by Charity
Today I woke up angry. This in itself is new for me. In the past, I would have allowed others in our system to absorb the anger so that I would not have to deal with it. I've learned to reclaim those difficult feelings, but I still have difficulty letting them go.
As part of the lengthy process of cleaning out our parents' house to prepare for selling it, we came across a letter that our orthodontist had sent to our parents in 1972, when we began treatment at age 10. Our brother began treatment at the same time at age eight. Our own treatment lasted until we were 17.
The letter in itself was not a problem. It simply described how we should take care of our teeth and the orthodontic appliances during the treatment process. But this seemingly innocuous letter unearthed how barbarically painful the treatment was for us. The anger that I felt was that the doctor had no idea how much he was hurting us. He wasn't hurting us intentionally, but it hurt nonetheless.
I never said anything. I never said anything about how I felt about anything, no matter what the situation. By the time I was about seven, I had totally given up hope that anyone would hear me, help me, or even care. And a life lived in hopelessness is not really living. :-(
[Edited 2/16/2015 to remove redundant paragraphs.]
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