You stop living the life you’re use to

For three years I wouldn’t wear a single pair of short shorts. No boxers, no girly shorts, no short dresses at dances, I became the worlds largest fan of basketball shorts. I know it seems silly to stress over your shorts, but short shorts make you vulnerable, they make you easy in a sense. Or at least that’s how I felt–like an easy target. I wanted to burn the shorts he touched me in and torch the clothes I wore when I sat next to him.

In a sense I did, I donated all the clothes that reminded me of him. All the hurt that went along with them. Perfectly good shorts given away. Not because they didn’t fit but, because I never wanted to see them again. I never wanted to feel the material on my bare skin, nor did I ever want to be touched in them again. I was safe with my brother’s basketball shorts,  the ones I found here and there, all size large, all long enough to stretch past my knee. Safe.


Even wearing clothes is something I’ve had to overcome. I had to teach myself not to associate being a whore with something over the knee. Again, it wasn’t my fault (still working on the fault feelings), but I couldn’t help taking as many steps as I could to change so I would be better. So I would avoid it all. As I go out now in a mini skirt and a dress shirt I pull the skirt down a little farther and worry about my legs being bare, I keep my space from the men who crowd me. I look nice, not easy, not like a freshman college ho, I look nice, but I still can’t help constantly pulling down my skirt. It’s funny how it will ruin your night the second you realize it’s compulsive. Then his face pops into your head and your hand on your leg just reminds you of nightmares. While you go for another beer you ask yourself “Am I drinking this to forget him?” Suddenly there’s nothing black and white. You stop pounding back beers because you know that’s not the way to handle it. You start being quieter as you silently remember his hands. Your body shakes a little and someone asks if your cold.

You nod and decide it’s time to go home, and wonder if all this started because you changed your life, and stopped living the life you use to.



Filed under Life, Nightmares, Thoughts

2 responses to “You stop living the life you’re use to

  1. Yes, you are one of many.
    And you have the courage that some may not.

    Thank you for sharing your thoughts, your courage, and your inspiration for those of us who know the feelings and for those who do not quite know what to do with them yet.

  2. I got shivers down my spine reading this post… I’m so sorry for whatever was done to you to make you feel this way, this vulnerable.

    I’m sure it doesn’t help much, but time does bring healing, and talking about it does bring healing. I can understand the safety in hiding, in wearing the long shorts – but it’s a brave step when you start wearing the shorter things again, it’s a brave step when you’re willing to talk about it.

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