Words that are left unsaid will sit inside ours mind, screaming. They will claw at us from the inside trying to get out. They will hide inside our hearts and minds until they show themselves like tears. Eventually overflowing like rain. Sometimes becoming so torrential that we struggle to cope.
We become prisoners of words unsaid. For the words we leave unspoken are often the most important ones that should have been said.
My blood is made from ink and holds a thousand unspoken words. I write for me and I write for all the victims and survivors of Childhood Abuse.
I write about a secret, a silence that was never broken. My untold story, my journey, a story that people never wanted to hear. That people were, are, too afraid to hear. I write about a journey that is experienced by many other survivors just like me. I write my truth, their truth and I give it a voice. I write what abusers never want spoken and what victims and survivors never want forgotten.
My writing has purpose because I write without fear and without mercy. I am not afraid for people to read my words for they are and always will be the truth.
But sometimes people refuse to read my words because they are not always happy and full of light. Sometimes my words are full of agony and destruction and the brokenness of life.
The truth is, my journey from childhood has not always been one of happiness and light. It has been one of heartache and pain and sacrifice. So, I will tell my truth through words and it will always be the truth, whether it be light or dark, because I will no longer be silenced about my story. For I was silenced for too long. Victims of abuse are silenced for too long by people who never want to hear our stories, our truths.
But the best feeling is when someone eventually reaches out to say that they understand my words. The words that stayed unspoken for so long. That I am not alone as I once thought I was. That my words are doing some good and helping those who cannot speak for themselves. That people are finally understanding our stories, our secrets, our silences. That finally I have a voice and my truth is being heard.
For we have a thousand words unspoken but my blood is made of ink and I am here to write our stories.
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