Trauma

Words cannot describe sufficiently what one experiences deeply.

Sometimes, it starts out as something simple: a word, a look, a touch. It repeats through out time. Days. Months. Years. It happens again and again until it is deeply buried in the dark recess of the soul. Sometimes it is sudden: a scream into the silence, a betrayal from the person least expected, a gun shot that rings in the night.

Regardless of how it happens, it always stays. It is there until it is asked to go away. It stays despite of it being unwelcome. It clings to every song, every place, every picture. It is an unwanted obssession that refuses to be ignored.

It is looking into a shattered mirror, wondering what it was to be whole, and knowing nothing will ever be the same. Nothing ever does. It is moving like a puppet, and the strings are unseen.

Such is not easily seen but felt. It is like the wind which sways the trees but instead it moves the person. There are signs. It is the slight tapping of the fingers on the table. It is the pause in every sentence, the hesitance in every movement. It is the labored breathing as if drowning in air, the awkward laughter for the unwarranted comments. It is the blank stare for every question, the gaze avoided in every conversation. It is the rejection for every offer despite wanting to accept it.

Every person carries it differently. Some wear it like an armor, a protection from the pain. Others wear it like a locket, hidden from the world but close to the heart. Some do not wear it at all and leaves it behind, yet if follows like a ghost. It haunts and it stays, so they pretend it’s not there.

It is a scab which entices others to scratch and reopen.