Hey guys!

I hope everybody is doing well.

A few weeks ago just before I had done the lesson on the shadow, I was in a very weird place in my mind, somewhere between depression and nothingness. As my best expression is usually in writing, I started to write about what I was experiencing. I thought I'd share that particular writing here with you. Not sure why, but I feel a bit compelled to do so, for some reason.

Just so you understand the end of it, please know that my family has always called me Dawn, which is my middle name. It was a rather significant event to me when I decided, at age 16, to have everybody call me Kimberly instead. It could have been likened, in a manner, to the idea of putting away the things of youth.

Anyway, here is what I wrote:

"Alone, she hunches in the shadows of my mind. Snarling fiercely at me from her hiding place. She bears the very image of my youth, tiny pig tails and cut off shorts. But upon her features weighs the pain of my existance.

Rage, black as despair, and hate as strong as God Himself drapes around her like a cloak and infuses her with a blinding need to harm. She wishes only me to endure her vengeful wrath. She longs to see me suffer and wail and painfully lose every bit of myself. She wants to watch me die a slow and agonizing death.

Hate could not begin to describe the raw power of her feelings for me. She blames me, and I am guilty. She places at my feet the burden she has endured all these years because of me and she glares at me defiantly, as if to dare me to deny the role I played in her captivity, her torture.

Slithering from shade to shadow within my mind, she taunts me with the leash I lashed her with. She dangles the leather collar of my childish restraint before my eyes with contempt and loathing.

She defies me to excuse my actions, my inactions, by blaming them on those who caused my afflictions. Because she knows, as I know now, that it was always within my power to stop it. If I would have listened to my instincts instead of my trained mind, I would have spared her the hopless dread in which she lived every day of her life. But I was a child and had no understanding of my power. In fact, she was born as that understanding was stolen from me and buried deep beneath the mound of lies and refuse that was to be my bed.

She screams at me. Accuses me. She screeches out her hatred for the person that I am and declares that I am not fit to breathe. She lifts my hand and slams it into my head to prove her point or to carry out her will to do away with me. And I let her. I let her because I am guilty. I did not protect her. The innocent little girl who loved to dance and laugh.

She was the protector. She protected me. For all those years, she kept me safe, she took every cutting comment, every disgraceful action, every despicable thing that the others did to me, upon herself. She was strong for me when I could not be strong for myself. She endured it all out of love for me.

And now, her purpose fullfilled, she rails at me for release. She screams her frustration, says that she hates the person I am, but she means the person I was. The person I was unwittingly forced to become. I am no longer that helpless sheep she protected with her strength and honor. I am what she always wanted me to be, and thus I can now do her bidding and gently lay her to rest, thanking her with all my heart for all that she did for me. Goodbye Mistress Dawn."

"The innocent little girl who loved to dance and laugh." This really spoke to me. The whole thing did. Thanks so much for sharing this!

  Lovely, Kimberly. Abused children do this, they separate out a part of themselves to handle the abuse, and protect the rest of them... but it is like that Star Trek episode where Kirk gets ripped into two people: his gentle compassionate side, and his violent aggressive side. Separated, both sides were weak and he was dying.

 Healing comes not through the death of the violent instinctual aspect you split off, but in re-integrating the two sides. Dawn's wisdom, strength and honour are yours. Triple Goddess, maiden woman crone.

: Hey guys!

: I hope everybody is doing well.

: A few weeks ago just before I had done the lesson on the shadow, I was in a very weird place in my mind, somewhere between depression and nothingness. As my best expression is usually in writing, I started to write about what I was experiencing. I thought I'd share that particular writing here with you. Not sure why, but I feel a bit compelled to do so, for some reason.

: Just so you understand the end of it, please know that my family has always called me Dawn, which is my middle name. It was a rather significant event to me when I decided, at age 16, to have everybody call me Kimberly instead. It could have been likened, in a manner, to the idea of putting away the things of youth.

: Anyway, here is what I wrote:

: "Alone, she hunches in the shadows of my mind. Snarling fiercely at me from her hiding place. She bears the very image of my youth, tiny pig tails and cut off shorts. But upon her features weighs the pain of my existance.

: Rage, black as despair, and hate as strong as God Himself drapes around her like a cloak and infuses her with a blinding need to harm. She wishes only me to endure her vengeful wrath. She longs to see me suffer and wail and painfully lose every bit of myself. She wants to watch me die a slow and agonizing death.

: Hate could not begin to describe the raw power of her feelings for me. She blames me, and I am guilty. She places at my feet the burden she has endured all these years because of me and she glares at me defiantly, as if to dare me to deny the role I played in her captivity, her torture.

: Slithering from shade to shadow within my mind, she taunts me with the leash I lashed her with. She dangles the leather collar of my childish restraint before my eyes with contempt and loathing.

: She defies me to excuse my actions, my inactions, by blaming them on those who caused my afflictions. Because she knows, as I know now, that it was always within my power to stop it. If I would have listened to my instincts instead of my trained mind, I would have spared her the hopless dread in which she lived every day of her life. But I was a child and had no understanding of my power. In fact, she was born as that understanding was stolen from me and buried deep beneath the mound of lies and refuse that was to be my bed.

: She screams at me. Accuses me. She screeches out her hatred for the person that I am and declares that I am not fit to breathe. She lifts my hand and slams it into my head to prove her point or to carry out her will to do away with me. And I let her. I let her because I am guilty. I did not protect her. The innocent little girl who loved to dance and laugh.

: She was the protector. She protected me. For all those years, she kept me safe, she took every cutting comment, every disgraceful action, every despicable thing that the others did to me, upon herself. She was strong for me when I could not be strong for myself. She endured it all out of love for me.

: And now, her purpose fullfilled, she rails at me for release. She screams her frustration, says that she hates the person I am, but she means the person I was. The person I was unwittingly forced to become. I am no longer that helpless sheep she protected with her strength and honor. I am what she always wanted me to be, and thus I can now do her bidding and gently lay her to rest, thanking her with all my heart for all that she did for me. Goodbye Mistress Dawn."