From Anger to Healing: Coping with the Trauma of Rape and Emotional Abuse

A serene path winds through a sunlit forest, surrounded by tall trees and a carpet of vibrant green moss.

From Anger to Healing: Coping with the Trauma of Rape and Emotional Abuse

In the shadowed corners of a silent room,

where echoes linger like a haunting refrain,

I gather the pieces of what was stolen,

the laughter buried under layers of pain,

a tapestry of memory, fraying at the seams,

woven from trust, frayed by betrayal's hands. 

The anger rises, a tempest in my chest,

a fire that scorches the whispers of shame,

each flicker a reminder of the eroded ground,

a battlefield where innocence was claimed. 

No longer just a victim, I rise in fury,

arms open wide, ready to confront the storm. 

Why do they point with gnarled fingers,

as if my skin were a canvas for their hate? 

I stand, a monument to what they cannot understand,

their words like daggers, cutting deep into the soul,

but I'm not the shame they weave around me,

I am a survivor, forged in the crucible of pain. 

Emotional chains wrap tightly around my heart,

each link a whisper of doubt, a curse unspoken,

yet, deep within, a voice wells up, fierce and true,

to counter the lies that attempt to bind me. 

They cannot define my worth with their venom,

I rise, a phoenix, on wings of defiance. 

And still, the world turns a blind eye,

shunning the ones they wish to forget,

discarding stories as if they were dust,

while I reach for the light, clawing through darkness,

determined to be heard, to break the silence,

to shatter the illusion of shame with my roar. 

But somehow, in the tumble of things,

the retaliation finds its way back,

misplaced guilt, shadows cast long,

as if my spirit were a throwaway,

a thing to be cast aside,

just another piece of garbage in the tide of indifference. 

Yet in this depth, I refuse to be erased,

a voice trembling but unwavering,

gathering strength from a thousand souls,

the cries merge, a symphony of anguish and hope,

bound by threads of resilience, we rise,

no longer disposable, no longer silent. 

In the ashes of what was,

I plant the seeds of what will be,

nurtured by anger, watered by tears,

a garden of rebirth in a world so harsh,

and as we rise, hand in hand,

casting aside the weight of their disdain,

we declare with one voice, we are not garbage,

but warriors forged in the fire of truth.