It’s been more than a while now, and time ought to help me forget and aid the healing process completely, I think.
I ought to feel free, undaunted and unburdened from the heavyweight of the experience.
I ought to have let go of the numbness that comes with the dark clouded past and embrace the moment- the present.
I ought to have gained closure; to see the beauty and bask in the newness that every day brings and hope the future holds much more than I could have ever imagined.
Yet, I hurt.
I hurt because every little thing seems to trigger the compounded feeling of the dreaded experience. I hurt from the pain that comes with the memory each time I am alone.
I hurt from the sickening feeling in my stomach that comes and linger with the shaded memory of that experience, knowing I shut my eyes and and find myself trapped in the memory.
I hurt from the flashbacks that throws me into the dark lonely hole called depression, leaving me numb and impuissant with great trepidation I hurt from running away and finding it is still there.
I hurt from the knowledge that I can’t undo the past, knowing no matter the number of damages I would do to myself, the memory lingers, that it is part of me…
Most of all, I hurt from my inability to acknowledge that it happened and it happened to me.