The Throes of Battle

The battle rages in my mind.
What could have been versus what really was,
And I can’t bear the weight.

Was he sorry?
Maybe …
I’ll never know.
He’s dead.

I can’t change the past.
I can only see it for what it was.
Closure is up to me.

The longing,
all the unanswered questions,
the thoughts of what could have been,
of what was taken from me,
of the years I have lost in disassociation,
it all leaves a mark on my soul.

It steals moments of my life.
Catching me in a web of memories,
I get tangled,
and unable to free myself.
Aware of my losses.
So many losses.

Cries echo through my head,
the lost tears of a young child hidden in the darkness of subconscious,
I feel the pull to turn away,
to bury them deep,
where I can no longer hear them,
where they can’t touch my heart,
where they can’t remind me of my reality.

But I know I can’t do that.

So I lean into this pain,
and I sit with reality.
The betrayals,
the attacks on my body,
on my mind,
and on my spirit;
I remind myself through the gripping fear,
that the horror is over.
I tell myself through the ocean of tears,
that I have a childhood of pain to feel.
I try to understand the cycles of my grief,
because we all heal differently.

Still, the battle rages on,
and I often wonder when it will end.
I have hope that my haunted mind will find peace,
I hope that day comes sooner than later.
I deserve to heal.


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Love & Support 💜💚

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