Receding.

I know now the pain there is in telling a painful story. The difficulty doesn't start with finding the courage to speak, but at the mere instance of remembering. Everything is so fresh that remembering is reliving, and it's like pouring alcohol to an open wound. But then again some parts of the scene are a blur, like those making the most impact leave no room in the mind for what happened before and after. But painful stories are not just painful stories. Something so painful cannot just hurt. There must be something to learn or realise or gain. And so at the back of head, the question why rings. Over and over. And the stab of pain is twisted, because despite all the pity the pain attracts, the possibility that there is something wrong with the self exists.

The struggle continues with finding the right words. Here another pain occurs - disappointment. Dean Koontz says that secrets stay secrets not in want of a teller, but of an understanding ear. It's usually easy to vent something hard to contain, but sometimes it's just so disappointing that after going through the difficulty in trying to explain something so important, reactions are but empty stares and shallow words of comfort. It gets frustrating too, because the very persons expected to understand don't.

I know now, too, though, the joy there is in receding pain. It is not the slow scarring that takes time, or what sweetness there is in getting back. It is remembering that nothing has gone unnoticed, and being assured not just of faith, but of what is happening. It is like having struggled to move out from a sad corner, and finally getting the pull I've been reaching out for. It is happiness not merely overshadowing the pain, but happiness assuring that all pain pays off. It is the question why resting. It is the spark of letting go of anger, and the careful acceptance of what there is to learn from the trauma.