She remembers, years ago, when someone quizzed her what this pain she experienced was like.. How it compared to any she felt before.
Her body tensed up, recoiled from the question; eyes squeezing, lips thinning, back hunching, fists tightening. All motions as if trying to physically disappear right there.
A pregnant pause landed, and then a quiet whisper of torture was born:
"Pain is... is reliving that night over and over and over and over again until I wake up with my own hands around my neck. Not theirs. My own tears choking me. Not blood. Pain is when I get that sudden chill, reminding me of what happened; when I call for them... and I swear they answer, but I know deep down, that's impossible.
Because they're dead."
-D.
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No More Hiding
Non-FictionWhat's the point in hiding the truth? TRIGGER WARNING: -EATING DISORDERS. -DEPRESSION. -SELF-HARM. -SUICIDE. -ANXIETY. -HEARTBREAK. -ASSAULT. IF YOU FIND YOURSELF SENSITIVE OR EASILY TRIGGERED BY ANY OF THIS CONTENT, PLEASE DO NOT CONTINUE. You have...
