His Hands

After it happened, I didn't feel like much of a person.

I felt like an empty shell floating around, unable to connect to her emotions.

Unable to feel anything besides his hands.

Have you ever had a nightmare where you're getting crawled all over by ants?

That's what his hands feel like.

It's been five years and I can still feel them.

Randomly, most of the time.

Like when I'm having a really good day.

All of a sudden there his hands are.

Or there's days where it doesn't feel like he ever left.

He's there from the time I wake up to the time I fall asleep.

It's absolutely paralyzing.

I don't write about this to gain anyone's sympathy.

I write about it because writing about it is the only way I've been able to heal from it.

Writing was the only thing that was there for me when it happened.

My own best friend claimed I was lying.

She still, to this day, thinks I am.

What a best friend, huh?

I write about this because it's the only place I can write how I truly feel and not have anyone tell me I don't have the right to feel that way.

I write because this is how I cope.

This is how I deal with his hands.