When I was a little girl, I lived in fear a lot. My mom, though I've completely forgiven her and still love her with all my heart (she passed in 1991), was mentally ill before they had medication available like Prozac, Lexapro and all the other meds that are available today. She was not a stable person and my dad, well, he wasn't around much. So, much of my childhood was living in fear of the next beating or the next tirade. My bedroom was wallpapered with ballerinas dancing in various poses on a pink background. I'd hide in my closet and get lost in those ballerinas. They were my escape because my reality scared me. Though I've lost much of my memory from my past, I remember clearly those ballerinas and how I'd wish I could simply join them, leaving the world minus one frightened little girl.
That was so many, many years ago, and yet that little girl is still huddled with her knees drawn up to her chest, hiding in the darkest closet of my being. I've learned, though, that I'm strong enough to be hurt and remain standing. I can take the beating that life sometimes dishes out, and remain standing. I can weather the abuse that people try to beat me down with, and I will remain standing. I am that little girl, still, afraid to let people get close enough to me to hurt me...but I've learned that even though I do occasionally get sucker punched by life, it can not take me down. I stand, in the midst of all those ballerinas, I stand.