House of Grief

I too have spent my whole life creating a world around me that I control in order to protect my grief.

From day one I have worked hard to create my own WandaVision, my own House of M.

I learned early my cries could get me what I want.
I learned early that with a bat of my eyelashes and a squeeze on my Dad’s arm, I could get what I want.
I knew how to play my parents against each other. I learned how to manipulate each parent and sibling in order to feel safe.
I knew how to use my natural extroverted-ness and empathy to keep and control friendships.
I experimented with to say and wear to play with the reactions of people I was interested in.
I spent years calculating and manipulating and weaving in and out of conversations and life choices in order to move the people around to get what I needed.

Unknowingly, just like Wanda, I was wielding powers I didn’t even realize I had powered by unrelenting grief. Grief boiling over into control that just kept being fed by reminders, triggers, and secondary traumas. Control used to create a world that protected me from grief that was ripping me in two.

But it got too much to hold. Too heavy to carry. My control only went so far. It had boundaries. My control began to break down. I could not sustain it.

Unlike Wanda I didn’t realize within the span of a half an hour what I had done.
It took two years of therapy to wake up one day, look around me, and see my grief worn in the faces and in the bodies of those who I had manipulated.

I am no hero.
I am the villain.

And now I am trying to undo what I have done. But I don’t have powers. I am not a witch. I don’t have a team of writers, costume designers, or make-up artists.

And the problem with using orphanhood and childhood parent loss as the origin stories of heroes is that those of us who know this pain can relate, but when we turn off the screens, we are powerless.

I’m just a girl whose heart and brain were broken before I had control. So, I learned to wield control itself as protection. I created my own house of M.

My own house of grief.

Now I must undo it.

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