My therapist used to say that
I get the flashbacks because
I don't talk about it enough.
But how am I supposed to talk about it
when everyone tells me that my story has been made invalid
by the alcohol in my bloodstream,
and the fact that I laughed about it the next day?
We all have different ways to survive.
How was I supposed to process my emotions the morning after
when I had blood dripping down my legs,
standing in the 6am cold,
because shivering outside without a jacket
was far better than staying in a room with one of my rapists,
and the lingering smell of shame?
I am far too young to feel a pain like this.
A pain so heavy that my entire soul is flattened
by the weight I carry around.
A violation so evil
that I cannot help but leave my body -
it is no longer mine
but a vessel
that carries the blackness of my ache,
my thoughts that turn to ash when I try to say them out loud
and the demons that have possessed me.
Demons born from the three of you.
How can I continue
when I can still feel three pairs of unwanted hands,
gripping,
hitting,
bruising me
all at once?
How can I breathe
when I can still feel six eyes
on the most intimate parts of me,
every vulnerability and weakness?
How can I live
when I still have pieces of you
entangling yourselves around my bones,
suffocating my heart?
I thought that by burying it all deep into myself -
every 'it' that you called me,
every bruise left on my skin,
every single ****** that tore me apart -
encased by my ribcage,
wrapped in skin that you made into paper,
I would be able to carry on.
I created my very own Pandora's box.
But you escaped;
every millilitre of your venom
is combined and coursing through my veins,
poisoning each one of my nerve endings.
I no longer see the same version of myself,
like looking in a broken mirror,
each fragment showing a different flaw, a different shame.
I am not me.
I am full of darkness.
My mind is sick,
I am filled to the brim with hate and anger and inescapable sadness.
You made me into a monster
that leaves fingerprints of acid on everything I touch.
Is there anything worse
than seeing six vitriolic eyes
everywhere I go?
Is there anything worse
than your visits to me when I sleep,
waking up drenched in sweat because of the horror?
Is there anything worse
than feeling a constant lump of anxiety in my throat,
whenever I'm left alone? -
because please
please
please don't feed me to the wolves again!
Is there anything worse
than starving myself because
no-one will ever love me unless I'm thin because
I'm too riddled with trauma?
Is there anything worse
than blaming myself so much
that I started hurting myself again?
No-one ever tells you that trauma lasts forever,
but I'm learning that now.
Because it's been ten months and twenty-two days since
the three of you destroyed me...
And you've been destroying me every day since.
If you've read this to the end, THIS is the destruction caused by **** - stop injustice anywhere you can