Silent Rain...

Who doesn't love the smell of fresh rain in the spring time? In my opinion it's even better near the ocean. I don't have that luxury at the moment and besides I don't like the grit of the sand between my toes and it's even worse in the rain.

The rain is serving a different purpose today, it's covering the tears that are out of my control at the moment. I'm not sure who I'm covering them from since I feel invisible most of the time. I'm considered the "go to" person when people need help, advice or other random things like borrowing this, that or the third. Most of the time I indulge them since I would want them to do the same for me. I'm simply not in the mood for it today. I need and want them to notice that I need a "go to" person today. I have to remember I'm invisible when the tables are turned. I'm not sure if it's purposeful or if everyone is so consumed with their lives and needs that they don't realize the needs of others.

I ignored the rain clouds, thinking I could go for a walk to clear my mind and beat the rain before it began, I was wrong, yet I didn't rush to avoid them. Rain can be very therapeutic even when you don't realize you need the therapy. Especially, when you can't escape the thing, person or reason you need therapy to begin with.

At times memories rush back to my mind the same way the rain gathers and washes the twigs from the storm down the drain or rushes towards a puddle gathering at the end of the driveway. It's swirling and twirling out of control, just as these memories that keep coming out of nowhere like a flash flood. Too quick to avoid.

I'm trying to decide if I should face the memories head on and if I choose to, how would it benefit me. Would the rain become lighter? Would I feel better once the truth was out? Rain can be beautiful, electrifying and necessary, yet it can also be out of control, scary and devastating even when you attempt to shield yourself from the heavy, hard drops, the umbrella is not strong enough to keep you dry and the torrential rain engulfs you. It will penetrate your raincoat, boots and hat will still have you soaked to the bone.

The rain that I'm standing in is light, actually a drizzle compared to the deluge that's brewing in my heart. I was young, innocent, naive and clueless that the people who are supposed to love you, show you right from wrong, protect you and shield you from harm could and would turn out to be the worst thunderstorm that a child could experience. I was never the same once the storm cornered me, wrapped me up, gagged me with silence and told me not to report the weather. What is going on? Why is this happening? Why is she telling me this is okay? I wasn't protected from this storm, I never even saw it coming, this ominous, deceptive cumulonimbus cloud.

I was already a shy and quiet little girl so this unexpected and unnecessary storm made me even more invisible than I already was. This is when I learned to hide my tears, I allowed them to rain into my pillow as they steamed down my face. No matter which way I turned the thunderstorm was there waiting. I believe I was seven or eight years old when I experience the first of many storms. My innocence was now a thing of the past without me even knowing or realizing it. I had no understanding of what was happening to me. Clearly, no one else noticed me masking my tears in the rain or had any concern as to why I remained so quiet when the storm entered the room. They trusted the storm and never once realized my fear or hesitation when the storm gently grabbed me by the hand and said "We'll be right back". I'm not sure when or how old I was when the rain stopped and I wonder if I told the storm to leave me alone or it just decided to pass over like some storms do. Whatever the reason was I was elated to no longer be standing in the rain.

However, whatever is not acknowledged at one stage in your life will eventually return in one form or another. Now, I'm back outside looking at them laughing and smiling with the mature storm as I'm looking through the window, standing in the rain, trying to refrain from screaming my truth so they can understand the damage this storm created in my life. These are now tears of anger still undetected, unnoticed, and shielded by the rain drops. How could she be so nonchalant and arrogant about her actions? Is my memory the only one tormented because stormy doesn't seem to be affected at all. She ruined the joy that I use to experience on a warm spring rainy day, the flowers don't smell the same, they are tainted. I never expected to be the flower that was watered and picked at leisure for random pleasure and enjoyment. Rain is therapeutic, shouldn't it wash all of the unpleasantries away?

If I walk inside now, I won't be invisible, I'd be the center of attention since I'm soaked and would track this rain water in the house. Their only concern would be getting the mess cleaned up, getting me dried off and warmed up. Maybe it's time for the downpour to make it's way inside, after all it's been living in my heart and mind for too many years to count. The rain is slowing down outside, the clouds are getting lighter and the sun is starting to pop out ever so slightly. I'll go in, dry myself off and go unnoticed until the next storm comes.