This tightening in my chest,
This knot in my stomach,
These unshed tears in my eyes,
This past I cannot escape.

How does one heal?
How does one move on?

The world moves on,
Despite my pain,
Despite my grief.

I pop the pills,
I take the exams,
I shoot myself with insulin,
I test my blood sugar,
I wake up every morning,
I go to work,
I do what they tell me,
Like the dutiful child.

The waves continue to call to me.
The darkness grows,
Consuming me.

This past.
This past my grandmother told me to let lie.
This past.
This past that controls me and absorbs me.
This past.
This past that created me.
This past that continues to hold sway over me.
This past continues to destroy me.

Living in this world is not designed for me.
A world immune to my pain and suffering.
A world that expects me to continue,
With this tightening in my chest,
This knot in my stomach,
These unshed tears in my eyes,
This past that I cannot escape.

Function.
Focus.
Be normal.
Be nice.
Be compassionate.
Forgive.
Fuck this.

I will continue to pop the pills.
I will continue to do as they say.
I will continue.

Yet, this pain, so overwhelming,
Unshakable, Unshakeable,
This pain.
My chest so heavy, so tight,
Each breath is a struggle.
Each movement a trial.

Thoughts corrupted,
Words spoken in stutters,
Is this healing?

How can I let the past lie,
When the past is slowly killing me,
Inch by inch?

Am I to be a statistic?
Am I to be one of the numbers written in reports,
“Child Abuse Survivors are likely to:”

Symptoms shared,
So common, yet I am apart,
Separate and alone while surrounded by a multitude,
All clamoring and struggling and questioning.
Is this healing?

The waves call to me, always.
Sometimes they are louder,
Yet they are always present,
In the background, they call to me.

As my chest tightens,
As the knot in my stomach gets bigger,
As the tears begin to shed,
The past beating me over and over,
The invisible wounds and scars ache and itch,
And the waves pull me closer and closer.

Will I continue?
Every day is a new struggle.
Will I continue?
Will the summoning call of the water consume me?
Will the darkness that lives inside of me fully corrupt me?

This internal war that I fight,
This war with myself, with my past,
Will this war ever end?
Will I be a long term causality of my mother’s illness?

My chest hurts.
My throat is closing.
My stomach is twisted into knots.

The ocean waves call to me.
They beckon me.
Where life began, will my life end?
A causality of war?
A casualty of an uncaring system,
A casualty of a sick woman’s toxic love?
Will they ever stop summoning me?

As I stand on the edge of the abyss,
Will I choose?

I pop the pills.
I pop the pills.
I pop the pills.

Will I choose?

I can’t breathe.