I don’t remember a lot from my childhood, but I remember the closet.

I was scared of it for the longest…

until I wasn’t.

As I grew older, it became my home… my safe place.

I filled it with all of my bloodcurdling screams, crying out to God to save me.

He never did.

I remember clutching my throat and gasping for breath as my heart pounded up my throat and out my mouth and then down my face. Covering my bruises and tinting the floors.

I remember the pain.

The fear.

I begged everyday.

Oh god I begged everyday for the pain within me coursing through my sore limbs. Drowning me. Choking me.

Everyday I woke up I wondered,

Is today the day it will end?

It wasn’t.

I don’t know if I imagined it.

All the pain.

The heartache.

Everyone treats me as if I did.

As if it was some made up story that a child made.

But then I get glimpses of those lost memories tucked far away in some corner of my brain.

I hear myself screaming.

Them screaming.

I feel my skin stinging.

Aching as I move.

It is only then that I am sure.

-A masochist