Che Doanya – outside the lines

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So afraid to admit it
So ashamed you could see it
All the scars that you can’t hide
Need the pain for the healing
I was glad it was over
I have an open persona
Just raise my head high
Then I strike like a cobra

Now I know why you’re bleeding
Everytime that you see me
I’m a face in your flashback
That you thought you deleted
Well you can’t take the hurt back
When you stayed through the first act
A new face with the same eyes
And I want you to know that

I know all your secrets
I know why you’re keeping
In the dark, lay your scape, waiting for the day
That you might have to meet them

I know all your secrets
Lock them up and keep them
And I know, you’re afraid, oh there’ll come a day
When you might have to meet them
Face your shame
Shame
Shame

You should stay for the feature
Should you pay for the feature?
Wanna act on the main stage
But you’re hiding in the bleachers
Strange thing about the first act
That it’s all gotta come back
I’m the man with the same eyes
So I hate when you fight back

I know all your secrets
I know why you’re keeping
In the dark, lay your scape, waiting for the day
That you might have to meet them

I know all your secrets
Lock them up and keep them
And I know, you’re afraid, oh there’ll come a day
When you might have to meet them

Face your shame
Shame
Shame
Shame

What you don’t know now
You might never see
And what you can’t see now
You might never believe
What you don’t know now
You might never see
And what you can’t see now
You might never believe
Never believe

I know all your secrets
Shame
Shame
Shame
Secrets
I know why you’re keeping
I know all your secrets
Some day you might meet them

~Tribe Society

Tribe Society: Secrets on YouTube

Sister, my sister,
once my closest friend
We’ve parted ways
Played different roles
We arrived at different ends

Don’t think for a minute
You got away unscathed

I know of your secrets
The shame you hide inside
The child you were lies deeper
but she’s not been left behind

She stays hidden in the shadows
In dark recesses of your mind
She screams and cries from the darkness
You can’t stand her in your sight

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A letter to my sister

So, as children we were forced to be the audience for our parent’s adult emotions.

I bet your children are told they need to be more like you

Controlled, righteous, prayerful, submissive, obedient, tough,

don’t cry (or you’ll be given something to cry about), wipe those tears, move on, get over it,

I bet the standards you’ve set for yourself are ridiculously high and you are forever berating yourself and forgiving yourself because you are, after all, just a lowly sinner, born wicked and unworthy and you’ve done all the right things, or have tried to do the right things…

How many times have you rededicated your life to your “christ”? And still feel unworthy inside, even though you are supposed to feel clean and washed by blood, (don’t you ever wonder about the blood magic??? Prolly not).

I watched a video of a therapist describing how some people respond to trauma by tending toward or to be:

• Adverse to emotions in others
• Dismissive and judgemental about emotional displays in others
• Judgemental about attempts by others to seek emotional connection
• Seem to have it together emotionally on the outside
• Tough acting with a sense of moral superiority, “you should be more like me and let go, move on, it’s in the past, it’s over, it can’t be changed now, why bother talking about it”
• May not have emotionally rich relationships with others
• Was likely forced to be an audience for a parent’s adult emotions and
• Therefore likely adverse to providing empathic support

So, I, of course, had to relay this info to you… you know, because you left so abruptly the other day, and there was so much left unsaid…

Besides, you told me how busy you were, that you weren’t going to respond to my messages, or answer any of my questions (the socratic method is easier for me – less charged when I can write and take my time) I have been asking questions, the same questions I’ve been wrestling with myself, on your facebook posts, in recorded video messages to you in marco polo, by text…

I mostly try to write to you to help me better understand our past, our relationship, the impact of our shared trauma and how that trauma plays out in our lives… what do we share in common and where do we differ in our trauma responses?

I mostly try to write to you to help me better understand our past, our relationship, the impact of our shared trauma and how that trauma plays out in our lives… what do we share in common and where do we differ in our trauma responses?

So, I have been writing to you in these blog posts, some of which may or may not ever be read by another human… and show the world, and myselves, all my selves… how I think, what I think and why and assessing whether it’s helpful or harmful and whether that help is available to / for others and whether the harm is impacting myself and/or others… because fuck that, I don’t want to hurt, and I don’t want to cause another to hurt… fuck, unless I’m feeling a bit salty about something or other, then, yes, I do have a desire to inflict pain or distress or discomfort? I don’t know and not ready to unpack all that.

