Figuring I have about one year to live...
Image by Dawid Planeta
I have nothing to lose at this point.
I’m old, 65 to be exact. I’ve raised my daughter to adulthood, loved one man fiercely, lost friends and family to death and illness, owned dozens of dogs and animals, did the 9-5 as a nurse/counselor, marched in protests, advocated for the marginalized, been betrayed more times than I can count, attempted suicide too many to mention here, lived dangerously and experienced things that most people thankfully haven’t. The stress and trauma have taken its toll on my health and be damned, I’m not taking this shit to the grave. Fuck them. It stops here.
Many obstacles have stopped me from speaking. Things like generational trauma of growing up female in a rural and seriously ignorant part of the world in the 1950’s. As the original post implies, we all took a vow of silence. The women especially. The women who were poor, the women who were uneducated, the women who were raped for sport, the women who watched helplessly as their children were tortured and beaten, the women who were forced to carry the secrets or be killed all took this vow and the burden of carrying it for their lifetime. For whatever reason and there were many, we didn’t speak. So to speak now is terrifying. I’m still looking over my shoulder to see if someone is going to discover what I’m doing. And kill me.
Here’s the caveat. I have no choice but to write this story. First, for myself, I’ve tried everything else to heal my trauma, my supposed craziness, the obvious differences that have set me apart from the world leaving me isolated and vulnerable. Decades of trying have led me here because it’s simply the one thing I haven’t done. And I’m counting on it to be the answer, the epicenter from which all pain is released. Putting this out on the page releases the relentless-ruminating- hamster-wheel that is my brain. There’s simply too much information to contain there anymore. It isn’t possible to hold this much garbage any longer.
Secondly, I’m writing this story for my mother who felt she didn’t have a choice. I watched her slowly wither as many of my aunties and elders did from carrying this toxicity from one generation to another. Most of them simply fell into a state of dementia where it was erased from their consciousness, giving them sweet relief before their deaths. Some have strongly discouraged me, saying that it won’t make a difference. Some have outright threatened me to stop but again, I have nothing left to lose. And besides, I think they are afraid and completely wrong. I’m ready for any and all consequences.
Lastly, I will write this story for the victims/survivors/thrivers of abuse; sexual, emotional, physical, spiritual, religious, gender, narcissistic, financial, elder, domestic, etc. We all deserve a place free from terror and ostracization.
We deserve a safe space to fall. Let that be here.