I’m trying to sleep.
I feel the roof of my mouth with my tongue and it hurts. That’s when the anxiety that keeps me company every night says:
You’re going to die!
Every night I panic about dying and find myself unable to sleep.
A letter to my abuser:
It’s been seven years. I don’t know if you fully understand what you did to me. I don’t know if you know that I developed a mental illness that I now have to live with for the rest of my life, but a part of me really wants you to know. Really wants you to feel absolutely horrible about what you did to…