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Enough
Why is it so very very difficult to leave it behind no matter what even with all I know...

Tonight I'm back there in second grade, you are standing in front of me. The horrid leather strap is in your hands. My classmates don't dare look into my tearful eyes, my angry eyes, my scared little eyes. I don't confess. I cannot. I did not do it! You hurt me. You don't believe the truth. Jimmy knows but Jimmy is too scared and I won't tell on him. You hurt me again but I cannot lie to you as you stand there in your long black and white habit.

You say you hope I have learned my lesson but at just barely seven years old I've just learned about nuns and straps and rigidity and punishment and false accusations. I didn't know it would affect me for decades. How can that be? And I believed I had come so far from such things but then perhaps a partial recovery is enough like a good enough mother. Of course I've learned since then all Nuns don't falsely accuse and more than likely most of the time this one didn't either. It was one of those things and I was at such an impressionable age. Something must have occurred recently for me to think of this. I know when I have not sufficiently dealt or stayed with a hurt long enough to really see the ins and outs of it, it comes back in disguises and sometimes the old old memories surface. Time to put away childish things stand up where appropriate and walk that narrow ridge on the two-edged sword I've come to understand so much more. To live in the now, sometimes I need to look at antiques.

 

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