breathe you fucking pig. where are you going? you’re going nowhere. enjoy your fucking meal. JESUS christ close your mouth. did you just- was that a slurping noise? im so close to sticking this fork in your eye. where were you raised? who raised you? motherfucker, who raised you? BREATHE. look at you, shoving all that food inside your mouth, you can barely chew. you disgust me. you actually, truly, disgust me. you’re disgusting. worthless. absolutely worthless. ahaha nice nice all that food in just one sweep bc apparently if you dont put an absurd ammount of food at time in your mouth it will grow legs and walk away. i hope you choke. i hope you choke and you have to struggle twice as hard bc your mouth is so full, you greedy pig. stop clicking your tongue. close your mouth. look at that! you’re drinking but you still have food in your mouth, i can see little pieces of it getting in your cup and floating, along with a greasy layer because it didnt mix with the liquid. you’re gross. you don’t deserve to live. you filthy piece of shit. are you- MOTHERFUCKER, are you laughing with your mouth full? great now you’re coughing bc you choked mid-laugh, you piece of shit! dont cough on the table, stop! i can see pieces of food stuck in your teeth and you- oh great now push the cough down with your drink that has pieces of food in it. i hate you so much. i wish i was never born so i didnt have to live through this
My mother once told me that trauma is like Lord of the Rings. You go through this crazy, life-altering thing that almost kills you (like say having to drop the one ring into Mount Doom), and that thing by definition cannot possibly be understood by someone who hasn’t gone through it. They can sympathize sure, but they’ll never really know, and more than likely they’ll expect you to move on from the thing fairly quickly. And they can’t be blamed, people are just like that, but that’s not how it works.
Some lucky people are like Sam. They can go straight home, get married, have a whole bunch of curly headed Hobbit babies and pick up their gardening right where they left off, content to forget the whole thing and live out their days in peace. Lots of people however, are like Frodo, and they don’t come home the same person they were when they left, and everything is more horrible and more hard then it ever was before. The old wounds sting and the ghost of the weight of the one ring still weighs heavy on their minds, and they don’t fit in at home anymore, so they get on boats go sailing away to the Undying West to look for the sort of peace that can only come from within. Frodos can’t cope, and most of us are Frodos when we start out.
But if we move past the urge to hide or lash out, my mother always told me, we can become Pippin and Merry. They never ignored what had happened to them, but they were malleable and receptive to change. They became civic leaders and great storytellers; they we able to turn all that fear and anger and grief into narratives that others could delight in and learn from, and they used the skills they had learned in battle to protect their homeland. They were fortified by what had happened to them, they wore it like armor and used it to their advantage.
It is our trauma that turns us into guardians, my mother told me, it is suffering that strengthens our skin and softens our hearts, and if we learn to live with the ghosts of what had been done to us, we just may be able to save others from the same fate.