Finally, Freedom

Finally, freedom.

Six years of scrubbing so hard in the shower that my skin hurts.

Six years of screaming and crying and ripping my skin apart to try and drain you out of my veins.

Six years of shame.

Six years of fear.

Six years of searching for you in everyone else I met.

It’s been six years and I can finally say your name without feeling like I’m choking.

It’s been six years and on that anniversary I finally didn’t feel the need to shower.

It took me six years to even slightly start healing.

It took me six years to get rid of you even though you've been gone for those six years.

Six years, thousands of painful showers, thousands of sleepless nights, hundreds of therapy sessions, and psychiatrist prescriptions, and shame, and hurt.

It took me six years, but you're gone.