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Crash
She had fallen asleep only to wake up safe, in the warmth of her room. An instant pause of her chests inhaling movement follows, as she looked around at her surroundings like maybe it didn’t happen. Maybe she dreamt it all up. Please don’t let have happened. But then she attempts to move to further investigate and all the sore and bruised skin pressing against her bed sheets allows pain to shoot throughout her body, and she raises her hand to throbbing gash on her left side of her forehead and winces as the wound sizzles at the feel of contact with her flesh. She pulls her hand back feeling the wet sensation from the blood of the gash that has stained her palm. The sight of blood is what triggers the flashbacks, everything replays in her head.
It’s real. It happened. It hurts.
The emotions are overwhelming and her chest stops again this time out of her will, her breathes stuck in her throat and she closes her and tells herself to focus on one thing only. Breathe. She’ll figure the rest out later.
The process came rarely. She was the girl who took it, numb from emotions and light years away from reality, she was the ideal candidate to carry burdens. None of it could really get to her, so why not bury all secrets in her skin. She could always take it.
That was her problem.
Because there came moments when that barrier that kept her from scratching out and entering reality, that let her stand strong it came down.
Then she felt it all. Not sure of which wound or barrel was making her hurt most, just knew it all felt unbearable. She wasn’t strong nor wise. Insanity had just given her body armor that made her resilient and somewhat rational. And when it chose to remove that armor, it all came crashing down on her, and everything replayed in her head.
It was all real. It happened. It hurt.
