I could fill up a book with what I know about shame, but I'll settle for a page or two.
I learned about it from a young age; an unhealthy childhood relationship with an imaginary thing that was not so much a friend.
Shame tastes an awful lot like soap in your mouth to remove the taste of the "fuck" you let spill from it while the adults were speaking.
It feels too much like hearing "I was really hoping I would have had a boy instead so my last name would live on."
Shame feels strangely like fullness: from really anything you can consume so it doesn't consume you, because you should eat your feelings instead of show them.
And then it feels a lot like a pit, empty, bare, because you don't deserve to eat, not when you look like that.
Shame feels like falling in love when he doesn't stay to catch you.
Shame is drinking more than you should so you can have something other than you to blame when you want to explore your sexual identity, because slut shaming will last well into your 20s.
Shame smells a lot like your urine in the median of a small college town street because the bars are empty so why shouldn't your bladder be?
It's making dumb decisions because you only feel alive when your name is on someone else's lips.
Shame feels a hell of a lot like coming to from a blackout with a stranger finishing inside you.
It feels strangely like your silence, because no one would believe you didn't want it.
Did you see how much you were drinking?
And don't even get me started on that dress.
Shame feels like borrowing money for Plan B because sexual assault was never part of your Plan A.
It feels like even now shoving the pages of your confession, your words, under the covers to hide from your partner, because no one is supposed to talk about it.
Girls aren't allowed to have feelings.
At least not ones that aren't desire, or feeling like smiling.
But the funny thing about shame is that you don't know about it until you’re taught.
Some lessons just hurt more than others.