Repression.... what a strange and beautiful word, dark and binding yet freeing.
It offers you a clean slate, a new beginning. a chance to move on from whatever demons dance in your head and heart.
The thing is though, by it's very meaning, the word is a trap. To repress is to bury, to hide - hide from things you don't want to confront, to feel, to see, to know, to accept. You see, repression is a lie, and if you tell it to yourself long enough, it becomes your truth. " I didn't do that", "It wasn't me", "it didn't happen to me", and you move along life wearing your shiny new you. Never realizing it's not going to last, this faint patina of delusion that always fades.
In this universe, things have a funny way of not staying buried. What's hidden or lost is eventually found. Often not at the best of times. Instead, it's usually when you least expect it.
When it is found, that thing you buried....far away...in a deep dark distant place, that place you tried so hard to pretend wasn't there anymore.
what do you do then?
What do you do when it all comes crashing down? Those walls, that shield you so carefully crafted? Each shattering piece a stinging reminder of the parts of you that you didn't think existed. Not anymore at least.
What happens to an over stuffed box? It splits, cracks wide open and everything spills out. All at once. Everywhere. Your messy insides out there for everyone to pick at.
You break, again, maybe this time irreparably so.
Hopefully, you get to start over. Rebuild yourself from scratch. Something you probably should've done in the first place. Now, you have to tear everything down, dig it all up , look at every ugly broken crumpled thing up close and throw it all out.
Repression is a lie. An expired plan B with no guarantees. Don't do it.
Let it all out. All the nasty messy bits. Simmer in it. For as long as it takes. Then start washing it all off. Drop at a time, day at a time, till you're scrubbed clean. then move on and never look back.
Trust me.
I know.
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