This scar on my knee.

I have a scar on the side of my right knee. It's one of 2 physical scars that remind me of my childhood. I got it when we were living in Florida. Someone put a thick broken coffee mug into the trash can without telling anyone it was in there or putting it into a bag before putting it in there. So I didn’t know it was in there or to be more careful.  I took the trash out to the dumpster and put the bag down to wave hi to friend and I when I picked the bag back up the broken mug ripped through the skin on my leg. I can’t remember any pain until I looked down and was covered in blood. I ran back crying and my mom drove me to the ER. I don't recall a ton at the hospital, just that we waited a while and I felt like I was in and out of consciousness. I got a bunch of stitches and was told to return there or go to my pediatrician to have them removed in a few weeks. I think it was clear we were living in questionable conditions or maybe it was because my mom was too drunk to care to take me back. She took them out herself.  Too soon. She took them out with a pocket knife. And “sanitized” the entire procedure with vodka. So, this scar is pretty icky looking, it opened up and healed that way, exposed. It's very sensitive to the touch. Anything that touches it makes me feel icky and I just want to kick. Maybe it's a reminder of that time that bothers me, or maybe it's just the way it healed, exposed.

Today, while doing yoga I was doing a runners split stretch and this pain went up my leg and felt like the scar was gonna split wide open. And then, a flashback. Badass little Kristy was there. The little protector Kristy showed up and started screaming for everyone to back up and she as telling me it wasn't really happening and to just close my eyes because it was too scary.

And I just froze and cried.I am not supposed to do that. I am supposed to thank her for keeping me alive and safe and tell her I got it from here. I was supposed to be confident so she knew her job was over and she can go back to being a kid and it was my turn to keep us safe.

Later, as I was thinking about this flashback, I realized that I am also a mad at her. She stood up to my Mom and this man that was in house often. This man called me names. touched me, made me do things, and then he told me that the Easter Bunny, the Tooth Fairy and Santa Claus weren’t real and it was all my mom and I am an ungrateful little bitch. See. I am mad at her for making this man so angry at me and for hurting me.

I know, she didn’t deserve this, I know I didn’t deserve this. But I’ve been mad at her. I know it’s not her fault. I do, but there’s a place inside me that wishes she wasn’t so badass, wishes she disappeared into the background and was never seen again. I suppose that’s another Little Kristy I need to get to know. 

My therapist says I can't help heal her if I am angry with her. I need to love her. And I need to reassure her that I am here now. I can keep us safe. That even when bad things happen I can run, I can leave, I can yell. I can do whatever I need to stay safe, to escape danger.  And that I am in control.

That last paragraphs gets me every time. I forget how I can leave if I don't feel safe.  I am no longer stuck and forced to take it.

“She is at a crossroads: a child’s violent will to survive lodged in her chest where her heart should be, but an utter indifference along with it.” -  Lidia Yuknavitch

“Dissociation is the common response of children to repetitive, overwhelming trauma and holds the untenable knowledge out of awareness. The losses and the emotions engendered by the assaults on soul and body cannot, however be held indefinitely. In the absence of effective restorative experiences, the reactions to trauma will find expression. As the child gets older, he will turn the rage in upon himself or act it out on others, else it all will turn into madness.” 
― Judith Spencer