It's Lonely Here

There is a room I go to in my mind. It's a room filled with shoes. There are all kinds of shoes. They are all my shoes. 

I see the shoes that never seemed to fit when I was a child. They were the shoes that showed others I was poor and prompted their cruel taunts. 

I see the shoes I wore when I ran away from home. 

I see the shoes I wore when I walked hours and hours in freezing weather with no where to go. I remember stopping in a sunny patch on the sidewalk and removing those shoes so that I could try to rub some warmth into my feet. 

I see the shoes that were thrown beside the bed as I lost my virginity to rape.

 I see my dancing shoes that I wore to clubs, dancing away all worries and fears until exhaustion took me over.

 I see the shoes I wore when I ran from the guys that would again take away another shard of innocence. 

I see the shoes I had on the first time I decided to fight back against the beatings my husband was giving me. 

I see the shoes I wore when I went to bury a baby murdered. 

 I see the shoes the battered women's shelter gave me when I came in, as I had none on my feet. 

I see the shoes I wore my first day to college. 

I see the blue booties I wore while delivering my children. 

I see the slippers I wore at my wedding and the shoes I wore at my best friends funeral. 

I see the shoes I wore when depressed and the shoes I wore when believing for miracles. 

I see the shoes I wore when I was high and drunk.

I see the shoes I wore during the murder trial. 

I see the shoes I wore as I ran to my friend who had just shot himself.  

I see the shoes I wore while getting clean. 

I see the shoes I wore when I was diagnosed with chronic health issues. 

I see the shoes I wore when I discovered my children have Autism. 

I see shoes and shoes and shoes and more shoes. 

There are so many and I can't help but wonder.....could one person really have worn so many shoes in their lifetime? 

I am saddened to know the answer is yes. I don't know if the shoes I've worn have ever helped another. I talk often of my life's experiences in the hope that maybe someone else won't have to experience what I have gone through. I know that, due to the many shoes I have worn, there are many who will talk to me when they refuse to talk to anyone else. I know that the many shoes I have worn have opened my eyes. I have removed the blinders and can see so much more than before. The shoes I've worn have walked away any judgements. The shoes I've worn have opened my heart to others. The shoes I've worn have helped me to see the world for how scary, how cruel, how heartbreaking it can truly be. 

I've worn enough shoes that rarely do I hear someone say, "You've never walked in my shoes" and I'm unable to see the shoes we both shared. 

With all the shoes in the room, there is a dark lonely corner. It is the corner I find myself in when I need to talk about so many pairs of shoes. It's the corner where I sit and weep with loneliness. It's the corner where, surrounded by shoes, I realize there is no one else that has worn all my shoes. It's the moments when the quantity of my shoes, and all they mean, seek to devour me. It's at that time when I realize that I don't have anyone to talk to about all my shoes. I have people I can talk to about this pair of shoes. I have people I can talk to about that pair of shoes. Yet, I haven't met anyone with as many shoes as I have. I've spent years letting others know they aren't alone and I want to find a room filled with as many shoes as mine. I want that one person to look at me and tell me they understand. 

I had a flashback today. I'm 11 years out. 11 years and 1 day out. And I had a flashback. I always think I've reached a point where the flashbacks will be over and gone with. After so many months of not having one, I think I'm in the clear. But, in the most tense times.......times of stress when I already feel I can't handle anything else........a trigger comes. With that trigger I am sent spiraling backwards to a time over a decade ago. I can see the vein popping out of his head as he moves towards me, fists clenched to his side, face red from screaming. I can feel the moisture on my face from his breath as he puts his face against my own. I can feel the tension in his chest and arms as they begin to push against me. I am there and the present disappears. 

I've heard in these times, it's "flight or fight". I spent to many years "flighting" and now, without meaning to, I go into "fight" mode. I am terrified. I am scared. I must survive and will do whatever it takes to do so. It's late 1999/early 2000 again, and my life and the lives of my children are in danger. I've forgotten where I truly am and who it is around me. I just must survive.

With the flashback over, I am fragile. I feel as if I'm a shattered glass held closely together by happenstance. The slightest wind, or cough, or step will send the shattered glass crumbling to the floor. I am raw....my emotions have rushed to the surface. I am vulnerable. I am weak. I cry out in heartache and despair. I am angry at myself for letting something that happened so very long ago sneak up and haunt me again. 

"They" say that time heals all wounds. I think I've been misinterpreting that wrong for many years. I don't think all wounds can heal. I think that some wounds will continue to haunt us until the day we day. Yet, I believe that one day, my wounds will heal. Not only will they heal, all scars will disappear and there will be no memory of the shoes I was forced to wear. I'll look in that room and see happy shoes. There will be only light filled corners and no darkness at all. 

 I look forward to that day. For now, I'm going to sit in my dark corner, surrounded by my shoes, and cry out for comfort and mercy.