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penelopie wilson

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translations

when i write things here i am not writing them to gain pity or sympathy. i’m not looking to make people feel sorry for me. i want none of that.

here i write just to write. it’s my release. where i get all of the things deep inside of me out. since i am a quiet, solitary and private person, i have no outlet. this is my outlet.

i never get to just be me. not in my life. i’m a chameleon. i become whoever the person i’m with wants me to be. i’ve always been like this. it is common for children, and adults, of abuse to behave accordingly. you become who they want you to be so that they remain happy and pleased with you.

so now it’s the same, except more routine. i can do it without a thought. i read people very well and am an extremely great judge of character. skills i picked up throughout my life. as well as being keenly observant and cautious. always know your surroundings. always know the person you are with. never turn your back.

i like to see the danger coming head on. no surprises. even if it’s torture to know what is coming, i have to. there used to be moments of absolute panic and fear. now, there is always a brief moment where my breath is taken away. after that, i swallow and bury the dread. face what is coming with my eyes wide open. i accept my fate. no need to turn and run.

i also learned that pain, physical, is all relative. it’s a state of mind. i have had just about every bone broken and every part of my body bruised and bloodied. i’ve had upwards of 10 surgeries, a couple of those surgeries massive and intense with literal years for recovery time. pain. i’m used to it.

when i was very young, a small child, i was a wimp. any amount of pain, however small and pointless, made me cry. i was scared of pain, of being hurt. terrified, really. needles, falling, cuts, bruises, fists…all of it was beyond paralyzing.

people made fun of me a lot, for being so soft and scared. i was told to “toughen up!” after a brief period of resistance, i eventually began working on it. no one likes to be made fun of by their family. i wanted to be tough like everyone else. so, i worked on controlling my fear, my tears…

i mastered it, eventually. something that saddens me to this day. it’s sad that a child was not allowed to simply be a child. i wish that i would have been surrounded by people who would have scooped me up, kissed my boo-boo’s and made the pain all better by their love. instead, i got laughed at and people got annoyed and angry with me.

but, once i learned that pain, physical, is generally temporary, i toughened up. no more crying (in front of anyone) and no more complaining. i faced my fears head on. time for a shot? ok. no crying. i would make myself watch it happen. and eventually pain became somewhat mind over matter.

now, there is physical pain that exists that completely overtakes you-mind, body and soul. sometimes you can’t help but fall victim to it. for example, having your leg bone sawed in half is an extremely unpleasant feeling. all the drugs in the world can’t make that pain go away. sometimes pain is unavoidable.

emotional pain, spiritual pain…they are so different. they overtake you, regardless of age, race. they know no limits. and, emotional pain can last an entire life. for years i buried mine, drowned them with drugs and sex. flat out avoidance and denial, too. but the thing with emotional pain-it festers. if you bury it, avoid it, it silently grows bigger and bigger.

if pain is to be the death of me, it will be emotional and spiritual pain. it won’t be physical pain.

after an entire life of hiding my internal misery, it’s nice getting it out. it’s nice getting to speak freely without worry of backlash or consequences. i like purging.

so when you read what i write, don’t feel sorry for me. i’m really ok. all i’m doing is the equivalent of cleaning out a house that has been lived in for almost 40 years. some things need tossed in order to bring other things in. sometimes you just have to get things out.

i’m just opening the windows to my heart, mind and soul.

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