clawing to stay in my shell.
I was dragged out. Humiliated. Shamed. Beaten. I crawled back in.
Over and over.
Now, it seems, the only way I expect love to come to me is through being dragged out while I fight, scream, and claw. I don’t seem to trust the intentions of anything else.
I don’t seem to be able to accept care or love in being left in my shell.
I feel paranoia around those that try to coax me. How do I know their true intentions? The intentions of my parents was clear. Why isn’t theirs?
I am very patient. Far more patient than anyone’s care, it would seem. Long before anyone can exercise enough kindness or trustworthy behavior, they lose patience with me. Just trust me! they say. When I don’t, they inevitably lose patience. Their kindness disappears. Their trustworthiness becomes a thing of the past. Or, they just go.
My friends called me Shelly when I was a kid. They were telling me.
I feel loss, and grief. Why? I stand, naked, outside my shell. I feel sadness. Curiosity that I do not feel fear. But, the sadness is so deep. The loss is great. I don’t know what I’ve lost, exactly. Not consciously, yet. Perhaps it is just that vulnerability allows me to access it easier.
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