My Darkness is a poem I wrote for a counselor. We had a cousin that was having behavioral problems and was getting into physical fights with her mother to the point that they were both going to jail/juvenile detention. My family was asked to take our cousin in. Part of the agreement was that we all go to family counseling. While there, the counselor noted that I refused to participate when it came to things like complimenting my mother and saying “I love you” to her. He had no idea I was being sexually abused, neglected, tortured, and more by her on a daily basis since I was four (By then, I was eight years old or so.) The counselor asked me to talk to him about what was wrong, but I couldn’t find the words. He asked me if I could write down my feelings toward my mother in a letter to her and turn it in the next time I visited. So I wrote this letter to my mother:
A thought runs through my mind,
In my heart, it just won’t quit.
Why has God done this to me?
Upon you, he smiles; at me, he spits.
Trapped in life I am a slave.
How much longer can this last?
With a belt, you bleed out my soul,
Until your anger is past.
Sweet, cold Darkness waits for me,
Behind the bathroom door.
The water’s so hot that it burns,
But soon I will feel no more.
Metal bites and stings to bone,
Hatred fills me to the very end.
As salvation flows from my wrists,
To you this last wish I send.
I hope you live forever,
With what you’ve done to me.
Until you understand true pain,
And death too sets you free.
I curse you to remember,
Those sadistic things you’ve done.
And dream of the day you murdered,
Your one and only son.
Light soon fades to Darkness,
I sink in my crimson stew.
Who knew life would end like this?
With my last breath, I damn you.
The deepest pit in Hell,
For you, I wish no less.
A thought runs through my mind…
Then nothing… just Darkness.
~Zero Ehxe (8 years old)
I left the letter on the waiting room table and went home with the family. That was the last time I ever went to the counselor. It was never brought up, but the next week at our appointment time, my mother told me I didn’t have to go anymore, that it was just counseling for our cousin from now on. I’ll never know if the counselor actually got the letter in his waiting room, or if he did and he confronted my mother with it and that’s why she decided not to take me back (mandatory reporting laws for counselors weren’t in place back then.) It was the first and last time I ever reached out to anyone about being abused, and as a result, the abuse didn’t stop until I was 17 and attempted suicide which put me in a coma for 2 weeks. But that’s another story.