Some of us, find it easier and safer, to stay locked to the negative. They jettison the positive experiences so as not to corrupt their loyalty to the hurt. They stay true to the trauma. They erect their behaviours around that trauma, like memorials to the loss: the loss of innocence. The betrayal of trust.
They root their identities firmly in that trauma. They scar themselves with newer, fresher pains, to keep themselves from straying from their secret vows to the trauma.
They must never forget. To forget would be to betray. To forget would be to blaspheme the holy name of the pain.
They parade magic charms around to make sure they don’t forget to remember. They tattoo themselves with their loyalties to make sure they don’t forget to remember. They march defiantly, with banners and flags unfurled, and make sure everyone else knows the reality of their pain. These are the muffled cries of loss, expressed with rage and triumph. Everyone else must know. Everyone else must hear this.
But, all the stories matter, every single story. All our loaded words and ways; all of them matter. In some strange meaningless way.
