Remnants

The past week has been challenging to say the least. I lost my dad on Oct 25, and a cascade of unrelated events followed. The details are unnecessary, but to say I am tired and worn would be an understatement.

After receiving a message shaming me for the pain my bio father and his wife are going through, I wrote a long letter. In it I let out the hurts and heartbreak they dealt to me over time, and for the first time, publicly told my side of the story.

One of the things I mentioned in the letter was how I used to hide in my closet because it was the only place in the world where I knew I couldn’t be “in trouble.” As I started my day today, I remembered that, even after I left his home, I still found the need for that safe space. Even though my room at my mom’s was a safe space, I still needed a sanctuary, somewhere I knew I couldn’t be found. So, in the only corner of the closet that wasn’t exposed with the folding doors were open, behind the long dresses I hung up to shield me from prying eyes, I made a little nest where I could hide.

Until this morning, I had completely forgotten about my hiding place. Now, however, I remember going there several times. I’m not even sure I needed to when I did, but it the only space in my tiny world I was certain I could control. It was dark and silent, in it I could find peace and release the anxiety that would build up.

What I also didn’t realize was that over time, I have continued to keep my little closet space, but I’ve expanded it a bit. My home is now my safe space, my sanctuary. It is the place I go to hide – it’s the only place where I have complete control. When people come to it unannounced, I feel that same sense of anxiety that I had when I would hold my breath, hoping no one would find me in my closet when I was hiding from the world.

At it Again…

Recently, I have started to feel the urge to speak out publicly grow stronger.  I have known for years that my goal in healing was to be able to one day speak without fear, regret, or a fictitious name.  To help others by allowing them to know me and giving them the opportunity to truly see that healing is possible, and so is life after the pain.

It has been a very scary thought to ponder, and there are quite a few draw backs that I still consider as I think of the possibilities.  I still worry that, upon speaking out, I can never take it back. Once I lay everything out for the world to see, I will be subject to their opinions, beliefs, distrust, and judgment.  I do not wish to confront my abusers, so there will be no accusations or naming, but I know that family members will want to know who the abusers were.  I can keep my secret because I know that it would cause me more damage to be forced to deal with my abusers, than to keep certain thing to myself.  Yet I know that it will be a serious issue.

Last, but not least, I feel I should tell my father.  Although we do not speak, and I do not wish to have a relationship with him, I feel that he has a right to know what I am preparing to share with others.  I thought about writing a letter to share what happened to me, so that he would not hear it from strangers and be shocked.  Yet, what started out as an informative note, has now become a somewhat accusatory letter.  There are so many things that need to be said…

I am not sure if I am even on the right track here.  Maybe I shouldn’t write the letter.  Maybe I should just leave things as they are.  I know that speaking out is important, and that it could help someone else – but sometimes I worry that I am not quite ready for the ugly mess that is going to come spilling out once the flood gates are opened…

Sharing – Pt. 2

Originally, my previous blog was set to “Friends” because I was feeling that old familiar fear of loss setting in.  After reading posts from several of you, I decided to let go of some of the anxiety and go public with it.

In the past week, I have really been thinking more about my journey as a survivor, and about how my poetry has grown with me through the process.  Once, long ago, I had a teacher tell some classmates that their children would be reading my stuff one day.  Well, it is a bit too late for that – and most poets don’t make it into the literature books until they are dead, but I have decided to give it a shot anyway.

Over the next few weeks, I am going to be getting my poetry, and maybe some of my journal entries together for my first “book.”  It should be interesting to see what form the book takes, but I will let you know when it is ready.

Love & Hugs,
Kylee

Sharing

Sharing….it is something that I have always been afraid to do.  Why?  Because the truth comes out when share, and once it’s out there, you can’t take it back anymore.

If you have not already noticed, I am very excited to be featured on The Survivor Archives this week (BTW – Thanks to the Joanna & Kristin for the beautiful intro and for providing such a wonderful place for survivors to make their mark on the world.  Love & Hugs!).   However, even with all the excitement, there is still some part of me that is terrified at what my self-expression could mean.  It really isn’t the fear of being found out, but more the fear of losing the only thing that has ever completely belonged to me ~ my writings.

Sounds really crazy, huh?  For years I have battled with this fear.  I guess it began when I was young.   As a child, very few things in my life were not subject to my father and step-mother’s whims.  Many things went missing from my room when I was gone for a day, and anything my mother gave me was taken from me immediately.  The only thing that I could ever find that they could not take away (although they tried desperately to do so) were my thoughts, fears, hopes, and dreams.

When I moved in with my mom, I began to write my precious words down so that I could cherish them.  In time, my poetry became something sacred in a way.  It was my private escape from a cruel, secretive world.  When I wrote, I was free to be honest about the world around me, and I was able to become the person that tried so hard to hide.  For this reason, I have always feared sharing my private musings.  The fear that someone would try to steal them from me and make them their own has been terrifying at times.

In that moment, they would have the power to take something precious from me, and then I would have nothing left of my identity or individuality.

Anonymity…

Anonymity….it is my saving grace sometimes.  In speaking from the shadows, I am free to say what I truly feel and to place the blame where it belongs.

For over ten years, I have been speaking out against abuse and my abusers from the safety of my screen name, Kylee Jones.  Sometimes I do wish I could throw caution to the wind and tell the world who I am.  Yet, deep down I know that survival is about finding a place where you are free and can reach out to other victims – which is where I am right now.

There are so many victims out there who are afraid to speak out for fear of being revictimized.  It is my hope that someone, somewhere can learn to be free by knowing that it is possible to speak out without anyone ever knowing who spoke. You can make a difference, and you can heal.

Sometimes I wonder if I should “go public,” but then I realize that I can make a difference just by being Kylee Jones.

Speak out & change the world….