I always see a lot of artist challenge videos where it's like "how would your OC (original character) react to themselves before trauma?" and I always think of how I would react to myself before trauma or if things turned out differently. So now I'm going to write something like that.
~Sage
⚠️ TW: Dissociation ⚠️
I'm not completely sure but it's better safe than sorry.
She didn't recognize me.
Of course she didn't.
She's young, innocent. Maybe 8 or 9 here, right now.
Ok, maybe not so innocent. At least not for long.
Maybe I should refer to them as "they". That is what I ended up preferring.
They are me after all.
They look sad.
I look sad.
I'm not completely sure where we are, as I don't remember it.
But I guess me being here right now isn't exactly normal either.
There's no one else around.
Just them... and me.
It looks like they're sitting on something.
I don't know what, there's nothing to sit on.
I walk over.
I don't want them to be sad.
I... sit down next to them.
"Mommy and Daddy fought" they say, unprompted. They have their arms on their knees and are looking at the ground(?).
I look straight ahead.
"It's always upsetting when you're parents fight."
"It was bad..." They look down farther.
"I know." I say quietly.
I don't want them to be sad.
We sit there for a few moments in silence.
Endless silence in this place, disconnected from everything.
I look at them.
I can see the turmoil going on inside their head.
I lived it after all.
Not knowing why a lot of things they should like just don't seem all that good. Confused as to actual relationships, actual friendships, instead of just being polite. Emotions that are there and always have been but not knowing what they are or how to process them, not really.
So much pain.
But something's different.
There's something there.
Something that I don't recognize...
...or don't remember.
There is so much hope.
And innocence.
And naivety.
Hope of the new school year and making friends.
Innocence of not... realizing.
Naivety that still believes all people can change, no matter who they are.
It hurts to look at.
This is me.
This was me.
