25. All we are....

All we are is a silhouette beneath the shadows of their feet.

Today we lost our confidence. It fell into a deep well. We heard it bounce against hollow walls as it plummeted to the bottom. The dark cloud of depression came down on us, squashing us down like an insect beneath your foot.

We are in the throes of fear. Will these writings of ours succeed in telling our story the way we want them to or will we fail in some way? Climbing so deep Inside of us hurts to the core. It is still a painful, painful place to visit. Do we have to go through this again we ask. Do we have to remember one more time so more people can know what this is? And the fear you will discard our words, they will be nothing to you. They will not resonate any place inside of you, will not echo any similar feelings you may have about your life.

Do you know what it is to feel you are invisible? Do you know what it is to believe you do not matter? What you are, who you are, what you desire, where you want to go means nothing to anyone. Invisibility was the dark cloak we wore, black on the outside to blend in with the night.

But inside was red. Red, red, red with rage. Outrage. For somewhere inside us were those who believed we deserved more. We had heard ... somewhere... that all human beings deserved respect. All humans were allowed to dream and to pursue those dreams. So some of us held onto that, held it underneath the dark cloak of invisibility. And Julia (1) sat in the back of the car, gazing out at the telephone poles that swept by one by one by one. A rhythm for her quiet song. A song she whispered so softly under her breath “someday ... someday ... someday...”

It was her who held Tir’s (1) dreams and ambitions. Her who clasped Tir’s desire to be visible to her breast, next to her heart. It was her who wished us to be seen, wished us to be heard. Tir could not hold the wishes and dreams for her arms were too weak, her dreams too big and heavy.

So here and now we become so very visible. And it strikes such fear in us. What if we are shamed by this? What if we are judged for what we write? What if we can’t, don’t, won’t move you? What if we can’t touch you? During year after year of therapy we dreamed of words on pages that danced a dance so evocative, so heart rending, that would make people cry. We dreamed “someday ... someday ... someday”.

But today we lost our confidence. We tried to write about our internal world, about the levels we have created Inside. We wanted you to know how important this world is to us. But we became afraid that you would merely scoff at it. You would make that sound of disgust and contempt with your lips. What is this crap you would say. Some little girl’s fantasies is all it is. So self-indulgent.

Why is living sometimes so hard?