It's a funny thing…
feeling numb.
It's like being a ghost in your own skin.
like playing hide and seek with your emotions, only they aren't hiding– they just straight up– up and left, walking right out the front door.
It's like watching the same horror movie over and over again until you're either so used to the jump scares that you don't react– or you're so desensitized to the gory scenes in front of you– you just watch and shrug it off.
Being numb is essentially being dead– without the commitment.
Like sleep.
The only times I seem to ever feel anything is when I'm dreaming. Not the good kind of dreams about finding your “prince charming” as most girls do either. No, these ‘dreams’ are really nightmares I've gotten so used to that I don't even wake up from them nine-tenths of the time.
I just don't care.
I haven't in a long time. Not since I was eight years old.
Not since every emotion I've ever felt walked out that proverbial door and died in the same crash that stole my parents from me. Not since my so-called ‘caretaker’ decided I would be her new little plaything.
cutting away my hopes for something better with a kitchen knife, engraving my skin with despair.
Beating childish dreams out of me with a baseball bat or a tire iron, until my bones broke or bruising became too dark to cover.
Whipping every ounce of love I could have for life with a silver studded belt, replacing it with a cold harsh reality that no one cares.
No one cares enough to look deeper than the superficial scarring on a six-year-old girl when her ‘guardian’ plays it off as “playing too hard”.
No one cared when the same seven-year-old girl came to school on wobbly bruised and scarred legs because her ‘protector’ decided he was gonna take the last bit of her purity when coming home from the bar so late yet so early in the night.
Nobody cared about me…
So why should I? Why should I care about them? About myself?
Even after I saved myself from that life at the sore age of eight years old, it still haunts my everyday life 10 years later, yet I don't feel a single thing.
Happiness.
Sadness.
Anger.
Pain.
… Nothing.
My childhood therapist said that it's a trauma response– and she's probably right, but like I already said.
I don't care
I don't want to care
Caring makes you weak
Caring makes you vulnerable.
So I'll stick with feeling numb.
Weather its from booze, books, music, or getaways to my favorite spot—
I'll do anything to keep this feeling
This funny feeling of being absolutely,
Blissfully,
Numb.
YOU ARE READING
Moonlight
Teen Fiction"Stop that." I jumped slightly as my eyes shot over to the familiar hulking form standing in the doorway of my bathroom. I always forget how tall Derek is until I'm standing right next to him. Or in this case in front of him. "Stop what?" my brows...
