Pieces, yes. Locked naked in a box day in and day out I've done. Property I've done. Traded, bought, sold. Not as part of spousal abuse, so that's different. But also as an adult, and in many ways the result of my own choices. Which makes things a bit complicated. My spousal abuse & DV piece, is a separate thing. But spousal abuse also, I've done. So, yes. I can relate in some things. I still periodically get this -pure uncomplicated joy- in being able to quit a job, or walk out of a room, or make a choice (that wasn't mine to make). Things people take for granted. Other times I find myself not moving from this small space, because I... No. Wait. I don't have to ask anyone. There will be no complicated fallout. I can stand up & walk over there. Doors are dicey though. On many levels. For many reasons, not just the locked in piece, or what closing a door can mean. What an open door means. I take a lot of issue with doors. And territory. And what belongs to me. Or not. What I'm allowed, allow myself, or not. Rules of many kinds. Or I get really frustrated that while locked in a box I had sooooo many options available to me (nothing but me, and the dark, and cement) that I just can't make myself do now. How could I keep myself in better physical condition then than I do with the whole world in front of me??? So many different little things. All attached to pieces of what was, and what isn't, now. Much of it very difficult to untangle.
When I first started posting on here I felt as exposed-exposed-exposed as if I had just given a DNA sample, fingerprints, and a satellite map with my house circled in red. I still feel that way sometimes. One of the things that comforts me is that couldn't be further than the truth. Look up the global stats on any of my trauma pieces? We're talking millions. Even the rarer things, that might only have -say- 10,000 in any given year, that's still over roughly 50 year timeline (since ages now & years these hints happened in vary a lot) easily half a million people. Imagine a football stadium. Could you pick out any one person in a crowd of thousands? Much less millions? Millions are the populations of whole cities.
Our stories are unique to us. But they repeat millions and millions of times over. As identifying as they might feel ? There are always those like us. Walking the street. Drinking a coffee in a cafe. Cheering at our kids soccer games. Our pasts invisible to onlookers. Never alone, though.