For the Little Girl



“Get me out of here!!!”

She couldn’t think of any other words. Nothing made sense. Nothing seemed right. She was afraid. She couldn’t see the light. 


“Get me out of hereeee!!!!!”

Still screaming and gasping for air. She could see every one else but they couldn’t see her. They couldn’t hear her. They didn’t know her. They know the woman she was today, not the little girl she truly is. The little girl who was killed as a child, and to talk about what happened, was to relive it. To admit what was done, was to ask for it again. To think it was wrong, was wrong.


She was still alive deep down. The little girl. 


Screaming at the top of her lungs. She wanted to free herself from herself. But the woman whom she had grown into would never allow her to speak. Silenced her. Because to hear her, was to hear the echoes of the pain she locked away... buried. And threw into the deep.


No matter how low it sank, it was still there. And the little girl could still feel it’s vibration with every blink. 


Feel it. All of it. Never having the chance to kill it because the woman wouldn’t acknowledge it enough for her to let it die. 


Pain lives. Even after it stops breathing and becomes an illusion, it persists. 


Pain thrives. Powerfully. With more courage than winter’s untouchable winds. 


Pain knows how to distract and confuse us into ignoring it while it

moves. 

burns. 

spreads. 

grows.


Becomes our strongest hold. Our safety net. Our only sane option. Because it’s all we know. 


The girl in us screams to be ridden of the trauma. She screams. She screams. She is screaming. 


Who will save her? 


“Get me out of here! NOW!” 


You heard her but her demand is not more urgent than everything else you are facing  in the present moment. Bills. Drama. Unmet goals. That man you love. That friend that needs you. That one person that seems to always ignore you when you most need them. That thing. Or that other thing. Anything. And everything. Seems more pressing than her. 


Who will save her?


Who will put her first? 


When? 


When? 


When she stop saying the five words, “Get me out of here!” And shifts to, “I don’t need anyone to get me out of here; I am able to freely walk away from this painful place on my own. I am light. I am peace. I am love. Chaos is no longer my comfort zone!”







Comments

Post a Comment