It’s not much, but here’s a little piece of me.
And to be clear: the post from yesterday is not a true life account of things between my father and me.
Dreams are often metaphors of our real lives and that therapy office and the relationships I thought I had with those male figures represent the space of this blog and the trust I have in all of you not to hurt me as I expose everything to you.
I’d like to think that my critic, Jiminy Cricket/Sonofabitch, didn’t mean to hurt me or make this space feel unsafe to me, but that has been the result. Even exposing my body today or for Boobday is a struggle.
fighting to be here, but it’s difficult knowing that whatever weakness I have in my walls of defense (that allowed my identity to become known) is still there — waiting to be found again — and maybe this time by a less benevolent individual.
I feel trapped, but I’m working my way out of it. I promise. Please bear with me.