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I, She, Me

  • I....She....Me

    This girl had already seen and experienced so much. She smiles but her eyes tell a story of uncertainty. Deep down she wonders if she is enough and if she is, why no one loves her enough to show it.

    She is awkward in her body, it has been betrayed and now it betrays her. She has grown too quickly while simultaneously not growing at all.

    She’s creative, a writer and a bookworm. Yet none of those abilities is able to save her from this place of darkness. She silently takes a bottle of ibuprofen, in hopes that it will all end. She’s angry, she punches walls and wraps a belt around her throat tightening it while she cries until she’s gasping for air.

    No one knows, no one cares. In the silent sadness of her existence , anxiety is built; panic takes hold. Her mind a padded room she can retreat to and scream.

    I want to save her. Save her because I know what lies ahead. I’m yellowing into the vortex of time, “It’s ok Tamera, let it go. Life gets better and even when it’s hard you always come out.” Maybe if I can save her, I can save myself.

    If I can convince her that all will be well, then I can be set free from this prison I’m in. She doesn’t know that every unspoken word and unshed tear adds another layer I must work to break free from.

    So here I sit, face soaked in tears, looking at her; angry. I guess she did the best that she could do. I don’t quite know who to be angry with. All I do know is that she and I both deserve to be free of the chains that generational cycles of physical, sexual and mental abuse heaped upon us.

    I can’t die in this prison, I won’t. I DESERVE freedom. So whoever is up there, whoever is in charge of this operation; heal us. We will honor you by showing others how to heal; by giving them permission to heal because everyone deserves to be free.

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