you think you understand me
because of the size of my home
that comes from my fathers money
you think i grew up privileged
harbouring a “normal” childhood
without any shortcomings.
what you don’t understand is the
abuse, emotional neglect and fear
experienced
at the hands of my angry father
that caused me to become this way.
you think i’m happy, normal even,
because i don’t talk about what goes on in my brain
the racing thoughts that consume me,
the trauma memory that replays in my head,
the suicidal thoughts, voices that repeat just do it over and over
and how i cry every time im alone in the bathroom.
i'm afraid to open up like i had in the past
because every single time ended in abandonment,
followed by slit wrists and regret.
but,
maybe one day i'll tell you all about it
and hope you stay.