right to share the truth after years of not.
So has anyone else in my position. Anyone else who held the curtain closed, if even for a little bit. Open it up. It’s easier to see when you do. And the sound of your voice is gorgeous.