January of 2017, I got a restraining order against my family and moved to a big city with no return address. The truth, when told too soon or to people who can’t handle it, can have rippling effects.
I moved a lot growing up, but spent a lot of my childhood/ teen years in this rural town called Spanaway, WA. My birth certificate only has my mother’s name on it. I do not know the other half of my DNA and I never bothered to ask. My mother married the guy I would call Dad when I was seven.
“Don’t tell so and so,” became the sound track of my adolescent years. I learned what was appropriate to talk about and what wasn’t. I was taught to lie about the truth before I even knew what I was doing.
But I had a crushing secret that was leaking out in ways I couldn’t control. Through my attitude and temper tantrums. Through small slip ups. Until eventually I started writing about my trauma in writing groups as far removed from my small town life as I could manage. Poetry and writing became my safe haven. Became the places I could tell my truth wholeheartedly, that is until my mother found out.
I wish I had known then, the effects opening my mouth would have. I was not ready for the aftermath, but I have learned that the truth has a way of coming out when you’re least prepared for it. This is my life, past the rippling effects. This is how I’ve chosen to rebuild everything off the truth.
Welcome to my world. All of the small intensities. All the truth that swam in my throat for years just begging to be set free.
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K
Swimming Pool of Metaphors 