This goes against so many unspoken rules and expectations: keep up w/ the jones, appearances matter, don’t air dirty laundry in public, keep the crazy behind closed doors, don’t talk, don’t trust, don’t feel, as long as we look like the good family, our shit don’t stink. (by the way, it fucking does too…. When ya dumping the tank of shit from the RV… it fucking stinks… don’t tell me to act like it’s roses…)

And if you are going to share…a story, make sure everyone looks new and shiny, flawless, good enough… but don’t put anything in writing… don’t post your personal information (like the ugly ways we act out) on the internet… don’t let them know, don’t let them see how I’m different, because different is wrong… fuck that … I’m not the only one, I’m not alone, I’m not broken

And if you are going to share…a story, make sure everyone looks new and shiny, flawless, good enough… but don’t put anything in writing… don’t post your personal information (like the ugly ways we act out) on the internet… don’t let them know, don’t let them see how I’m different, because different is wrong… fuck that … I’m not the only one, I’m not alone, I’m not broken and all your fucking prayers for your narc abusive god to break me, drive me to my knees, drive me to need again… that shit right there is fucked up… nothing fails like prayer – fortunately enough for me in this case.

So, I sent some of the above bullet points to you, not really expecting a response, but it appears I might have struck a nerve, because you finally asked,… asked??

You: Show some respect and stop trying to fix me! If I want your help I will ask for it. Thank you and no need to respond to that.

Ooh? the part about informing me that I had no need to respond …well, that just sounds like a challenge…

Yes, of course, I responded… we are siblings, niblings, whatever, we are…we once were friends and my friend is still stuck inside you getting traumatized and retraumatized by your Harold-self and then you inflict that trauma on those around you, … while you pat yourself on the back for your good deeds and your even better intentions.

Yes, of course, I responded… we are siblings, niblings, whatever, we are…we once were friends and my friend is still stuck inside you getting traumatized and retraumatized by your Harold-self and then you inflict that trauma on those around you, … while you pat yourself on the back for your good deeds and your even better intentions.

Remember that time on Jefferson, I was sitting at the vanity and you were in the stairwell, poking my ankle through the railing while calling me “bitch” with each poke of your pointy finger and I was trying to ignore you, let it slide, leave it alone, you kept on and on and on and I snapped, stood up and slammed the hairbrush down towards your face?

We used to do this shit to each other when we were forced to ride in the back seat together on those long drives… you would slide over the middle arbitrary line into my space, my side, my territory and you’d punch my arm…and each time you punched my arm, I would punch you back harder, which always made you mad, so you’d then try to simply touch me with a featherlite fingertip, and I’d punch back with more force…and you’d whine or cry or tattle… we are two years apart and we were close once when we had a common enemy.

Today, what do we have in common?
Genealogy of some sort…
DNA donors?
we love? the same people,
come from the same people
A traumatic past…
A religious past…

When I appeared more like you, when I tried to be what they said I was supposed to be,

You know, straight, cisgenderish.. baptist… married, a mother, a professional in a corporate setting, able-bodied, neurotypical appearance… then all was well – I could be included in the family circle.

When I appeared more like you, when I tried to be what they said I was supposed to be, You know, straight, cisgenderish.. baptist… married, a mother, a professional in a corporate setting, able-bodied, neurotypical appearance… then all was well – I could be included in the family circle.

When I departed the fold by:
Moving in w/ grandma
Rejecting Baptist doctrine/dogma/authority
Divorced my husband and came out as lesbian
Allowed my son’s father to sue me for custody and while you may not have known, cared or agreed, my own lawyer advised me that if I try to contest the custody agreement offered by him I risk losing access to the “generous” visitation he was going to allow…

I was too scared of my own anger and abuse history … I was terrified I wouldn’t be able to keep from hurting my children…so their father agreed to share custody, but filed for sole custody.

I couldn’t deal with all the stuff that happened to me around the same time along about age 25.

I was trying to get sober in AA, which is a whole other trauma-producing cult
While grieving – while existing without effective coping strategies – without self-medicating, without proper psychological or psychiatric trauma informed care
While also trying to return to college and finish that Associate of Arts degree
While walking around with a killer in my head, fighting to take the wheel and drive us into an abutment on the way home
While trying to learn how to date as a lesbian – while it was still illegal and shameful and secret

YEARS before gay marriage was legalized

The internalized homophobia nearly killed me and there was a fuckton of shame to work out of my system, to counter in my head and not allow it to cripple me or kill me in the process.

So, I also started therapy and a five year odyssey of abusive trauma bonded fuckery with another traumatized fucker and we fucking triggered each other and continually retraumatized ourselves and each other until we finally managed to pull that mess apart which was like pulling apart taffy….just stretchy bendy lack of even wishywashy boundaries…addicted to self-help books and fixing myself and each other

So, why do I care and why do I try?

Because I know what we survived.

I know of your secrets…

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Tribe Society: Secrets on YouTube

I don’t own the rights to the music, the lyrics copied here and used here as a springboard for my prose.

~Che Doanya – outside the lines