Truth is, it won’t go away. When you least expect, you’re going to hear that song you relate too much to and before you know it, you’ll find yourself struggling for breath, waging a war against tears in the corner of an office room trying not to give it away.
It’s in you, the pain, the betrayal, the shame, the sin. Triggers come in the form of songs, words, voices, touch, poetry and prose. But you learn to cope. You identify the triggers, you learn how to channel.
Channeling comes in various forms too. For some, running a blade across the right wrist is a coping mechanism, for others they find solace in a hidden rhyme, concoction of words, shades of colour on a canvas, on the flip-side of your camera lens, a hug, or the comfort of a familiar voice.
Key is to transform the pain in to something greater than your being, transform the pain in to art. It doesn’t have to be picaso-esque, it doesn’t have to mean anything to anyone else. You are unpacking copious amounts of pain to the canvas of life and choosing to do it in screaming colour; you are a work of art. You ought to be proud of yourself.