Aug 2013
I am stuck in this place of begging for someone to listen to me and denying my own desires to talk
It is still here – the longing to cry with someone – but it is impossible now. It’s been impossible for so long I don’t know why I even bother with any of it. I don’t know to help her…no one knows how to help her.
It doesn’t matter if you feel like a victim or a survivor, or at times, both…it still happened. It was me. It was me lying there – it was my body. I am no longer that little girl but it was undeniably me. I was hurt, I cried, I yielded all of my power to him. Me. It was me. No one helped me. I can’t make that any different. I can’t change that….not through my writing, not by speaking, not inside my mind. I can’t undo it.
I want to bury this hurt in an airtight coffin until it suffocates and can no longer damage me. I want to smash the pain with a boulder until it is crushed and no longer alive in me. I am stuck in this place of begging for someone to listen to me and denying my own desires to talk. It all comes back to the forbidden words of trust and need and I’m having a difficult time trying to shift and re-position myself in a positive, healing way.
It’s difficult to get the words out without the tears and emotions. And I won’t cry in front of anyone. There are times when I am aching with the desire to talk about difficult things and I hold back. Why? Multifaceted…complicated question and an equally complicated answer. First, there is a part of me that does not trust anyone, or even want to trust anyone. A part of me is embarrassed at the Nita that will be seen when the tears start. It is not the me that everyone knows…it’s the miserable, self-indulgent, childish, hopeless me. And I cannot risk being seen like that. And there’s a third reason…it feels incredibly undignified to cry in front of someone when they just sit there…silent and unmoving. Late at night, when it is overwhelming and relentless, I ache for someone to talk to about this pain, someone who loves me, not someone who is paid to listen.
It is still here – the longing to cry with someone – but it is impossible now. It’s been impossible for so long I don’t know why I even bother with any of it. I don’t know to help her…no one knows how to help her.
It doesn’t matter if you feel like a victim or a survivor, or at times, both…it still happened. It was me. It was me lying there – it was my body. I am no longer that little girl but it was undeniably me. I was hurt, I cried, I yielded all of my power to him. Me. It was me. No one helped me. I can’t make that any different. I can’t change that….not through my writing, not by speaking, not inside my mind. I can’t undo it.
I want to bury this hurt in an airtight coffin until it suffocates and can no longer damage me. I want to smash the pain with a boulder until it is crushed and no longer alive in me. I am stuck in this place of begging for someone to listen to me and denying my own desires to talk. It all comes back to the forbidden words of trust and need and I’m having a difficult time trying to shift and re-position myself in a positive, healing way.
It’s difficult to get the words out without the tears and emotions. And I won’t cry in front of anyone. There are times when I am aching with the desire to talk about difficult things and I hold back. Why? Multifaceted…complicated question and an equally complicated answer. First, there is a part of me that does not trust anyone, or even want to trust anyone. A part of me is embarrassed at the Nita that will be seen when the tears start. It is not the me that everyone knows…it’s the miserable, self-indulgent, childish, hopeless me. And I cannot risk being seen like that. And there’s a third reason…it feels incredibly undignified to cry in front of someone when they just sit there…silent and unmoving. Late at night, when it is overwhelming and relentless, I ache for someone to talk to about this pain, someone who loves me, not someone who is paid to listen.
Dearest Host Body ~ F#$k you! Go have your F#$king mental breakdown! Drink and pass out! Go lock yourself in the bathroom and OD and try to **** yourself! Go ahead and wallow in self-pity while that monster hunts me like prey, and skins and kills me when he catches me…over and over and over again! I am broken! I am so full of infection…pain and rage and disgust – I can’t find joy in the “gift of life” you so graciously gave me! There is darkness inside of me and inside that darkness is nothing - void of all humanism. Tell me, was I born this way? Was I born defective and broken? F#$k your problems! F#$k your anger about having to be responsible! F#$k your sadness about your life! ***** you! F#$k your misery! You can’t even take care of yourself! You never could! I hate you! Nita
