My Lost Innocence

I am broken pieces of what I used to be. The strong fearless girl, now scattered on the floor.

Have you ever noticed how fearless children are? So adventurous and curious. Always getting into something. Parents chasing after them taking things away. Protecting them from the world and themselves. I am sure that I had that at some point. I don't remember. What I remember is catching coffee cans full of frogs to put in the bed with my sister, climbing trees without the fear of heights I have now, and saying whatever came to mind without fear of not being liked. That didn't last long though. That girl had a very short life.

Like a puzzle that was put together quickly on a table and left without glue. The pieces, one by one knocked loose and into the floor. Only to be kicked and lost somewhere along the way. So that even when someone realizes that pieces are missing all of them will never be found again. The puzzle will never again be complete and whole. See when I was a child a lot of things happened. Some have come back. A lot more have not. It's mostly flashes of memory like pages in a storybook that happened to someone else. Around age 5 however, are the ones that I remember well. Saying the wrong thing would get me hit. The wrong look would equal the same. I once got beat for getting a Mountain Dew out of a drink machine instead of a Dr. Pepper. Because that was different from what I had asked for the money for and so I had lied. That was the first time and I remember the lesson well. I will have panic attacks when I find out someone I trust has lied to me. No matter how small.

I look around my room at all the stuff I own, but material possessions can't bring back who I was before.

I have tried and tried to fill the holes in my soul with so many different things. The physical abuse stole my voice and I was afraid to speak. It made me vulnerable to other attacks. At 11 my grandfather started to molest me. He would tell me he was teaching me how to show a man that I loved him. I started to smoke and drink and he would buy it for me. At 13 I started to sleep around going from boy to boy never staying with anyone too long. The contact was nice for a time but for the most part, I didn't want anyone to touch me....ever. Only ever on my terms. The molestation continued until I was 17 and I found a piece of my voice again. Told my grandfather he was a liar and that he was wrong that was not love and to never touch me again. Love was a sham as far as I could see. Everyone that had ever said they loved me hurt me. So I turned to material things. Pretty things. Expensive things. I would have all the latest and greatest of it all. I am still empty, the holes are still there.

I try so hard to heal all the darkness inside, to find the things my soul needs to bring back the light.

They say it is never truly dark. That dark is simply the absence of light. So under that theory, if I could find something to bring light into my life the darkness should leave....right? I thought that getting away from it all would help. I wanted to go to college and be a vet. That didn't happen. What did happen was I got married at 19 and he joined the Navy. I saw the country and it was great. The country...not the marriage.

I loved moving around and seeing new places. The people knew nothing of my past and didn't judge me, but still, I was empty. In Chicago, I had my second miscarriage. I blamed myself because I had never told anyone about the first. An accident from a night of too much tequila that fell victim to my first car accident at just 10 weeks along. I didn't know I needed a shot to keep my body from attacking my next baby in utero. Learned that lesson the hard way just like I learn everything else. Another piece of me kicked into the fireplace. But when my son was born the next year I was happy. He gave me purpose.

It didn't last long, the emptiness returned with a vengeance. My then-husband took me to see a therapist. And I was diagnosed with postpartum depression first then borderline personality disorder. The medication didn't work and I was told it would never work. I would have to learn to control it. So I filled my days with my son and experiences. And I faked it. I was in California after all, why not give an Oscar-worthy performance.

No matter what I do, No matter what I buy. The demons stay The demons fight.

I had tried everything to fix what was broken inside me. To find the pieces I had lost along the way to where I was. To where I am now. I am still trying to find those pieces. For a time it was sex. Then it was alcohol. I tried weed, but it makes me sick so I never tried anything stronger. So I shopped. I would buy impulsively then feel guilty and return it. So I stopped buying for myself...mostly. I like buying things for other people. It makes me feel useful. I don't expect anything in return because I already got what I needed out of it. But even that doesn't last long.

The voices are relentless. Even when they are quiet for a time, they come back. They give a false sense of hope for their amusement it seems. They tell me that my generosity is the only reason people keep me around. That the only thing I am good for is sex and even that isn't that good. That I am fat and ugly. They tell me all the things they know will tear me down because if I were to defeat them I would be unstoppable. At least that is what I tell myself.

Will you help me? Will you stay by my side? While I find the innocence left behind.

I used to reach out when I would have an attack. I would call my friends or text them. Talk about what was bothering me. And I still do, just different friends. And I know that some will get mad when they read this. I don't care. They say they understand what I am going through. They don't. The things that get to me, I obsess over, I know that. It's like I cannot get over this one thing until I understand every last detail and they get annoyed. I get it. But their reactions can make me worse.

See I know that I am being unreasonable. The demons are sitting in my head just laughing at how crazy I sound saying the same things over and over. Asking the same questions over and over. Already knowing the answer and knowing I know it but NEEDING to hear it just one more time....or 100 more times. Who is going to put up with that? NO ONE!

It is so hard for me to trust yet I try. I used to trust easily. I found love finally with my 3 beautiful children. So I now know what that means. What I need now is someone willing to stay with me that will understand I am not asking these questions because I do not trust them. No, it has nothing to do with that. These questions are to reassure me that nothing has changed and I am still okay. That you are still there and have not abandoned me. My biggest fear. Being abandoned yet again for simply being me. And whether that is the reason or not that is what the demons will say. And I will feel shame and guilt. I will feel embarrassed for something I did. I will not know what it was. And I will be lost once again in darkness cutting lines in my skin to let the light in; so maybe I can find my way out.