Clandestine Confessions

There is this sweatshirt in my closet.

About three times too big for my body.

I did that intentionally.

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My one ex hated it. I mean despised it.

Told me just how much every time I wore it.

“You cannot keep covering up with this. How will you live out the butterfly effect if you will not let yourself be seen?”

“Stop playing small. You have so much potential to grow.”

“You live so afraid to acknowledge your own skin. The more you ignore it the louder the fear is going to become.”

I type those out and wonder if I got this ending all wrong with him…

Until I re-hear those statements.

Paper paints them pretty.

Reality reveals their true colors.

The aggression. The frustration. The deprecation.

I know his intentions were always good, catering to my healing – but the delivery was generally quite detrimental.

The angry approach never providing a home in which I felt safe to surrender.

He wanted to fix me, but his hammer shattered me instead.

It wasn’t as much me running to the arms of another immediately after the breakup as it was me running from another.

Keep that in mind…

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The great irony of it all is this sweatshirt was a gift from someone – this tool in which I hid given to me by another ex who kept me hidden.

The one who promised “I will always see you” the eraser of my presence.

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It was my uniform for the latter half of March.

After returning to Virginia….

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I needed to not be noticed.

I needed to know no eyes would be on my body.

I needed to have no sight of the skin I was in.

I needed to not be wanted.

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I was just getting adjusted to being content in this body, still trepidatiously navigating my existence in it.

To own it myself a fear I still coveted.

A fear he knew all too well – he watched it play out for decades.

And it became one he would use to his advantage.

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Because I never had to claim it if he did first.

This body was now “his”.

A reminder I was given with every no I spoke.

“Come on. I am your safe place, remember? You said you trust me. You said you trust my eyes. My opinion is the only one that matters.”

And so, I obeyed, gave him what he wanted, surrendered my rights to him under the guise of “safety”.

But I can assure you a cavalier with a cause of selfish gain is no hero at all.

For the knight, called to defend the fortress he built, would eventually become the enemy to tear it down.

Without much effort – deception builds decrepit walls.

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I wasn’t saved. I was shamed.

I wasn’t protected. I was punished.

I wasn’t healed. I was harmed.

I didn’t consent. I was coerced.

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Beautiful no longer felt like a compliment but a manipulation.

Words lose their worth when used as a weapon for control.

My heart conditioned to see the best in people in denial this was real life.

Stubbornly pursuing a delusion.

Kept blinded with false promises – settling to stay “his” for another day with the impression each day would be THE one. Each sacrifice would be THE one. Each instantaneous answered demand would be THE one. That I would be the one…and only…

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It went against what I hold so sacred – truth.

I was told to lie.

I was living a lie.

I became a lie…

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You saw the happy face.

The Instastory videos in my car giving advice on how to be alive.

While I was slowly dying.

I didn’t know it at the time – the damage that was being done.

Hindsight precedes the wisdom.

But hindsight proceeds the pain.

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The longer I was claimed to be wanted with no intention to be kept, the more used I felt.

The more used I felt, the more repulsed I was by my own skin.

The more repulsed I was, the more I covered up.

The more I covered up, the more shame I felt.

The more shame I felt, the more I self-destructed.

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And my body was my pain’s canvas….