Carlina: Those coping mechanisms

The past few days have been such an emotional rollarcoaster. Yes, those again.

I saw the therapist on Thursday evening and she struck something inside of me that hasn't really even been jolted before.
I hadn't realized until I was reflected on the things she said how my feelings were thrown to the wayside and invalidated when I was going through an indescribably difficult physical and emotional battle, in addition to just being a teenager.
My family, my friends, my doctors, and even my first therapist all told me that I was overreacting, being melodramatic, a pestilent child. That I was too upset and shouldn't be so angry...

One should always consider how impressionable a child's feelings and coping skills are at 15. How vulnerable that time is, regardless of personal hardships. It's not fair to be told to stop feeling so much when you're coming to terms which the knowledge that you have an incurable disease and your family was horrible to you for years.
I should have been consoled. I should have been encouraged to grieve over the inevitable loss of my childhood. I should have been expected to feel so much.

But it wasn't. I was forced into silence. I was pushed away like nothing had happened. It all was swept under a magnificent rug, who would possibly see the ugliness underneath it?

If you tell someone something over and over again, they will, after awhile, begin to believe it themselves. Revolt against any internal dialog that might contradict it.

The magnitude of what occurred over years of my life hasn't, until very recently been realized. I've pushed it so far down, into the corners of my mind for so long it became my normal.

My own aversion over an sort of affection has confused me for years. Why haven't I found consolice in another human being? But the answer was there all along, it's really quite obvious isn't it?
Nothing has been resolved. I've been spinning my wheels, trying to fix all the external forces around me, trying to approximate exactly who or what was causing such numbness inside me. I didn't even know. I have no idea I was so numb.So cold. So disjointed.

No one really understands me but I think that's because I don't understand myself. Sure I can project confidence, a air of happiness. Shoulder back, light in your eyes, a swing in your hips, a crooked smirk tugging at the corners of your mouth. Baby, I can tease you. But it's not true. No not at all.

Those coping mechanisms that have been surgically implanted are truly fucking up my entire life.

But it's not my fault. I've been blaming myself for far too long. Fuck that. I can't do it anymore. The scratch on my wrist, the need for narcotics, the pain of having to eat, the terrible whispers on my left shoulder tell me I can make it all go away. Stop it. Stop it all. I didn't ask for any this. I was just a child. How can you blame me? I have a right to feel something, dammit. Who are you to tell me otherwise?