I am cold and alone in this dark place, asking so desperately for these nightmares to be erased. I ached, I screamed, I bled, but no one was listening to me. I am torn apart. My soul tremors with anxiety. I have been robbed, something precious has been stolen from me.
You cannot see my wounds I bleed, but I do not let anyone see. I cannot seem to cry, no matter how hard I try. The shock, the trauma. My soul, my heart and spirit have been raped. Now I find any means possible to find some way to escape reality. I smoke a cigarette or two to numb myself even more. I would not destroy myself like this, if someone would give me a reason to live for.
YOU ARE READING
Letter To My Past Self
Non-FictionThese are several short stories about my life. There are several triggers such as rape and PTSD.
