The contrast. The red berries on the snow. That is me right now. The red staining the white. For days I've been having good days. Good on the outside, that is. I've been spending time with my family, outside in the warm sun, being well. But the inside of me is torn in two. The contrast between the inside and the out is outstanding. Like night and day. Like oil and water. Like blood and snow. Okay I just made that last one up, but it sounds good to me.

Ahem. The point. Yes, there is one. I don't understand why I'm so messed up on the inside, and yet so incapable of expressing that on the outside. I laugh and I smile and I use sarcasm, bc really, who am I without sarcasm? But the tears don't flow. The pain stays locked up inside. Maybe it's bc it's all I've ever known. Maybe because I've locked that particular pain away for so long I'm having a hard time expressing it now. I don't know. It's hard to deal with. But then so much on this road is. I feel lost and alone. Maybe that's why I'm compelled to write here on my blog even though I don't really have anything to write. This blog is like therapy for me. It's one of the only places/times that I can be completely honest and focus on the things going on in my head. And maybe that's what I'm craving right now. I'm have this intense desire to connect to the pain right now. I think mostly it's just so that I can know that it's real. It's taken so long for me to get to this point, the point where I can acknowledge this as my life. Yes, I was abused. I was molested. That little girl was me. End of story. I think that's what I need right now. I'm tired of shoving it down. Maybe that's why I'm so compelled to write here. Even when I feel like I can't compose a coherent sentance at all, I feel compelled to come here. I somehow feel connected here. Validated. Real. I feel closer to God here. I think maybe it's because when I am writing, my thoughts are semi focused. I know what I'm trying to say. I can't really get distracted, which is something I struggle very hard with. When I'm here, I'm just writing. Just letting my fingers dance across the keyboard, allowing my brain to say what it needs to, no matter how little sense it really makes.

So I smile. I laugh with my kids, and take pictures of their silly faces. I kiss my husband and we spend hours listening to music and working on a project together. And on the inside, I feel like I'm bleeding to death. Maybe this is normal. Maybe this is the normal in my life. I can't completely stop life to deal with this. I know that. I can't just curl up in bed and stay there, no matter how badly I want to. I have to keep living. I have to keep going. But the pain rages on, on the inside. It screams and it tears and it's real. Maybe someday I will be able to smile and laugh, and that be the real me. Maybe someday there won't be some hidden life inside of me. Maybe for once in my life, what you see will be what you get. But for now my tears come out as giggles, and my pain only shows if you really know my eyes. The contrast remains. And so does God. The faithful. And here I am, once again before you,