I said his name

I said his name for the first time since I reported to the police. It's just a name. A fucking name. And I let the name, and the person, have power over me still. I meet people with the same name and I instantly hate them. I don't want to say the name. I don't want to read the name or write the name. I hate the name. I hate him. I hate that I give him power still.

In my therapy session today, I told my counselor how I've been wanting to say his name; how I want to take back the power. It's silly that I let a name have power over me. So I said his name aloud. And it felt like the nasty, burning sensation of stomach acid in your throat. Uttering the name provoked a visceral reaction. I sat on the couch in the safety of my counselor's office, but I flashed back to him. It felt like he was right there and I was a child again. I began shaking and crying. My counselor kept talking, but it was like she was muffled. It took me 10 minutes to finally calm down. But I said it. I took a little bit of power back.

For the sake of protecting my own privacy, I will continue to refer to him as Voldemort on here.