Second Season of My Trauma

As always, I sat with dreams in hand,

Books beside, hopes strong and grand.

A smile that bloomed like morning sun,

Determined this time, I’d be the one—

To rise above, to claim my place,

To beat the pride in her precious face.

Then came a beep, so soft, so light,

A message blinked in the quiet night.

“Hey,” it said, from someone new—

A stranger’s name, a face untrue.

And since my heart was open wide,

I let him in—I never lied.

It felt so warm, that friendly tone,

I thought, finally, I’m not alone.

We laughed a bit, we shared a meme,

I smiled like life was just a dream.

Just a little chat, just for a while,

What harm could come from such a smile?

But darkness often comes in peace,

Wrapped in charm, it whispers “please.”

And monsters wear a human face,

Their words a trap, their tone a lace.

He asked me then, in playful glee,

“Can I send something? Trust in me.”

I paused a beat, unsure, unsure—

But my heart was lonely, craving more.

I told myself, I’m not a kid,

“I’m grown enough,” that’s what I did.

It’s harmless, I thought, just one small thing,

But oh, the weight that it would bring.

It came so fast—no warning sign—

A picture dark, obscene, unkind.

It wasn’t art. It wasn’t right.

It wasn’t love—it stole my light.

It was him, exposed, without regret.

And now that image—I can’t forget.

I froze. I stared. My heart beat wild.

No words escaped this broken child.

I felt so sick. I looked away.

I closed the app. I tried to pray.

But prayers don’t work when shame is loud,

And guilt wraps round you like a shroud.

He called—again, without a name.

No face, no light, just sickening shame.

I hit decline. I screamed, “Enough!”

But he just smirked—his voice too rough.

“Sorry,” he typed, as if it’s okay,

“Didn’t mean to scare you… Can we still play?”

Play? Play with what? My trust? My soul?

He broke what once was nearly whole.

I shook. I shattered. I lost the floor.

I wasn’t me—not anymore.

I couldn’t speak. My hands went cold.

My breathing sharp, my courage sold.

The screen still glowed—a haunting blue,

I closed my eyes, but saw it too.

I whispered low, through stinging eyes,

“This is my trauma… second rise.”

Because this wasn’t the first time pain

Had dressed up sweet and come again.

I couldn’t tell my friends—not now.

They warned me once, they’d raise their brow.

“Don’t talk to strangers,” they had said.

But I was curious, lost instead.

I feared their rage, I feared their blame—

I feared they'd say I earned the shame.

So I turned to strangers once again,

But this time, not the type to send

Horrors wrapped in smiling text—

I found kind hearts on Discord next.

Not heroes, no—but they were there.

They didn’t judge, they chose to care.

I told them parts—just a few small bits,

How trust can stab and joy can split.

And maybe soon I’ll write it all—

The chapters where I dared to fall.

But not today. Not just yet.

Today’s still filled with cold regret.

Why did I say yes? Why trust so fast?

Why does the shadow always last?

Why must the color still remain?

Why can’t I wash away the stain?

Have I become what I once feared?

Impure, broken, no longer revered?

I try to cry, but tears don’t come.

Just silence in my bedroom hum.

I want to shout, I want to scream,

But all I do is play the dream—

Pretend I’m fine, pretend I smile,

Pretend I’ve walked away this mile.

Because how can I face the ones I know?

How can I tell them what brought me low?

They’ll say I asked, they’ll say I lied,

They’ll miss the girl who nearly died.

So here I sit, alone, betrayed—

A broken game I never played.

Congrats to him—he had his win.

He reached through wires and scarred my skin.

He left me numb, afraid, and cold,

A story dark, a pain retold.

I was a pawn, a name erased—

Now silence is the mask I wear in place.

No, I didn’t want this, I never did.

No child dreams of being rid

Of safety, joy, or light or grace—

All stolen by an unseen face.

He played the game. I bore the shame.

Now all I have is guilt and name.

So here begins my tale of pain,

The second season, not in vain.

Because I will write, I will confess—

Though darkness sits upon my chest.

Maybe not now, but soon they’ll see,

The strength it took to still be me.

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