Hurt People, Hurt People

Prologue

In the shadowy realms of my youth, I never envisioned myself as a mere character ensnared by the male gaze. Naively ignorant to the complexities of this topic, I relegated it to the confines of literature, dismissing it as an abstract concept divorced from reality. However, enlightenment dawned on a fateful day, the day when my trust crumbled like fragile pillars beneath the weight of betrayal, reducing me to a mere object of desire. Perhaps I erred by attempting to construct stairs on a foundation already shattered, but that day etched a profound mark on my soul, an indelible scar from which I could never fully recover.

The catalyst for my tentative healing journey was an unsettling path, perceived by some as extreme. Yet, in the labyrinth of my internal torment, where the echoes of pain reached a crescendo, I found solace in actions that, to the uninitiated, might seem disturbing. It was as though I was sculpting my own catharsis, chiseling away at the layers of agony that clung to my wounded spirit.

The only justification I clung to for my unconventional methods was a somber truth: hurt people hurt people. In the aftermath of that pivotal day, when my sanctuary was violated and trust obliterated, I grappled with a darkness that threatened to consume me whole. Yet, my metamorphosis into a force to be reckoned with began, as I explored the boundaries of my own resilience and confronted the demons that lurked within the recesses of my psyche.

As the days unfolded into a relentless stream of introspection, I embarked on an odyssey into the depths of my own vulnerability. The emotional landscape I traversed was tumultuous, a tempest that mirrored the storms raging within. I confronted the shattered fragments of my trust, the debris of broken promises and the remnants of a friendship now tainted by betrayal.

In the silence that followed, I discovered an unconventional pathway to healing. It was a journey that required me to embrace the discomfort, to dance with the shadows that haunted the corridors of my mind. Each step, though unsettling, became a deliberate act of self-reclamation. The unsettling path I treaded became the canvas upon which I painted the hues of my resilience, transforming pain into a masterpiece of strength.

The labyrinth of internal torment was no longer a maze of despair; it became a crucible where I forged a renewed sense of self. The disturbing actions that outsiders may have deemed extreme were, to me, the threads of my own redemption. I saw them as a fierce assertion of my agency, a proclamation that I would not be defined solely by the victimhood imposed upon me.

Hurt people hurt people, a haunting truth that echoed through the corridors of my consciousness. Yet, in acknowledging this darkness within, I discovered a latent power. The shadows became not just adversaries but allies, urging me to confront the depths of my own humanity. The scars on my soul, once viewed as debilitating wounds, transformed into badges of resilience, marking the battleground where I waged war against my own demons.

In the aftermath of that pivotal day, a phoenix rose from the ashes of my shattered trust. The embers of my resilience, fueled by the relentless flames of introspection, gave birth to a metamorphosis. I emerged not as a victim, but as a survivor who had sculpted her own catharsis, defying the conventions of pain and healing.

From that day on I swore I would never allow myself to be consumed by hurt and if anyone dared to intrude my soul with suffering once again they would be the one that leaves bleeding not I.