As a storyteller who has words that demand to be written and shared, I’ve always been pained by the reality that I come from a family where the older generation of women prefer to keep their truths hidden from me. It also doesn’t help that I’ve always felt a sense of entitlement to all that they’ve cemented down in the darkest confines of their hearts for safe keeping.
I know this is a requirement of the shame they feel for all the secret chapters of their stories. It is to protect themselves from judgement or the possibility of awaking a monstrous scar they’d rather pretend doesn’t exist than set free to cause more damage than it might be worth.
Healing might seem like the ideal place that every human being should strive for but we can’t ignore that it’s also the hardest thing to do. I don’t know how many times, I’ve resented knowing, diagnosing and being aware of myself in the way that I am.
I’ve ached for a kind of ignorance that refuses to dig beyond the shallow surface, to not yearn for deeper understanding and to just stop peeling away until I am bleeding and too raw. Sometimes I hate the responsibility that comes with an ‘enlightened’ understanding and seemingly always having the appetite for more and more answers.
I’ve wished to bury myself under super spiritualism, never insisting on coming back up for air, to not have broken free from my confined box of blindness to my real truth. I still envy those who live there in bliss without a curiosity for more.
I’ve had to teach myself to stop needing answers from those who choke and resist, I’ve had to hold back even when I feel I am owed a little more that I’m getting. I quietly sail ahead looking back with a burning nostalgia that refuses to be quietened down until all its gaps are filled.
Maybe it’s all a lie, the truth does not really set us free. Instead I’ve witnessed it imprisoning us to needing others to see the world as we see it. The truth opens us up to accusing and holding people accountable for the damage they’ve done.
Honestly, the truth can be quite exhausting and too many times, I’ve felt more like its victim than its victor. I want to unknow too, to live without seeking for the knowledge that makes others uncomfortable and defensive, all in the quest of better piecing myself together. To not have to define things in a way that leaves me sore. The truth seems to be a bottomless pit, and today I say ‘good riddance for all that is kept from me.’
Photo By: Zishapp
Has the truth ever set you free? Has the truth ever burdened you? What do you wish you could unknow?