I'm scared it really is just all my fault, always has been, still is, and will never, ever change, because I won't make it. I'm not strong enough and evolution demands my demise. The One who is stronger and wiser and is so full of love and grace and peace for me seems so impossibly far away. Why would He want to have anything to do with me anyway? The damage feels so fundamental; not something that was done to me, over and over, but just something I am, by definition, from the moment I existed and couldn't be cherished for some reason...a container for refuse.
And rather than feel sorry for myself, I just feel guilty for being so ungenerous. It couldn't have been as bad as I feel like it was. And I was bad, because I put them in the impossible position of trying to care for something unlovable, unworthy; of having to pretend it wasn't trash; having to hold their nose and try not to wretch.
And then I get to hear, over and over, how I'm lying about how bad it was, because of course there was good too. And unless the bad happened every moment of every day, my wounds are unjustified, so they must be imagined.
So, those are my alternatives right now, it feels. Either I am not even human, not deserving of the love and protection I had the audacity to aspire to...or every bit of my pain is just some fantastic lie I've made up and I am a human, after all, but of the more despicable variety.
I don't want to live in this body, in this skin anymore. It doesn't fit. Only looking at my beautiful daughter reminds me that I can't be trash...there is no way something so amazing could have come into the world through trash, right?