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.

Love is Brutal.
Jealous eyes and gasping heart
anticipate downfall to start
backing out now would be smart;
avoid impending pain.

Love is Futile.
oversold and overrated
embers destined to go faded
ecstacy is surely fated
to become disdain.

Love Proves Fatal.
short of breath, I can't stop bleeding
what once was yours, no longer beating
life is flickering and fleeting
down the bathtub drain.


Red is-
-Valentines and fire trucks; sunsets and war,
both sides of this razor and both people in this mirror.

-Roses and romance; my lips and my hair,
and my unhealed wounds inspired by and forever reminding me of
the intimacy that will never be. Again.

-Passion and ******; beauty and death,
and pain that surpasses the simple capacity of the nerve endings
in my tangible flesh.

-Love and hate.
The love I need from you, and the hate I reserve for myself, and all the blurred and liquid emotions that drip so delicately from Inside.

And the Lust I can't resist
And the regret that will persist
No matter how much thick, beautiful color
I wash over my wrist.


Autopsy

"This one is an interesting case," I addressed the group
As you see in the slide, she looks normal outside
But when the procedure got under way, we realized
Her affliction was unique.

We made the cranial incision, and pulled apart the skull.
We then noticed that the brain had been eaten away
By some degenerative disease.
It had devoured all but the brain stem, and looked as though
It had tortured her for years.
"It must have been terrible," one colleague observed, "having your mind
Rotting away every day from corroding memories and false hope."
"Yes," I confirmed, "this could be our cause of death."

Curiouser still, upon separating the ribs, we discovered that her chest cavity
Was lined with some sort of Tar-like Substance,
Mostly surrounding the Heart.
It was thick, cold, and black and it stuck to our gloves.
"It must have hurt." a doctor stated. "It looks as though she tried to scrape it off
With razorblades, or dissolve it with smiles or Love,
But it kept growing back."
"Yes," I concurred, "this is what might have killed her."

The strangest of all was found as we continued the Y downward.
Upon opening the abdomen, we were astonished to see that there was
Nothing inside.
She was completely empty.
Not a stomach, Kidney, spleen, friend, Soul or dream was found in that cavern
"It must have been hard," he whispered, "trying to go on when you're so empty inside."
"Yes," I said, "perhaps this is what made her die."

"And so," I told the students, "with all of her amassed ailments, I decided Jane Doe C33's
COD to be listed Unknown. We aren't quite sure what happened to her, or when it was contracted. All we know is that something awful usurped this girl's mind and body,
Taking from her until there was nothing left to hurt,
And she died."
"So log this one away in your notes, in the event this becomes an epidemic.
An interesting one, indeed …Now, on to the next case for study."

If your mother doesn’t tear us apart
I will

And I’ll do so without realizing it
Until I’ve pushed you far away and out of my reach

I hate hurting you
And I despise that my dislike toward myself is what hurts you most

I want this to be easier
I crave for the two of us to stand in the sun

The warm waves caressing my skin
And your hand in mine

Yet I continue to lurk in the shadows
The darkness is my security blanket

I see you standing with your hand stretched out
Begging me to just grab ahold and leave the secrets behind

But you know that I am afraid
My self-destruction is there when no one else is

You ask me to promise self-preservation
But how can I do so when I’ve failed again and again?

Feet inch closer to me and I shove
With all my might

I won’t let the darkness take you too

in the park
man with candy
i get in van
no good van
feely van
thats him officer

Back from the dead.
Under the ground.
Soul escaping my body.
Help is what I cry for.
Death is what I want.
I just want this world to end.
Do I want to live with pain?
9 times I've tried to die.
-
1 more chance to make things right.
1 chance to read the first letter of each sentence.

triggery diggery dock
the tumblrina ran up the clock
but fell down because obese


patriachry

My downfall.
Slow,
Excruciating,
Waited by all,
Seen by all.

Plotted by few,
wanted by many.
That is my demise,
my destiny.

Pain, helps me;
and yet hurts me.
It brings me away
by keeping me there.

A blade,
A word,
A gun,
Absurd.

All are my downfall,
Pain, I must decide for her.
Be she the curse,
or be she the cure.

the scars on my wrist, they never lasted
it's as if they knew they were vulnerable

yet every little line of hate is visible on my thigh
it's as if they knew they were a well kept secret

It starts on day one

The hardest moment in your life.
Is stepping up.
Throwing away the blades.
Flushing the pills.
Breaking the lighters.
Healing the wounds.

Day one is the most important.
Right after day two.

But my darling.
What if I don't make it to day one?