28/08/2024
Day 1: Writing Traumas
It’s been six years since that night, the one that left a scar on my soul. We were in the midst of one of our usual intense fights, voices raised, words cutting deeper than any knife. I was shouting, hitting, cursing—losing control. And then, something inside you snapped. In a flash, your hands were around my throat, squeezing, choking me for what felt like an eternity but was only five seconds. My breath stopped, the shock I felt through my bones, down to my core.
The look on your face after you let go showed that you didn’t mean it. I knew my actions were wrong, too, and we never spoke about it again. I pushed it down, buried it deep in the back of my mind, convincing myself it was over.
But now, six years later, we’re no longer together, and I’m beginning to understand the root of my anger, my body knew something was wrong with us. If only I had processed it then, maybe I would have left sooner. Maybe I could have spared us both years of pain and helped you realise earlier.
For all those years, I thought I was just being petty. But I wasn’t. Now I see it differently. My body was reacting to what was truly wrong. From now on, I will trust and listen to myself more.
