Recent Posts

Archive

Tags

No tags yet.

Wild Thing Interlude


The day I tell my therapist about my rapes, it is raining. I am wearing a hoodie and more eyeliner than usual; when she asks why I seem upset, I dissociate and tell her a story about something I try hard to never think about.

I’ve got issues, I probably say. I don’t remember, I made a mistake, I have never told anyone, I don’t remember, looking for evidence of my own pain, how memory yanks me back into the basement, windowless, concrete floor, not wanting to be alone in the house.

I don’t have much to say besides I can’t breathe. I don’t talk about it. I stare at the Matisse print on the wall across from the couch where I pull two pillows into my chest.

The wild things I've been are shredding me like defeat doesn't slip past me,

 

©2017 by HEAL(er). Proudly created with Wix.com

This site was designed with the
.com
website builder. Create your website today.
Start Now