An Open Letter To The First Boy I Loved

Alternatively known as “An Open Letter To The Boy That Calls Me Crazy.”

The first words you ever “said” to me were in a facebook message,
A picture of your lined arms attached, reading,
“Hah, I’m sorry, but I saw your picture of your scars and felt like showing you these.”

The first thing I should have done was run.
Not only were you immediately trying to make me feel bad
Before I had even uttered a word,
But you were already one-upping me,
Making me feel like you had been through so much more.

I admit my mistake of having shown my weaknesses online
At such a young age,
Hardly 14,
But having grown to a world of romanticized trauma,
I felt it was only normal to have issues of my own,
Whether they were exaggerated or not.

The saddest part of these issues having been forced upon myself
Is the fact that at one point I did not need them,
But now I feel like I would be nothing without them.
I do not blame you for their worsened behavior,
But before I met you,

I had never felt like a ****.
I had never actually made myself bleed to the point of soiling a shirt.
I had never actually attempted to take my life.

Though knowing I had these scars,
It seemed you knew how easily I’d fall into you,
Fall for you,
Looking for comfort in knowing I was not alone.

You persuaded me into kissing you.
You persuaded me into losing my virginity in the back of your mom’s car
While she was in your house on a cold September night.
It was rushed.
It was rough.
There was blood.
And you did not care.
“It’ll be quick, don’t worry.”

In the six months we were together,
I willingly had *** with you twice.
Every other time ****** acts occurred,
(which was over forty times)
You guilted me.
You told me that you deserved it.
You asked if I really loved you.
You told me I needed to show you that I loved you,
You told me that it was what love really was.

I never told you how many times I cried after you left.
I never told you how many guys I kissed after you,
And how every single one made me cry
Without saying a word.
It was the simple intimate touch--
Lips, even if gentle, pressing together--
That sent fear rolling through my body.

It was three months after you broke up with me.
Three months after you admitted that you cheated on me,
It was the day you asked me to go on a walk with you.
The day we could become friends again,
Start over,
Ignore that I still loved you,
Try again.
You insisted you still loved me
(Though now I doubt you ever did).
You insisted that you
Never wanted to hurt me,
And bent me over a tree in the woods
Behind the high school,
And said it would
“Just be in and out! Once!”
And I begged you to stop.
You slapped me,
You called me a ****,
And when you finally finished,
You started to panic.
You were begging me to say that
You
Didn’t
****
Me.
Through my own tears,
My own confusion,
My own pain,
I assured you,
“No, you're okay. It'll all be okay.”

It has been over two years since that day.
Since then, I have opened myself up to one person.

That man has since left me.
One of the contributing factors
Being that he was worried I was not over you.
He kept receiving messages from you,
Messages you sent claiming I would never stop loving you,
When this is the closest thing to hatred that I have ever felt,
Messages you sent claiming I would always think of you,
And what’s terrifying is I can’t help thinking of you--

It's only because I can’t get the nightmare
Of your touch
Out of my aching skull
And I don’t want you to feel victorious,
And it terrifies me that you do,
Because not only did you push me,
Not only did you threaten me,
Intimidate me,
**** me,
But you insisted I’d spend the rest of my life with you,
You disoriented my visions of love
Like a bad LSD trip,
And I’m so ******* scared it will never ******* end,
Because every time I see myself trying to hug,
Kiss,
Love,
Trust someone,
I see what you did to me and I know that it’s
Baggage to them,
But a ball and chain on me,
And I’m petrified.
These memories are bars keeping me from moving onto happier things,
Keeping me holed up, waiting for you to finally let me go,

Stop telling people that I’m crazy,
Stop whispering my name when you pass me in the hall,
Stop following my social media,
Stop following the people that I try to let in,
Stop ******* with my life,
Stop ******* with my head,
Stop ******* with me,
Leave me the **** alone,

The first words you ever “said” to me were in a facebook message,
With a picture of your lined arms attached, reading,
“Hah, I’m sorry, but I saw your picture of your scars and felt like showing you these.”

I never thought I’d have more scars than that.
Over 146 scars,
The police department proved it when they showed up at your house
The night you tried to **** yourself,
And told me it was my fault.

The scars I have aren’t physical.
Not all of them, at least.
But the problem with scars is they don’t just go away.
They go away with time,
And it’s hard to let them heal when you’re still leaving them there today.

I’ve tried telling the police what you’ve done.
I’ve tried telling counselors,
They haven’t done anything;
There was never enough proof,
It happened too long ago.
I can’t do anything to prove it.
Instead I’m left to see you daily.
Instead I’m left to hear you whisper about me.
Have people ask me questions about the things they’re hearing
Things you say.

This is an open letter to the first boy I loved.

I say boy, because
The only thing I’m certain of anymore,
Is you will never
Be a
Man.

Ahh.
I believe
It is a sign
Of a healthy
  Relationship
    When the words
       She loves to hear
          The most no longer
           Are I Love You, but
           ****, girl. You crack me up!
                                 It means the love
                                  Can be taken for
                      As granted as it should.
Laughter
Never is.

I haven't seen her since Friday.  
Weekends with her move
Like electrons around
Nucleae; without her like
An old slug up a mountain side.
Now she's less than
An hour
Away.

Apart from daily good night calls,
I've spoken to none but our cat.
Now my voice sounds alien
When I fill her bowl,
And she looks at me as if slightly
Worried for my mind,
Before she eats.
Don't worry, Wolfie, I
Hear myself say.
*She's less than
An hour
Away...

And has a belly so full of my
Vegetable stew with Swedish
Sausage she can barely keep
Her beautiful eyes open.
Heavy with a strange weekend
Behind her, and the road.
I feel bad for mostly eating and
Sleeping. More beer than water
(Showers included).
Mine was a lighter load
This time, princess.
I'd take yours in a heartbeat,
I'm tempted to say. But I stop
Myself at your
Recent loss.

Now finish your cider. Pat
Wolfie good night.
I'll carry you to bed
Where all I expect
Is that you
Sleep.

We'll both be here
In the morning.

You'll never be good enough
the blade says
as it cuts the wings from my back
the ones I used to think
could make me fly
you can carve perfect in your mind
as many times as you want
but it'll never seep through your skin
To perfume the air
the aura of ease
no longer does it come from you
How can I hope to keep up
when stars fall faster than I
And they know they all know
To catch you when you stumble
I wish they would turn a blind eye
Sympathy burns like rejection
And my blade is kinder
than their eyes