K, 27, recovering from BPD & trauma. Here's thoughts penned in recovery.
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It's been 17 years since I met you. It's been 17 years since you've had a hold on me. It's been hard to escape all the things you've said to me. It's been hard to cope with the fact that you knocked me down to nothing, that your voice is that of the darkness creeping in.
It's hard to see the damage you've done to my mind. There's evidence of it on my body. It's hard to trust anyone with freckles anymore. It's hard to say any version of your name out loud.
I met another man with your name, who called me horrid things, thanks to twisted brainwashing. I met another man who had hated me for no fucking reason other than the fact that I was trying to show love.
Does that sound familiar?
You told me that you were glad I was facing trauma for the first time -- how can you say that to someone who is grieving a death? - and that trauma was amplified threefold by the time I graduated high school.
Regardless of all that you did to me, I hate that I still care a little. I hate that I want to give you mercy for what happened for all of those years. You are a reason why I never developed healthy relationships. You are the reason why I am so messed up...
And you got off scott free.
Fuck. You. Jimmy.
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Foreword
Triggering content may be ahead! Please proceed with caution. This may contain mention of emotional/mental abuse, etc. If you are bothered by such content, please click away!
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