There isn't a option for "original work" on FF, so I just chose this. Basically, this is me writing a diary of a trauma I'm still trying to heal from/deal with. I'm hoping all of you can hep me, cause, quite frankly, I'm scared.

In the dark of the night – yet more and more in light of day – when the shadows close in and wrap their arms around her soul, she thinks 'this is all I ever was, this broken shell of a person, Iam nothing more than what She made me'. All the laughter, the bubbles, the joy, it was only a façade to hide the ugly, ugly scars.'

A façade to cover up the horrible truth; that she is tainted, shattered, and ruined, before her husband ever even got the chance to touch her, to be with her.

That she can barely stand for him to touch her most days.

The terrible fact; that she'll never get out, that she is trapped forever, in this dark world of despair and screams.

Screams that enter her mind more often than not – their tune, a familiar croon to her; a song that she's always heard, but never acknowledged. A harmony that sinks its sharp claws into her mind, burrowing deeper and deeper, tearing into tender, raw flesh with an angry hunger all too fresh and known.

She shies away from that branding darkness; too afraid to accept the symphony of pain, because it will somehow envelop her. She knows it will. Take over all of her, until there is nothing more to behold but pain, sorrow, and so much anger.

And then where will she be?

What will she be?

What person will want her, if she lets loose this monster?

This anger and clawing pain that screams for release.

She tries, tries so hard, to keep it at bay, to go about her business as if nothing is wrong; as if shopping for food doesn't make her want to rip her own throat out, as if she's this strong, beautiful person her husband somehow still sees. But, it's a lie. She's unleashed this Dragon of Shadows, this Catastrophe of Unyielding Anguish. The lid has exploded open and no amount of care and nails is going to close it again.

It's a good thing,they tell her. You're finally dealing with all this.

You're so strong. So brave.

Am I?She wants to ask. Am I dealing with this? I hide, I fake, I pretend to be brave, when what I really want to do is stuff all this closed again, to ignore this, to curl into a little ball and screamand scream and scream until I can't scream any more, and then continue screaming.

Am I dealing with this? She wants to shout. I won't ask God to take it away. I won't. But I don't want this. I never wanted this. I SAID NO!

And that is what hurts the most.

She said 'no', and it meant nothing.

Nothing at all.

She said 'no', multiple times, in so many, many ways, and none of it stopped Her.

She took what She wanted from her, and then ran away, leaving her to deal with aftermath.

The consequences where everyone blamed her for the stolen goods, for the hurt feelings, and fear.

And not once did any of them ask.

Not her brother, who says 'you accused me of vile things and hurt me.'

He does not ask 'why? What made you do that?'

So, she doesn't tell him, 'she was so powerful, so overwhelming, and made it clear that if I didn't blame you, she'd kill you. I had to, to save you. I knew you'd be strong enough to endure it, that no one would believe me. Please, please, forgive me, but I didn't want you to die.'

Not her sisters, who say, 'she belittled us, she made us feel small, you let her send us to our rooms as if she had a right to. Why did you never speak out? Why did you let her? We trusted you.'

And she wants to cry out, 'I'm sorry. I wanted to say something. But I couldn't. You never had to be around her every day and night. I did. I had to face her wrath, her anger, her screams, the things thrown, the things smashed, the words said so softly into my ear while she hugged me tight to her. She accused you and hurt you in front of others, but me she held to herself and hurt alone, in the dark, in shadows, where on one could see. I feared to say anything, because then she might hurt you like she did me, and I couldn't let that happen, so I said nothing. I let you stay in the light, because the shadows hurt so much more. I'm sorry. I'm so very sorry. Please, forgive me.'

Her mother looks at her as if she is something she can't stand to acknowledge, and says nothing. No when everyone else throws accusations at her. Not when she tries to stammer out a few apologies. Only months later, does her mother say a few sentences to her. 'She took the ring that your father gave me. It was my most favorite memory of him. She took the car. She hurt everyone.'

Her mother doesn't say, 'And you did nothing. You said nothing.'

Her mother doesn't have to.

She hears it anyway – in those few sentences, but especially in the way she does nothing to defend her from the others.

'I'm sorry!'She wants to shriek. 'I didn't know what to do. She threatened you, she threatened anyone I so much as looked at. She told me awful, awful things. She hurt me so badly, and said she'd kill you all if I said anything. She had a gun. I couldn't say anything. Nothing. Not when she held your lives like that. I hated what she forced on me, but I loved you too much to stop her. Better that she touched me, then my youngest sister. My beautiful, innocent, sweet Aileen. Better than she threw things at me and called me horrible things, then my other sisters. My elegant Sofia and my resilient Rainn, so bright and proud in their youth. Better that she bruised me, then stabbed my mother. My Mother, who is my only living parent, who I would do anything to keep. Better than she took my car, my things, then have her do something to my two little brothers' cars and have them die in some 'accident'. My brothers who are such pillars in our family, who hold things up that even they don't know about.

Please,' she wants to cry, 'I'm sorry, I'm so very, very sorry, but I don't know what else I could've done.'

And so, the darkness grows in her, consumes her bit by bit, until she can barely get out of bed, until she wants to just hug herself and cry and cry and scream.

She wants to shout all this to the heavens, to spit it in everyone's face.

This is what she made me, she wants to shriek. Aren't I pretty? Aren't I strong? Don't you see me bleeding? Can't you see the cracks? How I'm falling apart at the seams? Why do I have to strong, to be brave? Why can't someone else be that? Why can't I fall down and not get up? Why can't I stay down for a while and let someone else pick up the pieces? Why do I have to do this?

But she never says any of that.

Because no wants to hear those things.

They want to hear how she's glad to go to Counseling.

How it's good for her to face these horrors at last.

How going to Group Therapy so soon is what she wants.

But it's not.

She wants none of it.

She won't ask God to take it away.

But she will not say she wants this.


But she won't ask for it gone either.

Does that make her strange?


Is drawing metaphorical cuts along her soul with each word not said any different than doing it in real life?

Is drowning herself in hidden sorrow any less bad than jumping off a bridge?

Is eating less food so as to stop the pain any worse than taking one too many pills?

And she wonders, what's wrong with me? Why can't I deal with this in a proper way? Why am I so wrong? What made Her look at me and see something She wanted? What did I do wrong, that encouraged Her? Why can't I get better? Why am I so wrong? Do you want to hear about how she forced drugs into me so that I couldn't fight back, but still feel and see everything she did to me? No, no you don't. So, why pretend?

And she wonders, after all is said and done, what will be left?

Who will be born from the ashes?

And who will want what forms from the broken shadows?

Certainly, God will.

He alone holds together the shattered pieces of her Soul and cradles her like she's some gift He won't let go.

She doesn't understand that, but is too selfish to question it that deeply.

He is infinite Good.

Of course, He'll want something so tainted and black as she.

But what human will?

When all the Anger, and Pain, and Screams are burned away, what carcass will be left decaying?

What kind of rotting flesh will be left?

And so, she goes on each day and tries not to think too much about all of it, because she knows, if she does, there will be no turning back. The Shadows will claim all of her and leave her exposed and vulnerable to everyone outside. And she's too afraid to do that. She's been hurt too many times. She's too scared to trust that her husband is strong enough to hold her together, to keep her from doing something so very, very stupid.

She doesn't want to kill herself.

But she does want it to stop.

To end.

She's so very, very tired.

So tired.

So very, very tired.

And yet it never stops, it never ends, it only crashes like waves against her Heart, chipping away at her resolve.

And she wonders, will there be anything left of me when this ends?