The hardest part of abuse
isn’t the getting through it
or climbing your way back
out of a dirt filled hole
until you find the sun again,
the hardest part of abuse
is the invisibility of the damage,
that even years after you’ve escaped,
after you’ve healed,
after you’re no longer a shell of a person,
after you’ve opened yourself up again
to loving another human,
after you’ve accepted it
and can freely talk about the atrocities
of how someone preyed upon you like a wild animal,
you discover that no matter how strong you are
or how much you’ve learned
or how easily you smile again,
the scars remain.
The anxiety of the hunt
has imprinted inside your skull,
a tattoo seeping fear into your bloodstream,
no matter how safe or good or joy filled
you’ve grown.
The hardest part of abuse
is that no one else knows any of this.
–Leanne Rebecca
I haven’t written anything in awhile and I think it’s because I’ve been trying to find a way to get these thoughts out, but didn’t know the words.
She's in Prison 