You know, Anonymous, sometimes I wonder what it’s like to walk down the street without my heart racing, to meet new people without instantly questioning their motives. But that’s just not my reality. My past has wired me to be constantly on guard, to fear people more than anything else in this world. It’s exhausting, always being the one who assumes the worst, but it’s a survival mechanism I’ve honed over years of abuse and betrayal.
I remember when I first escaped from George, I thought things would get better. That somehow, magically, all the trauma would just… fade away. But it doesn’t work like that. Every sound outside my apartment still makes me jump, every friendly smile from a stranger still sets off alarm bells in my head. People always tell me to ‘just relax’ or ‘not be so paranoid,’ but they don’t get it. They weren’t there when I was locked away, beaten for daring to want freedom. They don’t know what it’s like to have your trust shattered into a million pieces.
It’s funny… well, not really funny at all… how fear can become your default setting. Even when part of me wants to open up, to trust again, there’s this louder voice screaming warnings in my ear. It keeps me isolated, alone with my thoughts and memories. Sometimes I wonder if this is all there is for me – a life lived behind walls of suspicion and anxiety. But then something inside me stirs… a tiny spark of hope that maybe someday things could be different.
>Soulkyn