poison

It had been days now since the drug had been removed. All of the emptiness and dissatisfaction she had once been hiding and even ignoring was now revealed for what it was. The poison had deeply penetrated her soul. She writhed in pain almost every night, and it was all she could do to not cry out. 

Slowly but surely the poison was working itself out of her system. It was being driven out, and now had no way to fight back, the source having already been cut off. But it was a slow process; and as the poison diminished, she felt a new kind of pain.

It was a pain that was accompanied with memories and reminders of what once was. It was the pain of letting go. Because unless she did that, she would never be made new. She would never rediscover herself. She would never take back what was lost. 

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