In this life we will all experience many things. Not saying that we all will experience everything someone else will. I often talk to different people who have their own “story” to tell, I guess in a unconcious way of explaining the reason as to why they are in the current place they are in.
My motto has always been, “you don’t own the patent nor the license on pain and suffering. You might rent them for a while but you won’t every own them nor really reap any benefits from having them Cause everyone has their own story and they tell it just the way the want to”.
I was a young girl, who was left in the care of a man while my mother worked who decided that I should no longer have my innocence. Little did he know that another man had already beat him to it. I guess monsters think alike. It went on for a while, probably 2 years or so before my grandmother made my mother leave me in Georgia.
Now, my story isn’t really that much different from a lot of women and some men too. Perhaps different scenarios, some more brutal than mine. My monsters felt like they were “preparing” me for the real world when I would one day become a woman. I say this because they often told me that my beauty and my “special place” was my only asset for a man when I grew up. They were just “training” me on how to be a good woman. Bitterly I laugh out loud at this thinking. Twisted, filthy thinking.
Now, forward years later to a 36-year-old woman. A woman who hates the touch of tweed. A woman, who sometimes when certain smells touch her nose, her eyes water and a memory flashes in her mind. A woman who daily has to remind herself that she is more than an outside shell but someone who is loveable even with her flaws.
Now, I don’t have a pity party nor do I use my story to justify any wrongs that I have or may do. I do not sit and give my experiences power over me in respect to how I am with the opposite sex. My story is like your story, my friend. Different characters, scenes and so on. But nevertheless actually the same.
Someone might ask why I tell my story so candidly. Well, I never want someone to have a pity party and think that they are alone. It happened. Will you allow it to control you, your thinking, your life?
Take your story, share it if you have to but know that it’s yours and everyone else have their own as well.