Farewell To My Past Lives

As we progress in life we take on what forms we need to survive. In doing so we hope to thrive when and where life permits but often we do so just to fight for the opportunity to see another day. On this soil, in this system, that struggle means living as what is necessary. The pain of having those forms forced upon us is an inescapable reality. To be born a Filipina means we are born to navigate in a world where patriarchy touches every aspect of our existence in ways that seldom benefit us. As a cis female, I can only speak to my own experiences. As an addict struggling with sobriety, I can only include my lived experiences through the filter of my own views of them. In writing this I wish to accept the past forms I have lived and let every version of me that came before know that some peace came from their endurance.

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I have lived as the ate in my youth. A role I feel deprived me of much the same tenderness my siblings were granted and yet understand their experiences are lives I can only emphasize with but not fully know. In that understanding I accept that the many times I have felt resentment for being forced to play parent to them that I can now wish I gave them enough of myself to know my love in my later absence. I wish my childhood had been longer and more complete. I wish my time as the oldest sister would have felt less stressful. Yet I also wish I could live it over to fix the areas I feel now I made mistakes in. To this version of myself I can only say that I wish I could hold her and show love to her in the ways that were denied to her. To let her know that tenderness is not weakness and abuse is not “tough love”.

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I have lived as a doll for men who took more from me than what I feel can ever be replaced. This version of me is a silent one that haunts every other form I have taken. It is one that strived to be perfect in faith, dedication to family, and perfection in all ways demanded of it. I struggle to assign my femininity to this part of me because that is what made me vulnerable in this form. It was the forced role in which violation after violation took place. A role in which I learned to be ashamed of my body and existence in it. For so many reasons this form is one that screams in deafening pain yet has been made to be silent for fear of what might come if its voice was permitted to it. To this form of me I now say that I am sorry for what was done to you, to us. I am sorry I cannot heal us. And I am working to restore the voice of that time in which I have kept you so we can work through that anguish you, we have lived silently trapped inside.

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I have lived as the human embodiment of trash when put aside for other’s convenience. This life taught me to depend on myself and reject relationships because I felt safer alone. It taught me that I am dirty, unlovable and less than human. I felt like a rat or ipis, always running around to find something to survive on while avoiding people. I felt unsafe in everything. I could not relieve myself or bathe safely. I could not sleep safely. I could not exist safely. And yet this is the life in which I had my first period. This was the time I matured physically and mentally against my will and without support. To you I have no words except you did not deserve this. You were not trash, you were not dirty, you were not unlovable… you were abandoned. I wish I could live two lives at once and go back to your time to save you from all the indignities we endured. You deserved a childhood. You deserved to live freely and securely in a loving home. At least you know now that there are people who love you.

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Several times in my life I have lived outside my body while fighting to preserve it. During assaults I often felt disconnected from the flesh I wanted to no longer feel being violated. In surreal flashes of memory I remember the instinct of clawing, biting and kicking to be free. Wishing sometimes that if my resistance did not end the attack then maybe my spirit might finally leave once the attacker ended me. This version of myself I cannot say farewell to. As painful as her memory is, I know that such attacks could still happen. In this culture where my body is valued only for how it can be abused, this version of myself remains forever lingering over my shoulder. I know I am vulnerable. This version whispers on the back of my neck when it senses I am in need of her. It pains my soul she has to exist, her frantic heart ever vibrating against my spine. I can only thank her for those times when we have switched places and she endures what my mind cannot.

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There are so many other versions of me that I cling to, upon who’s wings I flutter about when the world in which live demands it. There are new versions of me born as well. Such as the tita I have learned to be for a little boy who has unknowingly managed to change my life just by being in it. These new versions today feel much calmer and at peace than the older versions of me. Yet for all the differences in them, none of these parts can truly be separated from each other. I could not today live this life without all the other ones that came before it. In recognizing those past parts, those times that no longer feel like the same me that lives today, I want peace. And in time, through working on giving peace to them as well, I hope to find it.

 

 

 

 

 This post is being shared in hopes that those with similar experiences understand that the isolating feelings that come with these struggles need not be surrendered to. You are not alone in dealing with past traumas and we want to encourage finding constructive ways of healing from those past experiences. The author of this post found help in therapy and support from our community. This post comes from just one exercise in that process of healing.