Experiments with Trauma: Writing with memory

I hold my breath and count how long it takes for you to wipe me from conversations-- once I was brutally honest and clear-- it caused you to break down-- it caused you to progress in a direction far away from me. You stopped fighting to see me, stopped fighting to talk to me, stopped holding on to someday. It felt strange for me. I almost missed the attention. I never thought our relationship would disintegrate in to such fine dust particles. I never thought it would feel so cruel. You were so oblivious about how much you took from me. That it caused me to lose all respect that I once had. It morphed into hate for something I no longer knew. I tried to suppress such negative feelings, but something inside me built up like a smoke stack--it clogged the air I breathed, I choked up a fire at the sound of your name, even as I was the one saying it, especially when I was the one saying it.... you are a reoccurrance in my memory that makes me shiver with fear. Maybe this sort of thing isn't so violent for others, or maybe it is worse, more traumatic than I can imagine. I am numb, I still have trouble admitting what happened. Do all women have these sorts of secrets? Nipping at their ankles in the dark. Memories that are so abusive that they could fill a ten story mansion with fear.