{"id":7836,"date":"2020-01-15T10:16:56","date_gmt":"2020-01-15T16:16:56","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/?p=7836"},"modified":"2020-01-15T10:16:56","modified_gmt":"2020-01-15T16:16:56","slug":"open-letter-coffee-house-piece","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/2020\/01\/15\/open-letter-coffee-house-piece\/","title":{"rendered":"Open Letter – Coffee House Piece"},"content":{"rendered":"

Trigger Warning: This piece deals heavily with abuse and touches on subjects of depression and self harm.\u00a0<\/em><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Dear young victims of abuse,\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I know you. I may not know your name and I may not know who you are, but I know you. I know that you have tasted salt water drip from the oceans in your eyes as you tend to busted lips and\/or broken hearts. I know the turmoil and tragedy that haunts your dreams and your realities. I know that you feel stuck, as if nothing in this world could ever be enough to help. And I know that when the possibility of calvary ever coming fled, you became desensitized to everything. The pain hurts a little bit less now, the tears flow a little less abundantly now, and and the hope you so desperately clung to is\u00a0 a whole lot harder to find. And, being young, you feel even more unloveable. Unhelpable. Unworthy. And I know of the unspeakable traumas that the resulting sadness can cause. I know that after the sadness leaves, the depression sets in. And after that, the numbness transforms into anger. And with that anger comes questions: \u201cWhy am I so pathetic?\u201d \u201cWhy can\u2019t I just be perfect?\u201d \u201cWhy am I not good enough?\u201d \u201cWhy?\u201d\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

I know all too well because, at one point in time, I was you. I was hopeless, helpless, and restless. I have felt the wrath of leather straps and belt buckles and extension cords. I too have been punished for living. I too have hated myself for everything that I was and am. I too hated myself for the oxygen I held captive in my lungs. I too have stood where you stand and I too have said what you say. I understand. But despite everything, despite the hurt and the tears and despite the sleepless nights filled with fear, I know that, as clich\u00e9 as it may sound, this won\u2019t be your reality forever. Life will hand out its justice. Prayers will be heard. And, in due time, you will find the happiness that you crave. So, heed the next words that escape my lips: don\u2019t act on those urges. Because those urges provide instant gratification. They won\u2019t make you happy. They won\u2019t help your situation. They won\u2019t do anything for you except become an addiction. They start to become your normal train of thought and, as time goes on, they get darker and darker until there\u2019s nothing left of you except a decaying corpse and restless soul. They do nothing but make you your own worst enemy. Don\u2019t do it to yourself. Because the second you do, your chances of a happier end disappear. And when that leaves, there is no getting it back. There is no getting <\/span>you<\/span><\/i> back.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

So believe me when I say that it gets better. Because it does. The skies will brighten and the clouds will wash away and, sooner or later, you will feel content. Happy. Full of life and excited to keep living. And you will be proud of yourself. Proud of your scars. Proud of your burns. Proud of your journey. And you will look back and see a person you no longer know. And you will be just as proud of yourself as I am of you.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

But, you will face a life-time of trauma. You will have trouble trusting any- and everyone. And you will hate yourself for it. But there is nothing you will be able to do about it. So, you will wage war on yourself, on your skin and on your soul. You will be scared to talk but will be always listening. And, as you get older, you will understand more. You will understand that his touch wasn\u2019t normal. That those bruises weren\u2019t normal. That the words that repeated on their tongue and in your head aren\u2019t normal and you will understand the severity of the situation you were given. And you will cry. You will cry until your face is red and your eyes are red and your vision is red and everything is red and you won\u2019t be able to hear or to feel or to do anything but cry and cry and cry and cry. You will feel used and useless at the same time. You will try to wash their touch away. You will try to brush those thoughts away. You will try to do anything and everything to eliminate the thought of them, but nothing will work. So you\u2019ll scrub harder. And you\u2019ll brush longer. And you\u2019ll try for years and years until your skin puckers and your hair falls out and you have nothing left to clean. You will be scared to leave your room because the outside world is so scary. You will forget to eat. Forget to drink. You will forget that you are even alive. Until your saving grace walks through your bedroom door, holding a bottle of water and a sandwich. And you will remember why you\u2019re here.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n

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So, sweet child, hang on. Never forget that there is something beyond the 4 walls that hold you captive. Never forget that there is still beauty in this world and that you are here for a reason. And when you get older, you will be strong. And beautiful. And amazing. I love you.<\/span><\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Sincerely,<\/span><\/p>\n

A former victim of child abuse.\u00a0<\/span><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Trigger Warning: This piece deals heavily with abuse and touches on subjects of depression and self harm.\u00a0   Dear young victims of abuse,\u00a0   I know you. I may not know your name and I may not know who you are, but I know you. I know that you have tasted salt water drip from … Continue reading “Open Letter – Coffee House Piece”<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":51,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[4],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7836"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/51"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=7836"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7836\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7844,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/7836\/revisions\/7844"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=7836"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=7836"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/blog.msabrookhaven.org\/literary\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=7836"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}