The Wounded Healer

In the Beginning, there was darkness.
Trauma built onto old wounds left unseen.
Purposely hidden and tucked away.
Secrets never meant to be revealed.
My body was not mine.
Alcohol went down like water.
Emotions stored in a tiny box ready to burst at the seems.
Every now and then I was transported to a pocket in my mind.
I was 7. It was dark. It felt wrong. I was afraid.
In the beginning, I never saw an end.

In the middle there was madness.
The box began to seep - emotions unleashed with misplaced aggression.
The veil began to lift. Someone knew my secret. The box began to burst.
Tears became my medicine. Truth the only path.
Friendships faded into nothing. A heavy heart and a lonely song.
The shedding never ending.
In the middle, I was alone.

In the end there was a new beginning.
My secret shared for all to hear.
The guilt was not mine to carry.
The shame and abuse passed down from those before me.
The art of letting go became my new religion.
The power was within me.
Turning pain into purpose was the plan all along.
In the end, I became what I was always meant to be.

The Wounded Healer