"Get out of my house, you have no place in this world."

"Why is she so quiet? She's dangerous. I don't like her!"

Those words didn’t kill me, but something inside me died that day.

Trauma... What is trauma?

Psychologically: Trauma is not what happened to you, but what happened as a result of what happened to you.

At that age, I never thought the word trauma actually existed, but I was familiar with the word numb. I became numb to my own feelings and separated myself from my body because it was too painful to be in it. I didn’t want to share the same mindset with myself.

I went around seeking... Validation.

For a moment, my nervous system forgot what safety feels like. 🥺

I lost my tears. My lacrimal glands stopped producing them. ☺

I developed a pure hatred for the world. I had so many insecurities, and I hated the very womb I came from.

I understood the phrase: Villains aren’t born, but made.

Because I became a terror to myself.

Once a little girl with the biggest heart, one who loved unconditionally, became hatred herself... because I started hating unbelievably.

Once a beautiful mirror turned into a dangerous weapon the moment I got broken. My emotions got mixed up.

Others: Why do you smile so much?

Me: A smile can hide so much pain inside it.

I became a Joker myself. I developed a smile not because I loved it, but because I was tired of being called a sadist. It spared me from the questions, and I became so manipulative that I made people drown in my illusion.

Once the one who got broken, became the one who pierced others with her broken glass.

I lied when I said, "I loved being alone in my room." My room itself knows I disliked it because I got chased out of the world I should have belonged to.

My bed hated when I came close because it knew it was a second choice... forced to be with me! I forced it to hear me, but never gave it a chance to speak.

I was fine for a moment because I had someone to transfer my aggression onto.

My shadow hid from me because it got scared of me. My own reflection couldn’t believe itself.

Others: Do you journal at night?

Me: Why should I? When my memories live rent-free in my head.

Others: Have you ever gone out to see a movie?

Me: Why should I? When the sun retires and the moon gets dimmed, my memories come alive. They give themselves a role to play. Each pain has a character to imitate.

I once loved when people hurt me. Because the more you hurt me, the more vengeful I became. And the more vengeful I became, the more vengeance knocked at your door.

I became psychopathic. I learned how to memorize my family’s footsteps. I stopped being emotional.

HEALING!!!

To escape the prison, I became numb to the fact that I was in prison. I had to silence my awareness.

I became proud of myself because no one knows what it’s like to be me.

I had no option but to heal. I got stabbed countless times, but I grew to know one thing: As long as the knife goes in, I must be willing to pull it out, stop the bleeding, and keep a bandage on the surface.

To heal, I had no choice but to forget and forgive them.

Definitely, there are people close to you who need healing. All I can recommend is—GOD!

I just hope we learn that Home should be a safe haven, not a battlefield.

During my spiritual therapy session, the greatest psychotherapist made me understand that "God gives His toughest battles to His strongest soldiers."

I am that one strongest girl you’ll ever come across...

Why? You ask.

You saw my cracks? You kiddinggggg? No one knows how to hide their pieces better than I do! 🙂