I've never known a life outside of my trauma.
I was born into it.
Raised in it.
Even when I escaped from it the effects still lingered.
The shortness of breath. The hollow feeling in my chest. My aching ribs and dizzy head.
People tell me that it will get better.
I believe them.
But I also know that it will never be gone.
I never had a before and I won't be able to have one now.
All I have is the aftermath.
I can make a home in it. Grow daisies in it. Watch sunsets in it.
I can find ways to mend the cracks. Rip out my damaged parts and replace them. Repaint. Decorate.
But I will never not be broken.
I can be a pretty kind of broken. A well adjusted kind of broken.
But I will always be broken.
YOU ARE READING
The diary of Seth Alexander
Non-Fictionas the title suggests, this is legit going to be my diary. and yes, most diaries are supposed to be secret, but I have always been an open book. I like to pretend to be mysterious, but the people around me will all tell you that I am am someone who...
