my fear is a feral wolf
it has gnawed away at the person I was before this
all that’s left is brittle bone and regret, distrust
i am swollen in terror
it consumes me in the daylight
washes over me in the dark
i am never at ease
i wonder if I’m wasting away like this,
if I will spend the rest of my life afraid and hollow?
i don’t remember much of the person I was before this
i reach for her deep inside
try to find her chaos, love and spark
i only find static
pins and needles
a void in my stomach
the world continues
it grows and heals and breathes and I do not.
i can not.
i may not remember much of the person I was before this but I loved her.
anything is better than this.
After my assault, I emptied everything that had happened in the last 17 years into a box and lit it on fire. That included my personality. Prior to, I was confrontational and steadfast. I knew what I wanted out of the world and how to get. I spoke up. I had a sharp tongue and nothing could hurt me. It’s been two years and I am slowly building myself back up. Not into the 17-year-old I was, but the 20-year-old version I think she would be. With new growth, new knowledge, and a new life. I am not the same as I was and that’s okay. I will never be able to fully recover her. But what I can do, is move forward and take care of the new me.
Featured Artwork: Seated Woman in Underwear by Egon Schiele
Tags: ptsd self-reflection sexual assault