Nerve Damage

Since I promised myself I would be unabashedly honest with every single blog post and every avenue of my life since I turned 30 – I have to express that I find it a lot easier to write about my relationships with others than my relationship with my parents. It isn’t because of the circumstances necessarily, as some of my other life experiences were traumatizing in their own twisted ways. I think it’s because I know they are reading and I don’t want to fill their new path with muddied steps of pain from the past. But this is all a part of my own personal journey and in order for me to authentically share my truth and move forward every piece of perspective has to be purged.

I’ve been numbing everything since before I even stepped foot onto a school bus. It was easier to hide from how I felt when I had only my family to run from. As a young kid you don’t have an ego blocking your insides yet. It hasn’t even built itself enough to create angles that reflect away from what your heart knows. My parents weren’t horrible people. They didn’t beat me. They didn’t starve me. I had a place to sleep at night. But what truly defines being safe? Do those things protect your head space or your heart space? My mom was an alcoholic and my dad dabbled in drugs often. They were two peas in a “numb everything” pod so naturally I followed suit. It wasn’t until years later that I realized what all of that meant and how it would come to alter my life.

They say when you grow up in a household of addiction that you naturally become a chameleon. Not because you want to fit in, or because you fear the opinions of others – though I will tell you that became a large part of what I hid from – for me, it was because I wanted to protect myself from being used as a scapegoat for the things that my parents resented about their life choices. Don’t get me wrong, I love my parents. They are the only set of parents I will ever have and after years of resenting them for the things they did and didn’t do, I came to realize that regardless of who you are or who you become, you are human. We all are human and not one single person on this planet is perfect – not even ourselves.

Forgiveness is crucial.

Prior to this realization, I wanted to be the definition of perfect. The perfect daughter, the perfect friend, the perfect student, the perfect version of what I believed deserved a life better than what I had been given. On my search for this version of perfection, that I had created in my own head, I gravitated toward others like myself. People who too wanted to love and be loved unconditionally because of the lives they had been given. When you don’t know where to search, you find ways to bury what you know. As a pre-teen I used to cut myself – not with the hope of committing suicide – but because I had no other way of release…until I had access to drugs, alcohol, sex and toxic friendships.

My favorite poison of choice? Percocets and boys.

Reflecting back to my two previous posts “Raw Like an Open Flesh Wound” and “The Rock and Tide Part 1” I was a glutton for madness. I had the opportunity to open my eyes to my demons and I chose to keep running from them.

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