Broken, beautiful, and mine. The journey back to myself.

This was initially supposed to be something flowery and beautiful just to work through my thoughts. It was a sad attempt to make something worthwhile out of this spiral. I thought if I could at least create something out of hellscape of my mind tonight I might find some beauty in the darkness. But somehow I just ended up with a brutally honest journal entry. This is something incredibly raw and vulnerable, which is not at all what I was going for. I've never been the best at writing. I've always liked the idea of it, how poetic it sounds to bleed onto paper. To get all your emotions out in such a beautiful way. However, every time I try it feels like there's a blackhole in my chest sucking everything in until all I'm left with a pit where my heart should be and an empty page. For a long time I felt nothing, which logically was not the smartest thing I've done to survive, but lately I miss the days when I just felt numb. It's so overwhelming to feel everything ...

Everyone always says, "just be yourself," but what goes unsaid is that they really mean, "just be yourself until.." Just be yourself until somebody is uncomfortable. Until somebody doesn't approve. Until somebody is offended. Or until somebody just doesn't like it. Especially if you're a woman. Don't be too loud. Don't be too opinionated. Don't be too confrontational. Don't be too messy. Don't be too outgoing or ambitious. Don't be too emotional. Don't think. I spent the worst years of my life making myself smaller, breaking in silence, trying to make sure everyone else was comfortable. I spent so many years trying to make sure everyone else was dealing with my trauma, that I never stopped to consider how I was handling it. I conditioned my mind and body to mask so completely that I no longer trust my own answer to, "how are you feeling." I genuinely don't know. I don't register that I'm in pain until my ...