Angels Never Die

Angels never die, and
Children never lie,
But when the magic is destroyed
And the circle is broken--
Children betray our trust
And kill the angels.

I played a song this morning called "What Heaven Sees in You" and I began to cry uncontrollably. I wept for innocence lost, and for purity that may never be regained. Intellectually I realize that abuse can't take away purity, but in my heart I still feel defiled and unclean. The child I was can never be again. Innocence, trust, the child-like awe for all new things--that was ripped away. I actually don't remember being a child. In my memories I was always grown up; mature for my years. I don't remember laughing with abandon, or running off to play with no thought for anything beyond the moment. I'm sure I did do some of that, or at least appear to, but inside I was always tightly wound and hyper-aware that all emotions needed to be controlled carefully. I didn't know then why that was. When I was hurt, or sick, or sad I wrapped myself tightly in my own protective armour and withdrew to be alone. I knew somehow that that was how to deal with pain. I realize now that I learned that because when the abuse happened, although I was believed and protected from further abuse, I was never consoled or comforted. What happened was never explained, and I was left to sort out the experience with the limited resources available to a six-year-old. I was already an observant, aware and intelligent child, but as I processed the reactions of the adults around me I had no frame of reference and no way to know that their emotions were on my behalf and not because of what I had done. Though she tried to hide it, I knew my mom was upset, but instead of knowing that she was upset that she didn't protect me, I felt guilty because I assumed that she was annoyed that her evening out had been disrupted because of me. When no one acknowledged my pain, I assumed that what had happened must not have been as traumatic as I had felt at the time and so I learned not to trust how I felt and began to take my cues from others. This was a dreadful blow to my self-esteem because I could never please everyone all the time. Learning that, I withdrew myself socially and became introverted and painfully shy. Meeting new people, or going into unfamiliar situations was extremely draining and difficult for me. Inside, however, I was crying out for friends and attention. I wanted to be in the middle of things, but would not allow myself the freedom. I weep now for all the lost time, the lost experiences. I feel wasted, and I feel like it's too late to be the person I was inside. Like the Japanese women of old who wrapped their feet tightly to prevent them from growing because small feet were prized, my soul was wrapped tightly, and now when it is unwrapped it, like their feet, is misshapen and painful and ugly. Then only thing to do is keep it wrapped so no one can see the ugliness inside, and endure the pain caused by not allowing it to grow properly. I'm angry that an experience that lasted less than an hour could so completely overshadow my entire life. There is nothing that is not contaminated by what happened. Everything is a struggle. All the things I would like to be, or feel I could be in my mind are so unatainable because of the shackles placed on my soul by abuse. "They" say that healing is possible, but how do I reveal the twisted, ugly thing that has become my soul to the light? Even for a moment. The pretense seems easier, because I don't want to lose what I have fought so hard to gain. I don't want people (especially my husband and children) to see that ugliness I hide and be repulsed by it--I don't think I could bear the rejection. Even if that soul could be healed eventually and regain most of it's former beauty, how long would it take and what would I lose in the process? The truth is, I can't pretend forever, so eventually the choice will be taken away. The ugliness will rear it's head and I may lose those I love anyway.