Now that I have created this anthology I wanted to reblog this now that you all have more context.
Don’t Let the Bastards Grind You Down (nolite te bastardes carborundorum)
The Handmaid’s Tale, Margaret Atwood
Eyes front. Don’t flinch. You demanded compliance. Yet, you were met with my quiet defiance. Not a word spoken—I always remained silent For fear of what might transpire. Quiet still but even then—Your fists lit me on fire. Move faster. Don’t second guess. Your commanding presence Today—evanescence. Ssh, be quiet. Don’t rock the boat. He will not hesitate to grab you by the throat. Tell me again they did their best. Tell me again they were just putting me to the test. Hear me now when I say You don’t want to know what happened to me every day.
You are right. I don’t really want to know. It’s painful, sad and unimaginable. But on the other hand, if you need to write about it, I’ll share your pain and read everything you lived through.
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I appreciate you coming along on this journey with me! It was like I explained to a fellow blogger:
The way I figure—if I have the courage to tell the story that is within me it becomes MORE than mere memory, MORE than just a painful history, a representation of the little girl I used to be. I could keep it inside and I could hide, as I have my whole life. Instead, I’ll tell it because when you tell your story, whatever it may be, it becomes something different to you and to me.
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I understand the need to tell your story. It helps you free yourself from the fear and guilt of a horrible past, and move on to a brighter future.
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YES! EXACTLY! It may be emotional taxing but it is cathartic. And if along the way, through this process, I can help someone else, even if it’s just 1 person and I never know—it’ll all be worth it!
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I’m sure you will help many people. Those deep dark secrets of abuse seem all too common, but rarely articulated.
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Thanks for the encouragement! It helps keep me motivated to continue writing!
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“You don’t want to know what happened to me every day”.
Just every bit you ache to lift out from your soul.
Every bit that lingers and stings.
Every bit that you still know.
Because it’s you.
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Oh, John! I’m so touched by your words. I can’t tell you how much they mean to me. I can’t articulate how they speak to my heart and my soul. It’s too deep, too wide to put into words and thank you seems insufficient.
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