Confusing Change

I'm confused. I have a thing here, with some followers, readers every day, and a bit of my heart and soul offered up to the world to read. But this blog is closed off from each and every public aspect of myself in the flesh. This is my cyber flesh, I guess. The me that exists in a room in the physical mind of Rae rarely gets to inhabit the flesh that is The Body. Rae is not her real name. The Sarah that writes this blog and incorporates the thoughts of Rae and Amanda and Spider-Man and Prowler is only as public as this blog and my facebook page. Rae, she's public. She's a teacher, a friend, has a family, lives in the community....has a facebook page full of people that have seen her actual physical body. Rae has a blog now, with one reader. I'd like to devote my energy to writing with her, there, and become a part of the world in a more tangible way. I'd like my thoughts and feelings to weave themselves into the prose that gets typed out in a place that has a gmail that is attached to the Body that is in the public. I don't know why.

I'm afraid of this change. It makes me vulnerable. It makes all of us vulnerable. But I've learned that it is in vulnerability that we are connected and I. Want. To. Connect. 

So I may not write a lot here. And the blog that Rae writes, well, you have to be invited to read it. So I'm confused because to connect I have to invite people to read my new blog, but I'm terrified to invite anyone other than the one person I've invited. 

If you want to read my new blog, send me an email at sarahsmithetal@gmail.com.  

Flashing

Flashing? Not like showing my naked body. More like showing you my naked mind. Also as in "flashback" I guess, but I'm not even sure. I just know it happened..... like this.....

He was petting the dog on my lap and his hand brushed my breast. I became upset, compounded, because it's stupid to get upset over my husband's hand brusing over my breast. Upset as I was, I went to my room to relax. I cried instead, and he didn't know so he went out to the garage to do man stuff. My brain kept saying "He touched me, then left. He touched me, then left." I argued with the intense feelings of molestation followed by abandonment, but feelings sometimes cannot be argued with. My mouth began to scream. Up from my chest came the sounds, animal-like, expressing the sadness and fear and confusion. As much as I tried to argue with those fucking feelings, they kept on coming and the argument only added additional confusion. In the middle of being lost in time and space and emotion and logic I saw clearly that what happened back then stripped me of a normal sexuality, stripped me of a normal marriage, stripped me of a normal emotional life. Sadness and fear and confusion multiplied. One part of my brain understood what was happening and another part was screaming from being raped and another part was kicking the shit out myself mentally for not getting a grip and another part was grieving for paradise lost. Lost. I got lost in the screams. I needed to pee and I was terrified of getting up out of my bed in my own fucking home to go pee because I wasn't sure I was in my home. My brain told me I was safe. It also explained that indeed I was touched without permission by a man who was supposed to love me and then that man left. That happened. When I was little and today. No amount of argument could stop the screaming and no amount of argument could get my entire self to understand that it was seriously no big deal today, not like it was a big fucking deal when I was little. I couldn't separate the two, not totally, like the two experiences shared neural pathways, crossed wires, black on red when it's supposed to be black on black and red on red and BOOM! the brain explodes in firey fucked up-ness.