This will not transform itself to go into the story, no matter how many times I sift it, no matter how many facets I carve into it, or angles I observe it from.
There are some wounds that are too fresh to be made into fiction. They have to heal somewhat before they can be molded into a new thing that can give healing to others.
So hopefully, if I write it here, I will neutralize the thing that still brings me to tears, and burns my heart with the searing brand “betrayal.”
Truth is the current – currency? – I swim in. It’s my medium. I don’t mean “The” truth (If such a thing even exists)-
I mean my truth. Honesty. A bit raw, sometimes.
I had a group of friends here in Southern California that were the only safe place I had , in a town where I felt backstabbed everywhere I went. Judged. Criticized. My ex partner made sure of that. But more of that later; it’s another story.
I felt accepted, “as is,”with these friends.
I was myself with them – completely.
I expanded. I had one place, one slice of time, where I didn’t have to stifle my spirit. Or so I thought.
I am grateful the illusion lasted as long as it did,
Because they had no idea how much that was a lifeline to me,
The idea that somewhere there were people who accepted me as I am and wanted me around –
It got me through years of grudging “Christian charity,” holidays in a home where I was NOT welcome and not wanted, where everything I said and did was sifted through a filter of disdain,
where I was called “emotionally unstable,”
“Negative” and fragile.
Of course I was fragile. I had no home, I had no one, and the one person I thought I had , the person I had moved for, attacked my self worth and poisoned me subtly over a long period of time.
So overhearing these friends continue what seemed like a long-term perception and criticism with “consider the source,”
Killed something in me.
Listen: you can win love back. But trust is fragile, and once broken, there’s no going back to the pure, beautiful thing that you had.
I still love these friends. I accept them as they are. I always did.
I do not trust the ones I heard backstabbing me, at a time when I was so shattered, it was a wonder I was spending time with people at all.
They clearly didn’t know the value of my time spent with them.
They clearly didn’t know the value of my trust.
Perhaps they didn’t lose anything they ever really valued at all.
“Consider the source” are three words that, when used in a disparaging manner to throw doubt on my word and my truth, are the worst possible thing anyone could show me.
That’s what it is: it sheds no light on who I am- it just shows me who someone is. How they choose to perceive me, and what they subsequently deserve of my words, truth, time, and heart, in order of my own personal value system.
My word is the most valuable thing I have to give.
More valuable than my heart.
Growing up with a narcissist who told all the kids in highschool that I was crazy and that my word was a joke, scarred me for life. Before I could even go to highschool, and be judged on my own actions or choices, my older brother had created a hell for me.
Anyone who slights my word now shows me that they’re a person who doesn’t deserve me.
It hurts. It hurts deeply to see it.
And I force my eyes to look, even though it burns.
I choose my companions more carefully now, after throwing myself away for years, diving in the trash bin of people who told me I had no value.
I savor alone – so those who deserve my time and trust, need to be better than alone, and that’s a high bar.
(Once again: raw and unedited. I just needed to get these words OUT, so I can un-stick the fiction. These words were causing a traffic jam. Thank you for reading and receiving them.)