My past is part of who I am, in much the same way that my limbs are part of me, but much more like a limb that is missing. It is part of my identity like my name and lineage. But it is something that has always been hidden or camouflaged. It is uncouth to talk about. I talk about it and it makes people terribly uncomfortable.
My past is a wound. My past is partially resolved at best. I have wrestled and struggled with past my whole life. I struggle with anger and rage. I make people terribly uncomfortable.
Despite my best efforts, I have not ever had many friends, and those friends don't get very close. The more people get to know me, the more they tend to become distant till there is no connection. I have been told countless times that I am too intense.
Part of my struggle with identity is the result of rejecting the identity that I feel, the identity that others have given me or projected onto me. I have come to a point in which I will not allow anyone else to determine my identity. What I believe or know is often in conflict with what I feel. Sometimes what I feel overpowers what I know or believe. Others have wounded me, they altered what I believe about myself. I have wounded myself. I have done wrong, done bad things to good people. Forgiveness is hard. Forgiving myself is hardest.
What do I do with this other part of myself? I am the child that was not wanted. I am a scared little boy who has not completely gotten over the loss of my mother or being abandoned by my father. I am the child that was sexually assaulted over and over. I am the bed wetter. I am the kid that all the others laughed at. I am the kid that was beaten and humiliated. Is it possible to stop being these things. These things can not ever be undone. I do not ever stop feeling these things, remembering these things, reliving these things. These wounds keep getting reopened. How do I move past this?
My first spouse started cheating on me three months into the marriage. My second spouse was unable and unwilling to accept me, love me, or value me. I only ever disappointed her. My children either can not or will not forgive me for ending that marriage.
For the last four years I have not been able to hold a job for more than four months.
There is a pattern here and I am the common denominator. Logic insists there is something wrong with me.
I have not claimed innocence or perfection. But I don't know how to fix myself. I don't know where to find the answers.
There is not much anyone can do for me. There are not many interested in trying. Me, my story, are things best avoided.
