Unpacking My Self

(This story is based around the experience of losing my personality because of abuse at a young age. It's something I'm processing in EMDR.)

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who wanted to be invisible. Being noticed by her dad was too painful, so she found a gunny sack and walked over to her shelf. She took down her sparkle and put it in the bag. She took big smiles and laughter down too. She tucked away her voice, her rhythm, her bounce and her fun. 

"There," she said, "Nobody will touch them. They're safe," and pulled the strings tight.

When they'd been put away a while, she had a hard time remembering what was in that bag or where it was. Even after her dad was long gone, she didn't get her things back out. Just in case. 

The girl grew up and wore herself out trying to be someone else, someone less easily hurt. One afternoon she looked out her tired eyes and saw her mom across her kitchen table. Very gently, her mom said, "I remember how big you used to smile. No one's ever gotten so excited about how a fly felt crawling on your arm..." Her mamma kept talking and it was like she was handing over the old gunny sack. 

The girl took it gingerly and loosened the strings. She peaked inside. 

Then she pulled her things out, one by one, feeling each and trying to remember how they'd belonged to her. She decided she wanted them back. 

She walked to her shelf and dusted it off. She put laughter and sparkle next to each other. She kept adding until the bag was empty. 

When people came over, they saw her shelf and it made them smile. Eventually, she threw the bag away, knowing she wouldn't need it anymore. Being out in the open was safe. 

She would never have to pack herself away, or become invisible again. 

She was herself, so she was home.