Belly of the Beast

 

CW: Child abuse, Verbal abuse, Intense Imagery, Violence 

Holding my own hand these days, I walk on a yellow brick road, with my inner child. Except we have no destination, trying to savor the path itself. As I’ve been unpacking my subconscious habits, I recognize where I store all my “ugliness” like in a perfectly hidden corner deep inside my cranium. Except it's actually hiding in plain sight… I’m hiding in plain sight. When I was a kid experiencing a range of abuse, I learned how to hide defeat. I wouldn't allow them the satisfaction of knowing they won by instilling feelings of fear. By doing this, I gained a strong self-preservation reflex as a trauma response. And now, I find myself hurting others by reverting back to my own self preservation, my inner child forgetting that we've arrived to a future where we are safe now. I’ve been trying to just survive for so long, I forgot that I didn't need to anymore. Recognizing that I want this trauma at the forefront of a foundation I can learn to be vulnerable with, for myself and others. 

Unpacking how I was taught what love was versus learning about what love actually is, makes me have the strong desire to be known. I don’t want veils or curtains to draw back into parts of myself I keep hidden because they're ugly. Loving freely and without fear for me means to be authentically complex-alive with sensation.

This piece really came to be through my most recent interaction with my father. I sat down with him a couple months ago only to learn I had been outed to him. The following writing came to me in a strong passion to be authentically myself, to be in a fit of rage, but not of resentment, more of acceptance of this Trans body. I spent months deliberating if I wanted to share this publicly or altering it so it conveyed the perfect message. Only to come to realize it’s not for perfection, it's not for anyone, it's just my story.  ❦

I remember how ugly my lies were as a child when scamming and cheating served as my currency throughout 

Like escapism 

Lies so sweet they felt like relief, too close to the sun, burnt

he tells me he is dying, that my queerness is a cancer he can’t let take over him 

Im so selfish I cannot negotiate, I'm so twisted, I respect him, i hear him out, just to know that this part about me, I cannot change

He tells me he no longer finds his kid in me 

He tells me this is HIS biggest mistake

Im so selfish that his biggest mistake is the best thing to ever happen to me

I'm so ugly I forgive him 

I'm so burnt out, I am endlessly compassionate 

My pity and shame precede me like rotting roots , plaguing all my joyous memories as a child 

He tells me I am hideous 

I'm so ugly I got bruises and scars of ugly things masked as love

I'm so ugly, I’m skinned alive, layer by layer the bruises disappear, but the body remembers

This part about me, so ugly,

I flinch at rapid movements by strangers and lovers 

Flinching as a sort of time traveling, back to childhood (& teenage-hood) when I was not faster than his rage

I'm so ugly that when people raise their voice at me, I’m powerless, i am submissive, i am dismissive

This is how love was taught to me 

He tells me love was beating me as a kid (& teenager) to make sure I remember right from wrong

He tells me the world will want to take from me 

He doesn't know that I give, I give, I give, until I have nothing left for anyone to take from me 

We sit together not to see and be seen 

But i'm too proud

Of being this “ugly” and undesirable 

he can’t even look at me 

Im so selfish that I don’t care 

Im seeing him, I'm watching him, his body language is scared, he is a child wearing a large coat of thick adult skin in order to protect him from the evils of the world

I'm so illiterate I can’t find the words to deliver to him that would bring him liberation

In this moment of trauma, forgetting liberation takes a slow-burn like time that is mutually spent

I’m so whitewashed I can’t find the punjabi to deliver him my complex queer identity

I’m so stunted, I don't even know if they make words in punjabi to describe my kind of ugliness

All these languages, all these body parts and I still could not find one to connect to him with

Im so selfish I find power in looking him in the eye, that he HAS to stare into my soul and find my ugly truth

That I am not ashamed

I remember characters like Elektra from “Pose”  in the scene where she meets her mother and gracefully takes up space with her rage and realness….. and power 

But Elektra does not care to haunt 

But i feel the unfinished business with my own demons 

As I relive my memories, I watch myself tug and rot with the abuse that felt good and escaped and ran when it didn’t 

With each part of my existence I have severed ties to their heart and stabbed them in the back 

Im so selfish I became used to this backstabbing 

I’m so burnt out, 

I’ve become used to defeat

I'm so ugly I hug him before I leave ❧

I don’t know where life and love will lead me next, but it will be a conscious decision, it will be a thoughtful blossoming. I no longer crave enmeshment or escapism, because I give myself the life I deserve. I recognize the power I have to give myself the joy and life I was denied for so long.

I allow myself to be “ugly” without the need to be perfect.

I allow myself to be “selfish” without the need to self-preserve. 

I allow myself to contain multitudes and to see myself with compassion as well as see my family with compassion. 

“To be a monster is to be a hybrid signal, a lighthouse: both shelter and warning at once.” 

- Ocean Vuong