The Real Me

I have spent a large part of my life growing into the person I am. I have not always been me, but someone else, a me in the making.. Even now, I battle to remain the person I have become, and not the insignificant nobody my family believed I was.

I have found that in the interactions with my family, I am often told that I am mistaken in my memory of events, that they either never happened at all or that I am perhaps "confused" as to the outcome. Years ago I realized that this was just a cover, a ploy, a simple way to remain blameless in spite of the blinding facts of the truth. For a while I questioned myself, my sanity, my memory. Could it all have been nothing more than mere embellishments on my part, making a mountain of out a molehill?? But then it occurred to me that I was, after all, correct in my memory, because my body and soul told the truth. The soul has a memory all it's own, the body, a link to what has been heaped upon it, over and over again. Even if I chose to close my mind to the sins of what had happened, I would still remember. Like a survivor of some terrible war, the trauma is relived over and over, in dreams at night, and often over lunch during the day. It doesn't matter how many times you say you never did anything to me. Lies have no power here.

My soul remembers. And I will never forget.

Still.

Here.


Andi