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Bitten

Bitten

Small white stitched doll, it's missing a head and its left leg. A knife is wedged between the breasts

My therapist says that I’m scared of human connection.
I say, “Trauma has teeth, and I just don’t want to get bit… again.”


She asks me to think back, to peel the bandage off the wound and really look at it. I know what I’ll see. I was afraid when the knife glinted in the light, my mother’s knuckles white and eager. It was fear that kept me rigid and silent as his hungry hands reached for me in the dark.


I tell her the truth— I’ve spent far too much time with monsters to be scared of them anymore.