There is a part of me that says that I have healed. It tells me that the wrongs that I suffered as a child have been forgiven, and that I should move on. Yet something in me still says, “No, only half the story has been spoken, the other still remains.”
I struggle back and forth when the images enter my head. I tell myself it’s over, I should forget about it, it’s dead. I do not see a reason to drag those things up now. Just let it lie as sleeping dogs, and forget it for a while. If I am really quiet when there is a stirring or a sound, the deep slumber of the memories will once again return.
It is the times just after the memories fall back to sleep that I struggle with these thoughts the most. I am relieved that they are sleeping. The thought of waking them by my own choice seems rather unwise. Yet I know that it is better for me to stir them than for them to stir me.
The other memories no longer haunt me, their story has been told. They are still unpleasant, but they are no longer menacing. These memories however, long to claim my soul. They make me feel nasty inside. When they come I feel the helplessness all over again. Innocence slips away. Repulsion chokes me. There is only darkness where they roam, and I don’t want to be where they are. So, I let the story fade into harmlessness and forget it all once more.
I know that the shadows that wait for me will not hurt me. I’ve walked through them before. Yet I still fear that they will take me, and I will not return once more.
As I sit in silence, I look out into the shadows that hiss and moan. They are waking up again – moving just outside the light. They call out my name, and they beacon me to come. They want me to come listen to a story – a story I have not told…