Prologue | To the pain that resembles me

Part 1: The Scars That Never Heal

That day I was born again
A neighborhood with a railroad track
Days when I wanted to run away
Things that are terribly broken
four sisters
Indelible scars
Like a scene from a movie
I'd rather the world end
Grandma is a woman too
A night of bitter sorrow
Prayers that are not answered

Part 2: The Days I Wanted to Live

The Tyrant Who Became a Baby
The day I took the CSAT
People who look like me
Hidden scenes in photos
Fear hidden behind anger
Memories of a Lost Day
The work of guarding one's side
Because I want to be loved
The source of small courage
Let's never meet again

Part 3: Love and Forgiveness for Me

A child who grows up with the hearts of parents who have not grown up
Love in Five Million Won
Mom, please be born as my daughter
The only adult who has been by my side
Just being together
Last gift
The words I've been wanting to hear so badly
Memories that cannot be found
Today is our last moment
Goodbye

Epilogue | Wounded Healer

According to a paper titled “Analysis of Differences in Suicidal Thoughts According to Youth Abuse and Witnessing of Marital Violence” by the Korean Society of Family and Social Welfare, youth who are indirectly harmed by witnessing marital violence think about suicide more often than youth who are directly abused at home.
The author witnessed his father beating his mother as a child, and spent his dark adolescence constantly thinking about killing his father and himself.
The marks of violence my father carved into my mother's body were scars that would never be erased, and home, which should have been the safest and warmest place in the world, was the most unsafe place in the world.
For as long as I can remember, my father's punches and kicks had devastated my life, and every day, my belongings would crumble and scream, and the broken, shapeless things would be thrown into the trash can the next day without fail.
As many things were broken and abandoned by her father, the little girl's dreams and hopes were also shattered.


Unresolved emotions from the past can affect your life even after you become an adult.
The childhood wounds engraved in his heart came back to haunt him after marriage, transforming into bipolar disorder, anxiety disorder, and obsessive-compulsive disorder.
When depression and anxiety suddenly took over his life, even basic living such as eating and sleeping became difficult, and with his continuous suicide attempts, he unintentionally dragged his family and friends into the abyss of depression.
It was a tough day.
The invisible hope seemed so far away, and the day ahead felt so burdensome.

Then, at some point, a child came into my stomach like a gift.
I thought I had to change for the sake of a new life.
To overcome her depression, the author received psychiatric treatment and tried not to pass on her wounds to her children.
I also comforted myself by reading novels and essays that dealt with domestic violence.
Meanwhile, the author realized that the greatest comfort to someone in a similar situation is the 'confession' of someone who has experienced the same thing, and decided to courageously share his story.


But writing down painful memories was like rewinding the time I had struggled through and going back to that place.
Some times I cried because I was still in pain and scared, and other times I cried because I was angry.
The painful process of repeatedly revising the text continued.
Forgotten memories would reappear in my dreams, waking me up frequently, and my hands and feet would go numb from hyperventilation.
What was clear was that in the meantime, he was changing.
The vivid, moving scenes in my memory gradually became blurry, and my body, which had been tingling and numb just from recalling them, suddenly stopped responding.
He was no longer crying like a child, but was facing his past self.
Finally, after looking into each one and patting them on the back, the old wounds went away.
By giving beautiful wings to the wounds, the writer was finally able to say goodbye to the painful times.
In the place where the wounds of the past had festered, a new determination and commitment took root.


I can only hope.
I hope this story will provide a small measure of comfort and hope to someone like me, a small measure of will to persevere through life.
It is with the hope that through solidarity in our wounds, those who share similar pain will not feel alone, and that our wounds will not remain wounds but find use for someone else! The author's story, a survivor who overcame the trauma of domestic violence, will be enough to give us pause for thought about the human dignity of finding hope for tomorrow even in the tunnel of pain, piercing through thorns, and the usefulness of wounds.