the blog

To Me, It Isn’t Over…

scary silhouette

You wanna walk away then, call the game? Good. Thanks.

Here’s the thing though, you don’t just get to walk away and think that because you’re done that it ends for me. It’s not going to end until I know what happened.

You don’t understand that I have a genuine post-traumatic response now to “trigger words.” I go into an involuntary panic, my heart races, I feel a bit warm, my thinking gets narrow and paranoid. It takes effort to redirect, I’m constantly asking people to stop their line of conversation or the videos they’re watching, the music they’re listening to because I’m sitting on the edge of a tailspin.

It’s not over for me. You created a world in which I was watched every moment, in which my children were being sex trafficked or molested, in which my brother was dead, in which I had dissociative identity disorder, among other things, and you made me live in it. At the very least, you created a world in which people did such things to me on purpose.

I am glad you’re done being Satan. If you want it to really be over, then I need the truth. The full truth, a full confession from the parties involved. It’s the only way to release me from hell.

There will be no retaliation. I will get angry again, but I will finally know where to direct my anger, and it will have boundaries. I will be able to put it in a box and put it away. Right now, it’s like a poltergeist, floating around, walking through walls, making shit go awry. 

I know that it sucks to think you may have to take some responsibility. I get that. Trust me, you’ll be a better person for it. And I’ll finally move on.

Skip to toolbar