I’m feeling a bit out of sorts today. It’s one of those days when everything seems to swirl about and take me down in some sort of magnetic spiral. I feel like the sum total of the bad stuff in me outweighs the good by a great amount.
There are two sides of me– the person who functions in day-to-day life with a rewritten, relatively average history and the person whose family lineage traces back hundreds of years in what is quite possibly the most evil cult in the world. Those two lives don’t often mix. I wear a mask that protects me by distancing acquaintances from the SRA in my past. It gets heavy, though, and sometimes I just want to throw it away. In the past few years, I *have* dropped the mask a bit more than usual, and it’s caused negative repercussions in my life every single time.
Latelty, though, I’ve remembered why I need to keep people at more of an arm’s length. I’d become a bit more trusting. I’d given people a glimpse at my emotions and my faults. I thought that perhaps I’d come to a point in my life where being guarded all the time wasn’t as necessary. As it turns out, though, given my history and the leadership role I was to take, staying distant and on guard should be lifelong.
New people who come into my life will never hear about SRA. For the most part, they’ll not know about my childhood trauma at all. I *knew* being more open about what is behind my mask was a bad idea, but I did it anyway. It’s hard to trust, and it’s hard to let people get close. For SRA survivors, though, sometimes it’s safest not to let people in that far. I’m so fortunate, as I wrote a couple of posts ago, to have wonderful people in my life who know my background well but love me anyway. That circle isn’t likely to grow soon. I’ve been reminded quite recently of the reason I built that mask in the first place.