He was mad again. I could hear it in the way he answered the phone with a stern "Hello." I didn't understand "What did I do?" "It's fine," he repeated over and over Yet, it was not fine. As the call ended and my cheeks continued to stain with dry tears just like every time before. I never understood It felt like I was drowning Like I had dug my own emotional grave and didn't notice it was already seven feet deep. yet, he said he loves me...
Is this love?
Yet, you don't tell me you love me But, it feels like you love me more than he ever will Yet I stayed with the other Even though he makes me cry Even though there are nights I cannot recall and bruises that seem to stay even after they have faded away Maybe I told you that I loved him because it was easier than admitting I was scared Maybe I told you I loved him because it was easier than asking for help Maybe I told you I loved him because it was true... ...but deep down we both knew.
Something I never admitted. There are nights I wish I could forget and nights I really wish I could remember
Why do you haunt me ghost Lingering, lurking, and watching your host Around every joyful corner you linger From every happy window you watch And from ever peripheral shadow you lurk You do not own me Yet you dangle a key As if to show my captivity In chains I am bound As memories fly around Nightmare is a better name For this haunting game Day lit terrors before my eyes Sunny momentarily, til you cover the skies A dark lit confusion Met with desperation
All the unspoken screams Still rattle in my head Fear fills what were once dreams Panic now owns my bed A bed I wish to share With kindness and love But you lay there and stare
I've had ****. Not *** Not love-making Not consensually. I've been ******. *****. abused. taken advantage of. whatever it is you want to call it I've had it done. I've been kissed Fingered choked hit spit on spit in I've been held, hostage with knives against my throat guns to my head, in my mouth drugs down my throat barely conscious I've been ******. I've been in love I've been heartbroken I've been touched consensually, let me tell you about the consensually. I've been kissed in the bathroom, lifting her up against the wall laughing when our teeth brushed against one another's hands fumbling up a skirt around a throat fingers tangled in wavy hair. I've been touched sitting in her lap outside on a hot day wearing her hoodie around children freshmen year. I've been touched multiple times by him in band rooms, away from prying eyes secrets to be kept and wooed over laying in a dress during a concert event head in the lap of my best friend underwear brushed to the side fingers thrusting in and yes, this was consentually. I've been touched in the school hallways every day after school or in between classes tasted and tasted he tasted me I tasted myself. And in the living room of our best friend's house even though I told him no I told him the safe word he continued. I say it was consensual because in the end, I said I loved it. Don't argue about it. I wanted it. and I've been touched in her pool heated ever so lovingly LED lights danced us into the temptation as did the alcohol on my part with her lips against my chest desperate to mark, yet not to show i mean, hey, my step-dad's homophobic though I'd love nothing more than to show who I belong to. We switched a lot, but ultimately I landed in her lap water licking up my sides, sending chills to ******* goosebumps and her fingers hesitating not daring to touch. "i'm going to need a yes." finally. Finally asked. I nodded eagerly and she treated me like a piano perfect notes though brief I know that I was drenched in all ways the chlorine water yes and of course the obvious. you see, we were going to do something that night we had the chance to I wanted to she wanted to In the end, she took something for her headache though it was a sort of similar thing to Nyquil We were going to. But we laid in bed and we molded against each other and sailed asleep. I've slept with one person. Her Sydney My Muse. But Still, A ****** am I
When I see the news stories And read the vile comments I’m reminded of my own And how for him it’s past tense But for me and for them It’s every day We live with that pain and that shame and that Way of surviving Like no one ever ripped out your heart Like your dignity wasn’t stripped from you Disbelieved in court Ridiculed on Facebook And ******* about in bars ‘This tortures him too’ ‘He’s always been fine with me’ That’s what we hear when we try to seek Validation from those who know our abusers scepticism and the audacity to accuse us Of being dramatic, of lying, exaggeration Well tell me where is the dramatisation In the fact that in my story when he was done He wrote ‘No’ on my wall in permanent marker To reminded him that next time ‘No’ is the answer Like he should need reminding when he heard it from me But I am a woman, was a girl So you see What I do doesn’t matter Which sadly is proved When today we read of Sarah Everard in the news
I’m too scared to get up. I can’t do anything. I can’t move. I’m sitting at the floor of my bathroom. I’m kind of crying, but not, like, bawling. Just shedding tears.
I get up and go to my room. I’m too scared to take off my clothes. I do it anyway but it takes so long. I put on warm clothes even though everyone else is wearing shorts and a t shirt. I stand up and want to go out the door, but I can’t.
I step out the door into the hallways and see a dark red carpet stretched out along the floor and everything is dark and ***** and big.
I look around and realize everything reminds me of different things and I see many different pictures in my head. I can’t hear anything and my mind is dizzy. I stand there to let the movies pass. I walk downstairs and feel dizzy. I just feel dizzy. My brain feels ice cold and hot tingles at the base of my brain. Almost like the feeling of extreme embarrassment.
It’s hard to let my chest rise and fall. I’m not thinking like this because I’m sad, but I just think it would be easier if I didn’t breathe at all. Or if I just died right here. I’m staring outside and my vision seems to jiggle. It’s hard to breathe. My heart is pounding in my head and throat.
I wrote this right after I had possibly the biggest panic attack I’ve ever had. Now that I read it a year later, I think it’s beautiful and hauntingly sad.
You are a trigger for me, When I'm around you I feel different, Than when I'm not around you, My world feels much different when I'm alone, That energy we share doesn't feel good, That pain is sharper than a blade, The space just doesn't feel comfortable.
I don't feel at home but I feel homeless, Being in a house ain't the same as being at home, Our home has been burned down to ashes, The flames burn sharply, The ashes are burned to crisp, Our lives haven't been the same.
You can't rebuild the house, The house has been destroyed, You can't even recognized things the same, When you look at it things aren't what they use to be, What's broken can't be fixed.
I avoid my reflection because the person who looks back at me is pale and looks dead The body I once saw looking back at me no longer feels like my own At 3am I am standing there staring with my hand tracing my skin I wonder why Ive never felt like my body was home Because my reflection is no longer mine it belongs to you The demons in my head Food is scary and the thought of it makes me sick When I don't eat the person staring back at me morphs again To be someone who's dropped weight and needs to eat more But I can't bring myself to Because if I do the person looking back changes soon after And I haven't figured out how to look back at them I can't identify with the person in that mirror and I can't remember a time I have They've always looked back at me different And Ive never seen life in those eyes Maybe one day it'll change and maybe it wont But for now I avoid my reflection Because I'm scared of who looks back
Tw// Mentions of food and eating disorders -> To clarify: I'm professionally diagnosed, not self diagnosed, and have been for almost 2 years, and this is my own experiences and will not be the same for everyone. I've had therapy and blood tests and I'm recovering slowly but surely. I'm diagnosed with (severe) Body Dysmorphia and my relationship with food is greatly damaged, but I'm looking into getting professional help in a ward when I finish school next year.
Can you hear me, can you feel me? You can feel me purple spiderwebs mark my ******* proving that you can so if you can feel me why can't you hear me i think i said no i said no but you're invading me still unwelcomed visitor. I closed the door and you don't have a key. but you don't require one, do you you have a lockpick. a lockpick on each finger. the skeleton key on your tongue.