It happens that you notice a strange reaction in yourself, you are curious about what it is, you pull a thread, and at the other end: “Ahhh!!! No, go away, don’t look, it’s horror-horror-horror here!” Yeah, I see. They brought canned food from a shame factory. Just the other day I discovered a wonderful specimen in myself. And it all started with curiosity about why I always feel vague anxiety when I go to an appointment. And whether it’s with a person or a massage parlor - it doesn’t matter. Approaching my destination, I feel my heart making a restless tygydyk, and I will definitely check the message 3 times with the time, date and address. I noticed it and began to investigate. Let's go ahead according to our favorite scheme - let's unleash our imagination. Come on unconscious, your finest hour, scare me completely. Let’s imagine the stupidest, most terrible option. It’s happy to try, we love horror stories. “When you come,” he says, “and no one is waiting there.” So you call to clarify, and they tell you that you are this, get out of here, girl, and in an unpleasant direction. (The speech has been corrected to somehow put it within the bounds of decency. Heavily corrected) Well, what kind of absurdity is this? I giggle. And then I crash into a memory and understand that such an impossible absurdity happened to me actually ... And inside immediately: “Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhophhhhhhhophhhhhhh himh her .ant right away right away, I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t fit in. Canned food must be opened. Before my eyes is the image of me as a schoolgirl. Confused-confused. Involved in an unpleasant joke. She came to a meeting and heard on the phone: “Ahhaha, do you really think that someone would want to date such a monster??” (The speech has been corrected to somehow fit into the framework of decency. Heavily corrected) Well, teenage jokes are sometimes stupid and cruel. And teenage resources are not always able to cope with this. Then a too strong flurry of emotions hit me. How they hit me on the head, but it’s unclear what to do about it. Confusion, pain, fear, shame... Yes, a lot of shame. Who carefully preserved this indigestible memory. Do not tell anyone! It's a shame! She should have guessed, reacted gracefully somehow... God knows what else! Yes, the words from that very speech rang out, falling out like a tub of slop right into my little soul. That’s it. Shadzavod's canned food is ready. I don't think I told anyone about this at all. She didn’t react at all. And I practically forgot. Canned, it did not require me to digest it, but it gave off that same vague anxiety, even years later. And much less vague horror when trying to uncover this story. Because it’s like that! Terrible terrible! What a shame! How can I make this part visible?! No, no, no! And if you don’t open it, it will slowly poison you, the canned food in the jar will not be digested. But this is really scary. The tension is off the charts. It's like jumping into icy water. From a height! To the opaque one! To the poisonous one! With piranhas! Yes, there’s Cthulha at the bottom! — the frightened inner parts assent. Shaking. It seems that something huge, powerful, and absorbing will break through. It’s not surprising, because this is something that one day we didn’t have the strength to cope with. But this was not enough for me as a teenager. And now adult me ​​comes out and says: “Hold my beer, now we’ll sort it out.” And if I remember, we’ll really sort it out. This means there are already enough resources. So, let's go to fear. Decide. Open up. Remember. Dive. Immerse yourself in details. Emerge. Exhale. Integrate. Share if possible, shame loves isolation. It is very likely to laugh with relief. Because canned monsters often turn out to be much less frightening, if you bring them out into the light. And if you’re still in a safe space, and share something warm with someone... And don’t forget to be someone warm too... Then it’s almost guaranteed that this creepy, scary, unspeakable becomes just part of the biography. The knot is untied...