Trauma 2.0: What Stayed

i think trauma comes from when you feel powerless— when you couldn’t do anything in the moment. you are so scared the only thing you can do is think the next thought to stay alive. or just to survive it. like when i was robbed— i kept thinking if i had a gun, one that could blow their kneecaps wide open, the pain and terror i was feeling— they could feel it too. to see them begging for mercy, the same mercy they didn’t show me. they didn’t just rob me of my stuff. for a long while, they stole my ability to sleep through the night without fear. every sound became something— the creak in the door hinge that needs oiling, the stillness when everything goes quiet, as if it’s waiting for the attack. the instinct to hold onto your wallet if someone looks a second too long. when they broke in, it told me: i am never safe. walls and locks don’t mean anything. being kind doesn’t mean anything. doing your best won’t mean anything. my sense of self was stolen with the chains. if i could make them feel just one second of what they left behind, it would almost feel worth it. they stole twenty-five years in fifteen minutes. i want them to feel what i still have to fight not to feel. and the other thing— they didn’t understand, or maybe they did— you never know when it’s coming back. you go months, even years, and then it slips in again, like they did, to rob and dismantle everything you’re trying to build. they did it. i survived it. but memory doesn’t let me forget. trauma settles in what stays— what refuses to leave when they did. fear.