Unspeakable Things

You did things. Encouraged things. Enabled things. Condoned things. Unspeakable things. I hadn’t admitted to myself until now. They’ve lingered, like ghosts. Haunting my days from a distance. Passing through rooms with a chill and a shiver.

I’ve been ashamed to confess I believe in ghosts. Plus, there are tales of ghastlier ghouls. The kind that assault your flesh, not just your mind. Your livelihood. So, what of ghost stories from those who’ve lived, intact, to tell the tale?

Though, what does it mean to be intact in this context? Am I, in fact, intact when you have clipped my wings? Stolen my voice? Am I not, in some ways, just a ghost of myself? Whispy. Haunted. Shying from the light.

You have such power over me. I’ve let you. For, who would I be without you? Every door I open, you’re already inside. Lurking in corners, taking up space. There’s a seat at every table for you. Gilded thrones. And you control the invites. So, I sit demure. Quiet. So quiet. Dare not poke the giant with the iron sword.

I happened upon you yesterday. Face to face. Your shadowy specter still so painfully familiar after so many years. I opened my mouth to scream. But, the door to that vault has been long chained closed. Shut tight. Almost disappeared from sight, the overgrowth obscuring it from view. My voice quivered. My eyes pricked with tears. And, in that moment, I realized how inextricably linked are all things past and present. Writing my story with a poisoned quill all along.

I never grieved for that poor, abandoned girl. So all alone. Lost in a cursed forest. Monsters surrounding on all sides. Finding her way with no breadcrumbs. Hunted by the big bad wolf.

And, I’ve never properly honored her. By deeming unspeakable what she endured, by being too afraid, ashamed, I’ve never bestowed her knightly tribute. For her unyielding resilience and bravery. The strength she had to keep going, through endless days of torturous battles. No sleep in the villain’s lair. Valiant journeys through the looking glass. Nothing ever quite as it seemed.

I’ve never suitably thanked her either. Thanked her for enduring but also for courageously looking danger square in the face, holding her head high and sacrificing herself. Choosing me, her future self, to save. She let her soul be crushed and her body be burned so that I would have a chance at a better life.

I look around me today and there is more light. I try not to think of ghost stories. Being afraid of the dark. Try not to think of the evils that plague all fairy tales. Steady focus on happily ever after. But, by burying the past and hiding from ghosts, I see I’ve buried her too. And the story that’s hers to tell. When I owe everything to her. And her story is a sacred chapter of my own.

So, I will say it now, though long overdue. To her: I thank you. I see you. I hear you. I grieve for you. I celebrate you. And I will honor you every day by slaying dragons so others don’t have to.