Every thing and Nothing

after you

After you I always felt dirty. Your hands on my body, harsh and unclean, sweat and tears mingled, your uncouth and cruel words drilled into my mind and soul.

After you I always feared to be touched by another man. Your words bred a insecure and humiliated women.

After you I always held my tongue. I used to speak loud and clear, a proud women, who stood strong, I stood against the world. But then I became withdrawn and angry. I pushed myself to be quiet, I knew you were gone, but the memories of your punishments still branded my skin.

After you I always had panic attacks. The doctors told be it was normal thing to happen whilst suffering from PTSD. But the inability to even walk into a shop alone still made me draw angry lines into my skin, next to the countless other wounds I suffered at your hand.

After you I always hung back and hide in bed. I couldn't socialise or even talk to another being without seizing up in panic. The pity looks made me angry and I lashed out on myself, punishing myself for letting you make me this way. For letting you hurt me so much that I couldn't even meet the gaze of my father.

After you I always pushed myself out of bed, forcing myself to meet the morning sun. I had to trick and deceive my mind just to survive the day.

But now I use past tense when I talk about you, and the effects you had on me. Because I met my guardian angel.