Soul Mosaic

Painting by author

While I couldn’t articulate the issues yet or name all the ghosts, I could feel them. They surrounded me, pressed up against me, shoved me down from above, and choked in my throat. They seemed to take up all the oxygen and all the space, until I finally felt like I couldn’t move.

If I tried to pull away or in, they just took up more space, leaving little for me. Who were the ghosts? Who was I anymore?

So I painted what they felt like. At least I could “see” how bad I felt. Their presence was like an emotional version of that stomach bug.

While I couldn’t express a coherent story of what was swirling around inside me, as I painted, a few loose words floated to the surface. At least that was a beginning:

Fear

Guilt

Questions

Phobias

Nightmares

Shame

Disgust

Anxiety

Flashbacks

Self-hate

Self-doubt

Longing

Rage

Ache

Abandonment

Loneliness

Depression

Memories

Impatience

Fury

Each was a thread, and they weighed a ton. I was tired and fed up with carrying them.

But to get them out would require the equivalent of throwing up…emotionally.

I didn’t want to run, but I didn’t want to throw up. Wasn’t there any other way?

This entry was posted on August 17, 2025 at 9:30 am and is filed under Memoir - sexual abuse trauma recovery. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.