Marriage Bed

7 05 2014

Through the velvet darkness
Camels and cheap beer on my tongue,
Bring me back to pain
I turn my head but you grabbed me back

 

The weight of your fat body I once loved
Now grotesque
Crushes my breath
Vice around my throat
I’m forced to swallow

 

The warm coat of black velvet washes over me
I know I’m not safe,
But here, ignorance is bliss

The struggle and agony inside my body
Lifts the curtain

 

I see my hands bound;
A knot at every eight
The dearest brown scarf
Tiny woven diamond bulls eyes
A thousand tiny eyes
Witness my torture

A thousand tiny eyes
Know the truth
No black velvet to shield them
They saw all
Every tear, every plea

 

The darkness took hold his eyes
That were once so full of life.
Making me believe in evil.

 

A thousand tiny eyes
Stare stone silent shaming
A whimper comes forth
Why are you doing this?

Because, I love you.

 





The Circle

18 04 2014

When I was in seventh grade I was on the cross country team. Competition was awful, but running was therapeutic. Our practice was after school just like the football teams. There were four seventh grade football teams, and three eighth grade teams, so something close to a 100 adolescent boys in unstoppable gear. They were armored compared to my wind shorts and running tank.

One time a circle of them came up, surrounded me, closed in on me. They started grabbing me. I kept spinning and trying to hit them, scratch them, anything. Their suits and gear made it impossible for me to cause pain- they just laugh at me. I try to join in the laughter, pretending that I wasn’t terrified, but I could feel my mask slipping.

Other students stood outside the circle, some encouraging their behavior yelling, “get her”, some watching silently. I could see other girls engaged their own cruel flirting games.

Finally Ben Collins* came up and broke up the circle. He was big for his age and in my math class. He told them to leave me alone. I thanked him, he looked disappointed and asked, “Why do you let them do that?”

A shift happened inside of me that day.

* I changed the name to protect the person who did this. 





Why I hate Paul

30 01 2014

I hate Paul. Paul is in many ways one of the first Christian theologians. I know that he’s considered scripture and all, cannon what not. But, let’s be honest here, a hallucination is not walking around with the guy you claim is god. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not back on the Christian band wagon, I’m merely stating that other people that are in the christian canon have a better claim to the words of christ, and god’s will and what not. 

 

I hate paul. I said that already, oh I’m sorry, but I’m going to make myself clear. I. HATE. PAUL. 

There are many, many reasons I hate Paul, but it wasn’t until recently that I had an epiphany as to why. 

It’s pretty simple really. That verse Philippians 2:3 “Do not act out of selfish ambition or conceit, but with humility think of others as being better than yourselves. ” NIV, not that any of the other versions are better, they’re all a pretty shitty concept, really. 

Here’s the thing. That verse, was POUNDED into my head, it was in the very core of my being. And I do not doubt that there was some infinitesimal amount that did have a positive effect, maybe. BUT. Consider this: if one grows up in an abusive environment, and is told by the one who is the source of terror, that you should consider other’s better than yourself. Others would include the one who causes terror. The abuser. 

So, my dear friends, imagine then, how it is that you feel about yourself, when you realize logically (considering the situation) you are therefore, worse than those who cause you fear. You are worse than the ones who make you afraid that they might harm you, your pets, or others out of blinded rage, a rage which you have no idea what will set it off. 

So if that person is better than you. What does that make you?  

And I wondered why for so long I had no self worth. 





Abuse: a guide

11 12 2013

Abuse is owning some one. Abuse is doing whatever you want with some one or getting them to do it.

For this to happen here are some helpful tips:

Tear that person down constantly. Dash their hopes, belittle them, poke holes in their beliefs, tell them how their good qualities are their flaws

Then, put them on a pedestal. Tell them that their perfect, that you couldn’t live life with out them, tell them that you have all the power, that you can make any one do anything if you really wanted, all you had to do was open your legs. Tell them that you can’t help yourself around them. Tell them that they saved you.

Then, tell them that they’re too needy. Tell them that they don’t really have any friends, that their friends only hang out with them because you’re there. Tell them that you don’t even really care about those friends because you can just toy with them.  Tell them that you make all the money.

Tell them that it’s their fault that you’re peeing on their clothes, while  you were drunk. And then laugh about it later.

When they get angry tell them, remind them, that no one else would have waited as long. That you aren’t worth the wait. Remind them that all those other people would have left long before if they hadn’t gotten to fuck you. Remind them how that makes you such a good person.

The trick is to make that person an object. Strip them down till nothing exists except what you say exists. You have rolled them out, forged the cookie cutter, and pressed down. Now you have your perfectly shaped customized abuse toy.





11 12 2013

My body lies broken
The surface, cracked,

And here I am putting the pieces-
Back





Closure?

15 10 2012

***TRIGGER WARNING***

 

I got some weird news on Friday. It’s not really bad news, but just triggering. My best friend found an article about a French African native that was convicted of raping and stalking women from 2007-2010. The article had a photo. She had no idea that I was actually on my way out of work to head to my counselor, but I’m very glad that I was. As I rode over, I tried to remain as calm as possible, but my breathing was heavy, and I’m unsure how fast I was pedaling  and I know I did some maneuvers that weren’t that wise.  By the time I got down to meet my counselor I could barely breathe, let alone talk, but after taking off all my outer layers I was able to tell him what was going on.

I told him I had to know, that there was a photo in the article, and I needed to know. It was him.  I dropped my phone, and I knew it was him. I became 80% sure it was him. The stranger that raped me in June 2010. The one that I didn’t understand, the one where I started disassociating before it even was happening. As soon as he touched me, taking my hand, I started to fade, and become a shell.

I completely lost it for a few minutes. I felt as though it was happening all over only this time I knew what was going on and I didn’t see the mountain top. I didn’t know what to do but my therapist was able to remind me that I was safe, that it wasn’t happening now.  He was able to help me calm down, and call a friend to meet me after counseling.

He’s in prison. For twenty years. 19 now. But I’m not going to count that down. I’ve read several articles about the whole thing, and I’m now 90-95% sure that it is him. Nothing mentioned how tall he is. That’s the only detail that I feel like I need to really confirm it with myself. I know that there’s no tacking on to his sentence. But I recognize the shape of his mouth, the shape of his head, and he made this one face, when some one was talking during the world cup. The things that he said in the article, and the description of the actions. If its not him, there is a strong uncanny resemblance. I don’t know what this means for me. I don’t really know if this will bring closure really. My dad said that I should celebrate. But so far its just made everything present again.

To me this just tells me even more, that you don’t really get over being raped, you just learn how to carry it, and eventually the strength you gain makes it seem small and far away. One day I will be able to carry this again in such a way that it won’t be so painful.

“We must imagine Sisyphus, happy.”

I’ve contacted two reporters, the associated press, and the NYC DA office, I’m trying not to obsess, but I feel like if I know either way then I’ll be able to go on and bo back to not being a raw ptsd nerve.

I have work today so that will help. I wish I could listen to music in my head phones at work, I feel like I’m going to be hearing his voice all day with out that. I haven’t started with the nightmares or hallucinations, so I’m not going to worry too much.

I’m just going to listen to some angry/sad girl music, and I’ll be okay. I’ll probably watch Pride and Prejudice a million times, too.