I most often think of myself as weak and malleable because I’ve been abused and because I’ve allowed myself to be abused. But the truth is, I’ve been putting rigid protections around my sanity my entire life. But there is no perimeter, no fortress I can create that is impervious to assault.
All boundaries are semi-permeable, with little places of vulnerability. Like the weakening of a blood vessel that may give way to an aneurism. Or it may hold. Permanently. Temporarily.
Some vulnerabilities I know are there. I see them clearly, and when I see a threat coming, I have a chance to fend it off or adapt. Those are the only two options, by the way. There is no option to run.
Other incursions are far more insidious. There are assaults that go undetected for decades. Something happens, something external or an inner revelation, and suddenly, I can see clearly where the attack occurred and what damage was left in its wake. Then I can trace back up that line ‘til now and see all the places where the damage changed me, my thinking, my behavior, my choices. And the realization hits me: all that’s been done can’t be undone.
The undetected assaults are the most dangerous. The stealthy ones that don’t rise to my consciousness for years and years. They’re the ones that undermine my functioning. They’re the ones that make me unable to get out of bed, or when I can get out of bed, make me get right back in. They’re the ones that make me press my fingers against my eyelids to push the tears holding in, out.
I can tell myself I control my thoughts, but do I really control my thoughts? I can certainly channel my thoughts into writing. What a blessing that is. It allows me to see a tangible thing that represents the unknowable thing that lives in my head. So for me, pen to paper is where sanity lives. It is also where insanity is revealed.
