It took a while before I realized that most of the lies I created roots from the apprehension of being found out. I was unconsciously addicted to the excitement it creates. There’s something in me that is always in need of something to hide. A habit I have never outgrown that breaks my soul into pieces over and over again.

 

My emotional memory goes back to the time I lost my umbrella at school. I remember dropping by at the church before going home every day because I do not have the courage to tell my mom what happen. I made up stories for several weeks about this umbrella until I  went out of alibi. Can’t remember the details but I still can recall the incident because the underlying feeling is something that I carry on until adulthood, the fear of being found out.

 

I play the game of attracting boys to boost my self-esteem during my teens then dropped them off when caught with my bait. No doubt, guys found me insane ever since. I also play hard to get not because I am, but to mask the sense of unworthiness I feel inside.I instinctively knew once they found out the real me they would never accept me. My self-rejection was so inherent that I am always afraid of being found out defective.

 

The mask I used was a blessing  because it saves me from having different partners, common among sexually abused. But I bring with me the fear of being found out with my married life.  I hide many little secrets, disappointments, feelings, desires and most especially money to my husband. I pretended to be okay when in fact things were not. The habit of hiding the truth was so ingrained that I don’t only hide from my husband but from people I encountered along the way.

 

There was a time that every phone calls and mails made my heart beat faster for fear of collecting agencies from creditors to whom I hide. Sometimes the anxiety of being found out by my husband who had no idea of the financial chaos I got myself into was more profound than the anxiety I felt from the collectors itself.  Beneath the fear of being found out was the validation of being rejected and unloved, the pattern I am used to. It became a constant struggle.

 

Sexually abused children like myself live in the dark hiding and getting out in the open had never been an easy task. It is only by giving it a voice through writing that it lost its grip and power over me. Believing that every creature in itself is good whatever I may found out is liberating. Accepting myself for who I am   (a good creation of God) and what happened to me is the only way I can live in the light.