I wanted to grow

I sat diagonal from my therapist on a large, worn, dull couch. She sat in a small, padded chair. Her stomach swollen with life, she asked me if I was happy. In dreadful habit I spat out “Yes.” She asked me if life were all I dreamt it would be. I could not answer though, for I feared what response might pass my lips. She just continued on with questions. Am I who I want to be? Have I ever loved another soul? I gazed into nothing for quite sometime. She thought I was searching for an answer, but I was not. I was just staring into nothing, more or less thoughtless .Her lips continued on. I watched words form yet I heard nothing for I was lost deep inside my mind. The lights went out as my vision faded, out of mist like smoke, hazy clips of childhood memories formed.1

I wanted to grow up and marry my big brother, but he just sighed and tried to explain why I couldn’t. I didn’t care though. I still had it etched into my mind that we would marry. My elder sister laughed and went on playing, [she’s gone and married with a son, my brother not long after, moved as well. I see him from time to time.] Everything and nothing mattered then. What happened to those days? I used to play for hours in lands unknown made of trees and bushes all lying in my backyard. When I moved to Russia I quickly adapted to the surroundings. I miss those days, catching frogs and chasing mice as if I were a cat or snake. We even had a garden there not too far from the dank, square well. It was filled with fish but I’d imagine much more. I’d pick berries and go on hunts for butterflies deep within a jungle of grass and wild flowers, my dog the mighty Tiger at my side. 2

My time was far past up that night when the therapist had to shake me. I reluctantly snapped back to that small room where paintings rested against the walls still not hung though unpacked days ago. She asked what of my bad memories [, at no extra charge I might add], but I didn’t want to remember those memories. Of days and nights when I’d hide inside the bathroom or crawl beneath a bed, or the times I’d sit in the corner and cry holding my knees to my chest while rocking myself to sleep, my dog the mighty Tiger almost always by my side. The day my world corrupted or perhaps the bloodied nose, or maybe even the days I almost died so many times. Of the things I saw and new, the things that almost killed me. I found myself telling her of when I got sick, the years and years that passed as my syndrome weakened me, and I even told her of the terrors that kept me up in sickening unconsciousness. I talked almost two hours after the end of my appointment. I would have continued unknowingly if I didn’t hear my mother knocking. I left that night with weight lifted from my heart. When I returned for my next visit she asked of my darkest secret. All I said was “I locked it away so long ago, I’m afraid I can’t quite remember, nor honestly do I want to. I promised myself I would never shutter nor cry nor feel ill over this vile secret ever again. I will take this to my grave, even if it’s the cause of my death. My lips will never tell the tale of my darkest heavy burden.” She told me I’ll never move on and be happy until I let it all go. I answered saying “I did let it go. In my own way, see, I made a promise to myself and I have every intention to keep it.” 3

Though I find it striking my heart and filling my mind, more so now, than ever before. I suppose I should let it go, but I can never quite bring myself to say it out loud. If I ever did, it would tare apart what little life and family I have left. For now, I’ll bury myself in newfound memories, the good and bad. After all, one cannot exist without the other. I actually find it quite nice to be able to remember my childhood that has so long been forgotten. 4