"I too have known joy and sadness, and, on the whole, I prefer joy." ~Ashleigh Brilliant

There is still sadness but it's not new. Periodically I feel it pushing at my soul, reminding me that there have been inexcusable abuses--but it's old. Oddly, I can feel that these are not emotions from the present. They reek of loneliness only a small child can feel, or intense, consuming anger conjured by a teen, or confusion and loss felt by a terrified, aching adolescent. I was sad. I'm not sad now.

Still, the tears come. It doesn't seem to matter that I'm all right now, or that I'm safe, or that life has become joyful. I must still weep for those long past feelings and experiences. I must feel the emotions too large for me to endure when the experiences occurred.

Long ago I believed someone would save me. Bitterness and cynicism became my best friends when no savior came. I have laid them to rest. Bitterness hurts my heart, and I have had enough pain. Cynicism cankers my soul, eats away all that is beautiful about Samantha. The losses, if allowed, will devour my future joy and bring me nothing, continuing the cycle of destruction and pain which grew monstrous in my youth. But I am an adult now. No matter how great the required effort, I will choose to contain the monster; I will choose my life; I will choose joy.

Therapist says the sad feelings are important. Eventually, I will understand and embrace them for they are my personal responses to the painful, unacceptable situations in my life. He believes the sadness might return periodically throughout my lifetime, but I will recognize it, allow it, and move on without becoming overwhelmed by it. He says to feel nothing, to ignore the abuses, allows them continued power. As I weep for my losses, for the hurting child and subsequent aftermath throughout my teen and adult life, I allow those things to heal without disregarding their importance, without denying the existence of events which intensely harmed me, and with that acknowledgement I take control of protecting myself in healthy ways. I begin to understand where the guilt and blame lies--and it does not lie with a vulnerable child, ever. And someday I will be able to say, "This happened. It makes me sad--it should sadden any person who knows of it because any time a child is abused or molested, humanity suffers. But while it happened to me, it is not who I am. It has harmed but not consumed me. It affects but does not control me."

Therapist believes that while I might feel pain in varying degrees caused by my past, throughout the rest of my life, he also believes that learning to share that pain with people I love does not harm my loved ones, but rather, helps them to bear my burden and increases the love and caring they feel for me. I don't understand this yet. It seems that a person who is repeatedly bringing the same problem into conversations, or who can't seem to overcome her past, would be someone to run from. People like to help, but only when they can see that their aid is effective. If a person keeps saying, "Hey--remember last month when I was sad and I asked if I could tell you about it? You know, like I did the month before, and two weeks before that, and every day the previous week...well...is it okay if we do all that again for the millionth time, because I'm sad again?", it just seems prudent to avoid that person and allow them to wallow in their chosen pain alone.

Did I choose this?

That's the question Therapist keeps asking. Then he reminds me that I don't really wallow. The past doesn't change but I do. I keep searching for new ways to manage the aftermath of a horrendous situation. And he says that I might keep talking about the same things, but my sole focus is not to find pity but support as I seek for ways to grow and find happiness. That, he says, is much different from someone who just wants a complaint audience. He also reminds me that I do similar things for the people I love and I don't resent it nor do I wish to run from them. He says I need to give people credit and allow them to love me--believe they are capable of loving me--just as I love them.

Sometimes Therapist lectures. Usually what he says is right. Always, I bristle and argue and feel misunderstood. And in the end I believe him--which doesn't mean I can magically do what is difficult but helpful, but does mean I will try.

Still, it's nice to know I'm on the right track. And I'm grateful that finally I can encounter the ancient sadness without wanting to lie in a corner and bleed to death. In fact, I'm at the point where, when it comes I think: This is sad. I wish it hadn't happened. I wish I could change things--but--I'm still here, and I'm happy. I haven't stopped loving life or people or me. So I think I'll just take a moment and cry a little bit, and then if friend is online or nearby I'll talk to them for a little while because that helps me remember I'm loved. And if no one's around, maybe I'll take a walk or sing or dance or turn a cartwheel--because I can. I'm not destroyed, I'm very much alive, and this feeling won't last forever.

It's a long thought process and someday I think it will reduce itself to a simple acknowledgement. I'll notice the sadness fleetingly, remember its importance, and continue whatever it is I'm doing. But for now I need a little time. I think that's okay.