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  • Writer's pictureMegan Stone

Darkness Wins?


**Trigger Warning: brief mention of abuse. It’s healing for me to write, but please don’t read if content will upset you**

The darkness wins this time. I’ve been trying so hard to let you go; to let you not matter anymore.

You are, in fact, faceless most of the time in my nightmares now. In my flashbacks.

I told myself you are nothing. You don’t matter. I soothed the littles who still reside in me and told them the same.

No more monsters. You are safe, my little Megs.

I‘ve been wondering why I’m feeling so off lately and it hits me now in my exhausted state at this late hour, that I’ve yet to actually let you go, you sick sonofabitch.

YOU left me unable to sleep soundly, ever.

YOU left me sick and suffering.

YOU left me unable to connect with the people closest to me.

YOU took away my ability to trust ANYONE.

YOU made me abhor my own mother for not being able to protect me.

YOU put it on ME to protect them all. From you.

And here I sit in tears, shaking, sobbing; chest heaving and heart breaking, for the trillionth time, because of you.

You will likely be that one douche bag who lives to be 100. Nonchalantly carrying on with your life, while the likely dozens you destroyed struggle to hold their heads above water.

I thought I’d ‘forgiven’ you in my heart- at the very least in a way that could help me to melt my icy heart for those who deserve my love.

The truth is, I can’t. The TRUTH is, I hate you, you sick motherfucker, and I want everyone to know it.

See, I don’t have to forgive you to be free.

That is bullshit.

And you’re so lucky I didn’t hunt you down and cut your dick off like I planned a couple years back, when I was in flashback hell 24/fucking7.

I seem like a ‘sweetheart.’ People think I am and I fool myself much of the time, but the truth is, the first time you held me down, covered my mouth and whispered in my ear with your foul breath, ‘You owe me, you little bitch,’ was the moment any sweetness evaporated from my soul, leaving only bitterness in its wake. What was I, 3 years old? Not even?

Congratufuckinlations, you sick fuck from hell.

You win. You broke me.

Know what, though? I’ve been collecting the pieces of me that you stole and hid away, and I’m putting me back together. One piece at a time.

And I WILL come out stronger than ever.

And you should be afraid.

My spirit WILL WIN this time.

Good luck..........

**I’m peeling back the layers of this onion... healing one layer at a time and I guess this one is closest to the core..**

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