I get to fill in the pieces

Someone told me that I get to fill in the missing pieces.  I get to fill in my own narrative of the things and pieces that don't fit, or the things that I just don't know in my story.  

WHAT ?  Really ? I can do that ?

 That is pretty Freeing. 

And that is also really terrifying!! 

 Because my whole life, I was not believed, I was told that I was asking for attention. I was told I was the chubby unpopular kid who would want to do that to me ?

That is one of those things that is said that a person can never ever forget.

I have been questioned and questioned some more and even questioned more.

I was not believed when there were things I didn't remember, I was not believed when I wasn't able to even verbalize the things that had happened to me. 

I was not believed when I was so dead inside there were no more tears left.

There are parts and pieces of my history that are blurry, that I don't remember.  

Plain and simple there are pieces of my story that I literally have no memory of at all.

I hate that, and at the same time I am learning that I don't remember for a reason and that has to be ok.

There are parts of my story that I remember everything, down to shades of a color , the 

smell of cologne and even sounds and sensations that I experienced. 

Somewhere in my head along this journey I believed that if I could not remember every single detail and answer every single question then there was something wrong with me.

Even the parts that I was able to tell, it never seemed to be enough for anyone. 

Nothing was bad enough, serious enough or big enough.

There was always more questions, but not the kind of questions that happen when a person cares and wants to understand. The kind of questions that tear at who a person is. 

The kind of questions like : Well how long was he there ? 

And I can't answer that question I didn't look at a clock, I didn't have a timer but For my mind and soul it felt like he was there a very long time.  It felt like eternity and seconds all at the same time. I don't know because while he was hurting me, I was worried about what would happen if my parents came home, what if my brother came home

what if what if what if..

what if someone tried to stop them; what if someone came to help 

My thoughts were on the cold floor, my thoughts were looking for any kind of escape. My mind was everywhere except on that cold floor being raped. I wanted nothing more than to focus on any thing other than what was happening to me and how long he had been on top of me.

Then the response : Well sex doesn't take that long which was accompanied with a laugh, and her swinging her foot . Looking around at the others looking for some kind of approval at the question she just asked.

I felt completely stupid, like that was something that I should have known.

That interaction will always hurt my heart, So I fear filling in the pieces I don't remember because I don't want anyone to ever think I am just looking for attention, or wanting sympathy because nothing is further from the truth. 

I wanted to be held, told it was ok and that none of those things were ever ever my fault.

Sometimes there are big pieces that, I don't have a clue about.  

There are big pieces that my mind just couldn't hold, or did hold on but buried them into some kind of abyss.

So as freeing as it is to think that I can create my own narrative, I am afraid that I won't be believed, that I will once again be called a liar. That the things I do remember will be a joke.

There are things till this day have never made it out of my mouth. 

I am grateful to have my art journals, they are my expression of so many things that I can't say. 

Someday I do hope that I can stand tall and say those things and not feel ashamed,

not feel like I am an awful gross and disgusting despicable person because of others actions. 

Someday Someday. 

There are many pieces that surround that 13 year old, that I can't place or make sense of.

There are some really big pieces that I just don't understand. 

There was just so much, that I either don't know or don't have any recollection of.

I have parts but not a complete picture.

I don't think that many people can understand how very frustrating that is. 

Things that happened to my body my soul but  there aren't even any words for.

Someday, I want to be brave, and just for once speak the things that I have never been able to 

just to get them out, Just so they can see the light of day.

Sometimes I want to get them out as words just for the fact that they are taking up too much space in my heart.  If I could just give them some light, just speak the truth  just be brave enough to let myself speak the words and feel it. 

If I could just share my story the parts I do remember, and the others that I struggle with. The parts of my story that I need help finding words for; With no judgement or doubt, no fear of what others will think. 

I just want the pieces that I am able to fill in to be ok.  I want the parts that I do have to be respected and honored,  I want the pieces that I struggle with to be heard and helped.  And I want the pieces beyond words, the things that I can only find a picture for to be seen and spoken about. Help me find the words to heal.

So I am going to take from this, that I get to fill in my story with pieces that make sense to me.  I get to write the parts of my story that will make me feel whole and heard. 

 I heart your heart