Ever since I could talk, I have never really had an issue asking questions. No matter what happened, I was always able to ask why it happened. I always wanted to know why.
When my parents got divorced, that was the first question that came to mind. When I asked, I was told that I was too young to understand, but that it was for the best. They said it was not my fault and that they both still loved me very much. I didn't ask anymore questions.
When nobody asked me to play with them on the playground, I wanted to know what I did wrong. I asked my friends, but they told me that it was not a big deal. They laughed and walked away. I usually found people to play with, but I didn't ask anymore questions.
When we got to middle school and my first boyfriend broke up with me, I asked him why. He said that he didn't know, he just didn't feel like having a girlfriend. Then I saw his friends laughing at me, teasing me for thinking that they really liked me. I didn't ask any more questions.
When I started high school and went to the nurses office to get weighed for my physical, I asked the nurse why she made a funny face. She said she did not make a funny face; I must be imagining things. When I overheard her comment about my weight to the doctor, but I didn't ask anymore questions.
When prom season rolled around, I asked my friends why they thought nobody asked me. They just said I was too good for them. I no longer wanted to go to prom, but I already bought a dress. I asked an acquaintance to go with me. We had fun, but I didn't ask anymore questions.
When he started to tell me what to wear, I asked why I couldn't go to school in skinny jeans. He told me that if I loved him I wouldn't ask dumb questions and I would listen to what he's telling me. I dug some sweatpants out of my closet and I didn't ask anymore questions.
When I buried someone I loved, I asked why. I asked why I didn't do anything to help, I asked if it was my fault. All I wanted was to look them in the face and tell them that I love them one more time. Nothing made sense. I didn't ask any more questions.
When the doctors told me that there was nothing wrong with me I asked why they were just going to give up. They said there was nothing else that they could do. I spent years feeling like it was all in my head and that I was faking it. I didn't ask any more questions.
When I was told that I had no choice but to do something I really did not want to do, I asked why. I must have asked why a million times. But I asked why only in my head. I realized that I had stopped protesting. I had given up on trying to understand.
Some nights my head is so full of questions that I have never asked that I feel like I might explode. But my tears hit an empty page of paper.
I am unsure of where to begin. When I do start to write, all that comes out is why. I write this one word over and over, my eyes burning with tears and my heart breaking over and over again.
You see, trauma changes people. Nobody lives a perfect life, and we all have things that leave us questioning why.
You see, I have questions, and I want answers.
I have spent years shielding myself from the truth because I was afraid to ask questions. I have spent my life pushing all of my problems down, but I'm running our of room. I don't have the space to hold my questions back.
I want to know why. I want to know why things happen and I want to know how I can overcome them. I am no longer willing to sit by and watch my life get decided by the actions of others. I am in control of my fate, and it is up to me to ask the questions and demand the answers.
