by Angela Anonymous

Created on: July 21, 2009

Memories coming back that I didn't want to see. And yet my very survival depends on me not only seeing ,but practically reliving all of the pain those memories caused. Pain, that sits inside you and eats away on every part of your life. Pain that hardens you and makes each touch, each whispered ''I love you'' every good feeling you ever have burn your insides alive like an acid. Pain that makes your mind continually go over and over in circles questioning everything positive in your life. Pain that makes you push away any decent person you may meet. Pain.

I have never understood those who like pain. The ones who cut themselves, or hurt themselves just to feel. With all of the pain I have had I have wished, even begged to stop feeling, but it just didn't come. I think just the opposite happened to me. I think, perhaps, I feel too much. When I am happy, the whole world seems to sing along with me and if I meet anyone along the way who isn't happy, I have to bring them to where I am, take away their pain if I can, and see them happy too. But when I am sad, hurt, in pain, storm clouds seem to settle wherever I am and a dark dreadful downpour shadows everything I do.

So why can I write so vividly about how this feels, and yet I cannot seem to find any way to express where it came from? I think maybe the answer is simple. To describe the feeling is easy. To explain the source is to relive it. All of it, even the parts I refuse to feel anymore. Even the parts I refuse to remember. Even the parts I remember but refuse to admit to myself. It is also perhaps a matter of trust. I am afraid to put on paper some of the things I was a apart of. No matter whether I wanted it or not, I am ashamed, of what I did, of what I was made to do, of what was done to me, of how much I allowed to be done. Everyone would., of course tell me that it isn't my fault. That I was a victim.....GOD how I hate that word, ''victim''.

Having lived with this pain so long, I tended to find abusers, users who used this Pain, used what they learned while I trusted them, used what I shared from my past. They made themselves out to be heroes, while gaining more and more information which they used to torture my mind, to control, to manipulate, to re-open wounds and turn me into their puppet. To blindly follow was so much easier than to feel the pain, and so ..I did. I keep asking myself over and over,'How did they get in my head like this? How did they ever get me to that point?' As much as I go over

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