How does one prepare themselves to tell their mother they became part of the 97%? There is no preparing. All there is, is anxiety, and as you’re telling her, tears stream down your face. Then, come the flashbacks.
The way he touched you.
The way he talked.
The way he forced.
There is no preparing to tell your mother you don’t see things the same anymore. That you can’t go places you once loved.
He ruined them.
He ruined me.
So many places and things I once loved, that, now, only bring tears and anxiety.
I can’t go into cornfields.
I can’t sit comfortably in a truck.
I can’t trust classmates.
I can’t say my own uncles name without wanting to burst into tears.
All the things now changed because of him. Because of them. I used to be so different, see things differently. But they took something from me I’ll never get back.
So, there is no preparing. There’s only flashbacks. There’s only ever flashbacks.
Fuck all of you that took that part of me.
Hannah Larson
May 8th,2022 11:31pm