Real TALK: Come to TALK. Let it burn.

Real TALK: Come to TALK. Let it burn.

Real TALK: Come to TALK. Let it burn. 1400 1000 TALK Hong Kong
Real TALK is our series of articles from fellow survivors of sexual abuse / assault covering topics that might be helpful to you. What we aim for here isn’t perfection but some good practical advice based on real experiences here in Hong Kong. If you have suggestion to add, please email us on info@talkhongkong.org.

By: Dora

The majority of people in my life don’t know my story.

It’s not something I go into easily, and I never know how people might react.

And this is how TALK Hong Kong comes into play. You never have to go into your story if you don’t want to, but you can talk about it, you can talk around it, and people will just understand.

Occasionally, I find a person outside TALK that I realise it’s safe to talk to.

Someone who is kind and compassionate. Someone who doesn’t question me. Someone who would not tell me to “just be positive.” Someone who would be sad to hear my story, but would also not smother me with their display of shock either.

Someone who wouldn’t treat me differently. Someone who would still laugh at the borderline appropriate jokes I make. Someone who wouldn’t shy from my usual snarky humour and sarcasm. They continue to take me as I am, perhaps with just a bit more awareness of where my occasionally dark moods and blank eyes come from.

But isn’t that what most people want? To have others see and accept them for who they are, regardless of what shameful secrets they may be hiding.

I thought about not using the word “shameful.” I wish wasn’t ashamed. But I am.

I wish I wasn’t so awkward with people. I wish I was more open, more trusting.

My psychologist recently told me that she’s seen a change in me. She says that I seem to be kinder to myself. More compassionate.

***

I have a lot of physical pain. Are they from actual physical injuries? Or are they echoes from the past?

Does it matter?

I’ve recently stopped fighting them. I’ve decided that I live with pain. Yes, the present tense. As is. This is my life. I live with pain. It’s a part of me. The back-aching kind. The heart-rending kind. The twisty knee kind. And the close-my-eyes-and-hope-I-don’t-exist kind. Sometimes I think too hard and my heart hurts.

And then for some reason, when I’ve stopped fighting it, the pain retreats. The edges soften. I breathe deeper. My rib cage unwinds. And I bury my face into my dog and cry.

What’s your pain? Have you been heard? Have you been hurt? Do you close your eyes, turn towards the sun, and let your face burn?

Come to TALK. We can burn together. Just kidding. Come anyways.

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