I practice saying: I forgive you- in the mirror over and over again; I do not really want to forgive him for everything he did to me- nor do I really have to forgive him; but sometimes forgiveness helps with survival; sometimes it is the only thing that will keep your heart beating; I imagine what it would be like to not be a victim; I question if I am even a victim at all; I talk to the moon in the darkness of the night; lay all of my secrets bare for her; the world is falling apart around me; I feel it falling apart within me as well; I dial the number to the rape hotline- hang up after the first ring; how can I describe to someone else what I am feeling- when I am not even sure what I am feeling myself; I dial again- hang up on the second ring- because I know they will ask me the question I dread the most; the question every single therapist and counselor I have ever spoken to has asked me; the question that always brings the conversation to a halt; the question that almost always makes me want to hang up; the question- what can I do for you in this moment- is there anything I can do right now to help; the simple answer is- I do not know; I do not know what I need- or what I want- or how to live one more second in a mind that seems so determined to hurt me; I do not know how to get to safety- or where it lives- or how long it will take to get there; I look down at the number once more; hover my finger above it for another few seconds; turn off the phone; look up at the moon- beg her to please watch over me tonight; I whisper- I forgive you- over and over again; as I will sleep to come save me; I am not sure if I am begging for forgiveness for myself; or if I am still trying to forgive him.
lotuskeypoetry depression, Poetry 1 Minute
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