Trauma Doesn't Make You Stronger

 I think I was around twelve years old when I started to fear the shower. I remember taking showers when there was nobody home but me and our cat, just how scared I was of my surroundings. It didn't make any sense to me back then; I was home, and home was a safe place for me. But it's like that didn't matter at all, the environment was irrelevant. It was the shower itself that bothered me. This was a time in my childhood when I started experiencing a variety of irrational fears of the unknown, supernatural things and stuff like that. For years, I attributed that fear to one particular virtually interactive manhwa short story I came across on the internet. There's no doubt that that terrifying story of body horror and unnatural sounds of the human body being crushed did scare the living shit out of me. But it wasn't the end-all-be-all that I had always thought that it was. Because I had an epiphany. showers 2. They were always staring at me. Always analyzing every ...

 I never understood why it mattered to them so much. If they truly hated being there just as much as I did, why did they spend all that energy on worrying about things that didn't involve them in any way? If they wanted to get out of there as much as I did, why did they choose to linger around and steal glances any more than was absolutely necessary or appropriate?  Granted, I have come to realize that the way these kinds of people think and operate is completely outside of the realm of my understanding or comprehension. It's like their wave length is so far beyond my reach that it is futile for me to even try to reach that frequency. But that doesn't stop me from trying, because the reasons for their actions always seem to be so obvious to everyone else – everyone who wasn't even involved in the situation. So why am I struggling so much to understand even a smidgen of it? But my inability to understand is not a new thing. These things baffled me back then, and even to...

  Why else would they say those kinds of things? It's all just envy, don't worry about it! You're way ahead of them, that's why they comment on your body like that. Just don't pay them any mind, they don't deserve your attention anyway. People always try to find a justification for sexual harassment. They find ways to play it off as something that doesn't really matter as much as you feel it violating your entire being. That it's just them joking around, they don't actually feel that way about you. Especially if they're of the same gender as you are, because that would be gay! And gay people don't exist here! Now, thinking back on those moments, I can say with certainty that at least one of my Friends was a closeted queer girl. She was being so obnoxious about it, it kept going on for years. I mean come on, there is no reason for another girl to be staring at your boobs enough to be able to determine their cup size – unless the gayness is in...

 When I go back to those years, those days, those moments, a paralyzing sensation of dread sets over me. It makes me feel violated all over again, and in a lot of ways, I think I am just now truly experiencing the horrible emotions those events caused within me, because I just wasn't aware of any of it. I just didn't know what it even was that I was facing, and why years and years after, I felt uncomfortable and scared around other girls.  As a Kid, social cues were never my strongest asset. I remember my mom telling me that the only reason why I wasn't allowed to go to elementary a year earlier was my complete lack of social skills. I had the intellect, curiosity, and motivation to learn, and those factors would have granted me a position of advantage – if only my intellect had extended over to understanding social norms and how to interact with other kids. But it didn't, and there is a reason for it. A reason I would have to pay a price too huge for me to ever afford ...

 Gym dressing rooms. They were probably the single place in the entire school building that I was the most scared of. I remember entering the hallway on the basement floor that led to the dressing rooms, and the soul-crushing dread and fear that settled deep into my being. It wasn't just in my gut, it was everywhere; in my head, in my heart, arms, legs. Every inch of my body was screaming at me to not go there, but I knew I had no other choice.  Because no matter what I did – went to PE class or skipped it – I would be punished for it. The punishment was always a bit different, but one thing I did know: I would much rather take the gym dressing rooms than the wrath of that monster of a PE teacher I had back in elementary. But it was all the same; it was agonizing whatever I did. And every time I had to go to those rooms deep in the basement, I knew what I had for coming. It is definitely fascinating how little a child's brain is able to comprehend of the traumatic things the ...