Very young and ashamed, certain of only one thing: you are undeserving. Set apart, you don’t belong to that great, ordered world. Your childhood is encamped in a carefully constructed jungle of crap. You learn to hide.
You are not as important as the things that occupy your space. You are not tended to, bathed and primped. Your bed is piled, disheveled and your sheets not clean. You are ashamed of your home, yourself, and sometimes your family. You often read pity or disdain in the adult faces that assess you. And you watch your mom try so hard for their approval, knowing that she doesn’t receive what she so badly wants and needs. And they become “them”.
Neighborhood kids giggle and weave in and out of houses with open doors. But not your house. And not you. Guests are not invited in. Your home is different and you know it. Everybody knows it. You crouch beneath the window to avoid detection when visitors come calling. Church ladies and lodge ladies with their prying eyes and casserole dishes hoping to catch a glimpse of just ‘what is really going on in there?’ Sometimes you crack open the door. They ask, “Are you moving? Are you cleaning and sorting?” You are a child and you tell the truth. “No.”
It follows you. You are grown now and can still suffocate under a thick, overwhelming blanket of shame. You cast it off and come up for air yet somehow, when your guard is down, it settles in again.
via Daily Prompt – Overwhelming