MY UN-BECOMING

laura black
Nov 1 · 3 min read

I am 4. And so. Very. Angry.
Confused.
Frustrated.

What is happening?
Why?
Yelling.
Hitting.
So scared.

Is there some pattern?
Is it me?
How can I be better?

I can’t communicate my feelings.
I pound tiny little girl fists on the ground in a tantrum.
I want to run away.
Mommy and sister help me pack.
They laugh as I cry.

I am 6. I beat up my Poohbear.
I scream at him.
His eyes fall off.
His neck breaks open and stuffing is bleeding onto the floor.
Mommy stitches the wound closed.

I’m 10. I throw hot chocolate on my sister who taunts me. Who despises me.
It hits my grandma.
I run.

I take dirty fingers and wipe them on the wall.
Who did this?
I lie. But it feels good.
I want them to hurt just like I do.

So. Very. Angry.

How can I control it? Make it stop. Find a pattern.
Change whatever I am doing.

I am 12 and I am in the grip of my mother’s drunk claw.
It’s during the day. Yelling at me.
Wont stop. Her slap brings blood.
I punch her in the gut and run.

I am. So. Very. Scared.Confused. Lonely. And ANGRY.

There is a hand in my long hair, throwing me into the house.
My date’s eyes bulge and he freezes staring at my alcoholic father.
And me now on the ground gagging on tears.
The boy tells everyone the next day at school.
I am 14 and I wish to die.
That would teach them.

At 16, I want to kill my father. Literally kill him.
He disgusts me.
He is naked and drunk. Again.
He opens my bedroom door at midnight.
Just like when I was 9.
I pray, dear God, No.
And somehow he turns and leaves in a stupor.

He falls down and cuts open his arm that night.
There IS a God.

I am 20
I never come home after college.
I think I am free but the joke is on me.
I am not free. I have stuffed down the rage. Sadness. Fear.

I marry and replay all the stories.
Abuse feels comfortable.
It lets me play the Victim. And the Warrior.
I yell and scream.
I am so angry. So. Very. Angry.
I am. So. Sad. So. Very. Sad.
It’s exhausting.

I hit 40 and it hits me back.
Time to deal with it all.
My body rejects what my life has told it.

I am sick. I feel like I could die.
My heart won’t stop pounding.
I can’t sleep. I start to disappear.

I hit bottom. Find loving souls to save me.
Begin my spiritual quest that has been tapping my shoulder for so long.

But still. So. Very. _______ (Insert: Sad, lonely, angry, afraid, tired, numb)

Somehow, I hide this all from everyone. I work. I am successful.
I am a cut-up. I give my heart to so many. But I am a shell.

I’m 53. A child in a grownup body.

I think I am healed. I have read books. So. Many. Books.
I do TaiChi. Yoga. Meditation.

But NO. I have still not let go.

I quit my job. I quit it all. I start to truly feel and listen.
To things I have not wanted to hear. Have not been ready to hear.
That I am love and light and Divine.
That it is time to forgive myself and others.
Perceived threats that were just illusions.

Dear Child of All that Is, you are a healer.
You are here to heal and help others find their way.
The path has been meandering but now the purpose seems clear.

I cry and feel. Release the rage inside.
My chest heaves. The back of my heart burns.
My throat tightens up.
My jaw clenches.

I pray the Ho’oponopono. Over. And over.
I am sorry.
I forgive you.
Thank you.
I love you.

Then, sweet tiny releases.
I am un-becoming all that I never really was and returning to Truth.
It IS time.

Excavating your life

At some point we all begin to search for the answers to those existential questions: Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose? I’m there now and hoping to help others through my own experiences and insights.

laura black

Written by

Searching for that “something more” by being present, tuned in, open and creative. I love writing, marketing & helping make the world a better place.

Excavating your life

At some point we all begin to search for the answers to those existential questions: Who am I? Why am I here? What is my purpose? I’m there now and hoping to help others through my own experiences and insights.

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