Clickity Clack Goes The Keyboard

I am still finding my best writing time is at night. Especially when the dogs are off to bed, the cats are more or less settled, and things are in a sense quiet.  It is not necessarily the quiet that makes it easier to write. I think it is a dormant habit. It is how I started out writing what seems like forever ago. Only then, I would write until say two or three in the morning.  I think I still could do that if I let myself.

I have managed to "catch up" and get back on track. I had planned to maybe even get ahead this weekend, but instead I tried catching up on some shows.  I figured if during the day is not my prime writing time, I might as well watch some of my shows.  But I still wrote and that is what counts. As of yesterday, I was only short 300 or so words.  I am still trying to figure out character names and how this all connects together. The other thing I am wondering is how I get from this story line to my original story idea.  I guess it is all just more plot fodder.

I was thinking yesterday though about the story that I do not tell.  And why I do not tell it.  My story, not my fiction one but the one about me.  As I have been thinking on it, I am coming to the idea that it is perhaps fear.  Yep, there's that word again.  I am still afraid of putting it into words. I am still afraid of saying it out loud. I am afraid of what others will say.  I am afraid that their are those that will say I am a liar.

I know, I know. It is my story, it is my truth and that I should just tell it as it is true to me.
I guess in some ways, I am still looking for that approval from some people.
I guess I am still looking for the acknowledgement that yes, that did happen. Validation, maybe?
I would like it without judgement or the assumption that I am seeking attention.
Then there is the whole feeling of people judging you and accusing you of airing dirty laundry.

Why did so many things have to be kept hush hush or swept under the rug or locked in the closet?
Where were those that should have stepped up or stepped in and say that is not right, stop that?
Why did people turn a blind eye and act like they did not know anything was wrong?

It probably does not even matter anymore now.  I will never have the answers I want in this life time.
But, sometimes an "I believe you" would be nice.

I can still remember how when I was trying to seek help, even if just advice from certain people and all I got was silence. All I got was the feeling like I was not believed and that was making it up. Attention seeking, being dramatic, all in my head. 

I have found more support and acceptance from people I never met and only know online via blogs or the "Book of Faces".  And if say something on FB, I feel like I am being judged with the "oh there she goes with that bull shit again."  That I am some how a "broken record".

Little by little, things are falling away and I feel like I have been in a sense  released from certain things.  The thing is though, these are things that I remember happening to me. So that makes them my truths. If you do not remember them that way, that does not make my experience any less real or any less valid.

So maybe for now, I will write the things as I remember them just for me. And see what healing I can get from facing them  in my writing.  Childhood trauma is a bitch.  Domestic Violence, in any form,
is a bitch.  I may never recover, but I can working on healing on day at a time.