Photo by Tirachard Kumtanom on Pexels.com

I suddenly feel unsafe.

What the fuck?

THIS event is incinerating my safety.

I created a story in the last hours that I cannot go back to therapy, back to my safe space, back to the location I want to be in right now: the closet in my therapists office, because her husband will come in and ultimately hurt me.

I’m trying to stay grounded and use logic. But the problem is that what’s shocking my body and taking over my brain is the same trauma we began to work on then, and have been building back safety since. It’s like little-me decided it was safe finally and fully, and then suddenly, tonight, remembered why it wasn’t safe and in fact decided it is now more unsafe.

How can my mom protect me when her partner is the intruder? What if she chooses him over me? Ten-year-old me is fearing the worst case scenarios; real or imagined.

I can’t be in the black hole if there’s a crack in safety.

The black hole is taking over my body–I cannot stop it. I’ve tried.

Fuck,

fuck,

fuck.

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