I wrote this poem a few months prior to my PTSD diagnosis. I was dealing with a lot of emotional stress, and that was paired with the toxicity of the relationship I was in. It is quite safe to say that I was majorly depressed. I don’t much like looking back, but I must juxtapose where I was to where I am now, to see how far I’ve come; Victoria, you will go far.
I Have Secrets Too
I have secrets worth telling, secrets worth shouting,
and secrets that wrap around the back of my mind.
I’m hoping they’ll be silent, but they’ll come back again.
These secrets surfaced again today,
filling my eyes with sorrow so noticeable
that I couldn’t bear to look at you
with fear you’d know exactly what they were.
Unable to hide them much longer,
I told you what they were.
With high hopes that you’d love me still
after hearing those few words.
You told me to tell some others,
and that just can not do.
I felt an obligation to tell only you.
These words can not be heard by others,
for the results are far too grim.
I cannot stand the thought of my family
ripping themselves limb from limb.
This is no exaggeration, sir, tell no one.
I can’t live with these awful truths.
But I’m glad I’m not the only one
given such awful news.