Shame has been a cloak that I have worn since childhood. Maybe it was the handful of bullies at school. Maybe it was wanting to be the good girl, but never being good enough. Maybe it was all in my mind. Not being able to put a finger on its source used to bother me.
Being a victim of shame became my norm.
In turn, I fed the ugly beast. Nobody is perfect. Everyone stumbles. Some of us stay down.
The lights of luminous fellow beings who are outgoing and outrageous, have always attracted me. Most of the time I pursue that light, only to fail miserably in my own eyes.
People who suffer from an extreme sense of shame are vulnerable to other people’s opinions. They can be led astray, finding themselves in almost otherworldly scenarios. Speaking from the heart, I have been there and done thattoo many times to mention.
Shame has left me crippled. Shame has rendered me vulnerable, and depression took over.
Shame that nested inside of me lashed out, wreaking havoc on those I loved the most.
Because of intense shame, I never pursued the perpetrator of the sexual assault, violent as it was. I let shame guide me into the school administration office and quit high school—better that than the alternative.
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