𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐈

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟗

𝐀𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐀

Turns out this whole healing thing, not as easy as it seems.

Kaylee says I've been making progress, that the smallest things are more significant than they seem.

But I can't see it.

I can't see how me eating on my own or showering on my own is progress. I can't see how sitting in this room unable to get out of bed because even though I said I wanted to fight for my life it's harder to actually do it, to keep those bad thoughts away, is progress.

I don't see how me breaking down daily, how me having panic attacks and nightmares and meltdowns are any sorts of progress.

None of these things used to be hard for me, none of these things used to happen to me.

I used to be happy.

I used to be a happy little girl who loved her life, who played outside with friends and went to school and laughed and smiled.

Now I'm empty. Now I seem to be stuck in the weirdest of places in my head, my body.

It's weird because I didn't process anything while it was happening to me. I knew it was wrong, I knew what they were doing to me.

But my brain didn't really digest it. My brain just held on to everything so it could throw it at me, so it could torture me after I survived.

My brain decided to hit me with it all. With flashbacks, with their words echoing around in my head, with the feelings and sharp pains of them inside me.

Now it seems I'm left with thousands of broken pieces of myself, pieces I'm expected to pick up and be able to put back together.

Problem is, the pieces are sharp. They hurt and make me bleed anytime I try to repair myself, to put the puzzle of my broken mind and body back together.

I hadn't realized the toll just surviving would take on me. How much I would suffer after I escaped my brother.

I knew I probably wouldn't be okay for a little bit, but I didn't expect myself to be this broken. To feel like I was shattered.

Obviously, I was naive.

How would I be okay after all that? How did I expect myself to come out unscathed? How did I expect to go back to being happy and living a good life after so much was taken from me?

While I was captive I just thought that getting out would make my life a million times better, and in ways it has.

I'm not being raped daily. I'm not getting physically punished for the stupidest of things. I'm getting good, healthy meals. I have a hot shower with more soaps than I know what to do with.

But my head is stuck back there, in that dungeon, and it doesn't seem to want to leave it anytime soon. It's shackled back in my cell like I was.

I have escaped. Physically.

But mentally, I'm still trapped.

That's the hardest thing about all this. I can't seem to free my head.

There's just been so much damage done.

From my father taking me from home, bringing me to a new house, and teaching me how to please masters. To being shackled to a wall and raped over and over again.

My brain is too damaged to free itself and I don't know how long it's going to take for me to find the key.

I'm just so full of pain.

It's weird because I feel so empty. I feel hollow, yet I feel so damaged, so gross and awful and weak and like a waste of fucking space.

But I'm in so much pain.

So no one can blame me right now as I'm in the shower. No one can blame me as I hit my purple razor against the wall. No one can blame me as I pull a blade from the tip of the razor. No one can blame me as I gently rub my finger across the sharp edge.

No one can blame me as I place that blade on my thigh.

No one can blame me as cut into my skin.

No one can blame me as I try to find a little bit of comfort.

No one can blame me as I watch the blood get washed away by the water.

No one can blame me as I do it again.

And again.

And again.

Till I feel the pain travel up from my thighs, through my spine, and into my head.

And suddenly I don't feel so goddamn empty anymore.

***

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