Not the introduction I intended...

I am uncertain as to why I decided on this platform, or any for that matter, to share my story. This past year, since I first conjured the words, I have had this urge to share with those outside of my immediate family. After all these years, I have no idea why I feel this way as I have never sensed this until now… Maybe it’s due to my fear of losing the chance to share my story the way I want to, or maybe it’s because I have a sneaking suspicion that if I finally open myself up and share my vulnerability with the world then I will be liberated from the duty of sole carrier. I am taking this chance to finally lift the weight of twelve years of internalisation off of my shoulders.

Every day, I am slowly sinking further into the quicksand that is my past and the chronic impact I may allow it to hold over my life. Over my future. It is small enough to go unnoticed but significant enough for me to comprehend the devastation it has created. I feel stuck. I feel lost. I feel alone. No, I am not suffering from some consequential mental state that must be addressed… I am just experiencing the awakening of three years of trauma from a time once lost. Memories that I have ignored for twelve years. Memories that I don’t want to be mine.

Believe me when I say that I was somewhat okay when keeping this to myself. One may even say I was content. Nobody had any idea at all. I had my own back. But if there is anything that I have learned over time, it is this: as much as I know I can handle this on my own, I have a strong support network around me that I can lean on when needed. That time is now. This does not make me weak or precious or needy. Just human. I am human.

It still seems impossible to truly open myself up and verbalise what I am currently experiencing or what I went through. I do not wish to relive those suppressed memories, but the more prevalent feeling is the potential disappointment I will cause those I love. I think what I am truly struggling with is living with myself when they know. I won’t know how to act. How to speak. How to be.

I know that doing this will not heal me the way I need to be healed. But until the day comes when I share my story in person with whoever I choose, I have found this form of self-expression that will be my emotional outlet when I need it. It’s a foreign feeling to be typing this now. I have contemplated the many pros and cons to doing this. I have attempted and re-attempted to start, feeling lost every time I do so. It's like the worst case of writer’s block… but it doesn’t feel wrong. I am yet to find the words, but I am beginning to retake control of my life and stop ignoring the repercussions of my experience. I just want to be me. Just plain old me.

People get so tired of asking you what's wrong and you've run out of nothings to tell them. You've tried and they've tried, but the words just turn to ashes every time they try to leave your mouth.

They start as fire in the pit of your stomach but come out as a puff of smoke.

You are not you anymore. And you don't know how to fix this.

The worst part is... you don't even know how to try.

- Nikita Gill

Seeking freedom.

From the girl you’d least expect.