Dear Trauma,

 

letting you go is harder than diminishing you into

“just something that happened to me”

or

“nothing big really”.

 

and while I know that you are my body’s response to a negative event,

I swear

you are quite possibly

the world’s worst roommate.

 

I have changed my entire world for you.

I have ruined friendships,

created friendships,

cut my hair,

grew my hair,

laughed,

cried,

slept,

wrote,

ran,

and sang

all for you.

All in the hope that you would

let me

get better.

 

And how do you repay me, Trauma?

You spill nail polish on my psyche’s new rug,

You drink all the norepinephrine in the fridge,

You forget to feed my hippocampus,

And you overwater my amygdala.

 

And you know what?

I’m done.

You have kept me up one too many nights

thinking about the feeling of greasy hands.

You have left the tangled memories of suffocation

on my shower wall for the last time.

This is the final time you will ever

eat my leftover happiness.

 

So this is it.

I will not

"give it time".

I will not

"let it go".

I will not allow you to

make me a prisoner

in my own body

any longer.

 

Your bags are on the curb

and I have changed the locks.

My name is on the lease of my still-here-body

and you have no claim here.

 

Goodbye and good riddance,

 

Sincerely,

 

Me