Tag Archives: Molestation

This Weekend

NewGuy will be here. You see NewGuy and I had a very emotional leaving last time. Which consisted of me crying, for hours. on end. Hours. No Joke.

I was starting to get sad about not seeing him for a whole month when I decided. I am in love with this man. So I said it. I said, “NewGuy. I love you.” Which he smiled from finally hearing it from me and returned the love. Then I started thinking, and this is where it all went down hill. Fast.

I love him. I love how he holds me. I love how he accepts me. I love how he holds my hand because he wants to be near me, not because I am trapping his hands to get them off of me. I love the way he tells me he loves me. I love the way he cares for me. I love how he doesn’t take me for granted. I love how good he is, to me, and to so many other people. I really love him. Then I started thinking about how good he is to me.

I knew the tears were coming so I spaced myself from him. You’re so good to me you’re breaking all my hard seams and tough lines. He immediatly asked what was wrong and I tried to shake it. I tried to curl myself into him and focus on the movie. I couldn’t. I turned my head into his chest and stopped watching the movie. And silently, tears started falling from my eyes. First because I was leaving the man I just said I loved, and secondly because NewGuy is so good. Good I didn’t think I’d ever find. Or deserve.

NewGuy: Look at me.
Me: *Shakes head*
NewGuy: Look at me.
Me: *Sniffles* No

Then he picked up my chin and was forced to see the tears rolling down my face. We spent the night talking about how bad things were, and how scared I was back then. How I’ve always had to be tough and for the first time I’m allowed to be weak. I’m allowed to let someone take care of me. I finally went to bed at one exhausted from crying. He couldn’t sleep because I was sad.

I love him.

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Wishes

Sometimes I wish there was a place I could go where no one would walk in on you and you could cry for as long as you wanted to and curl into a small ball with a pillow covering you.

Yep. That bout’ sums it up.

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I’m Exhausted

I saw Margie last night. Well actually we sat at a resturant till three in the morning, and she said something that stuck out to me. “You’ve always been something about it you know? You’ve always been angry, frustrated, sad or “working on it” but I don’t know how you’re not just exhausted” and I had to tell her the truth.

I’m so sick of being strong. I’m at that point where I should be leaning to the most important people in my life. My mother. My coach. My brother. Margie. Sean. But I can’t. Because we are all in different points of our life that no one has the time to take care of me for a while. I just want to give up for a short while. I want to hide from the sun for days. I want to hide from humanity for weeks. I want to give up.

I know it’ll all work out, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel blah blah. But right now? I’m M.F. tired. Exhausted is a really good word. I’m too tired to want to move. I want someone to take me in their arms and just hold me. Because I’m at that point where I dont have the strength to hold myself together anymore. It’s so tiring. Day. After day. Fighting the good fight and sticking up, finding myself, fighting the stereotypes.

I can’t help but if on the inside I gave up for a little bit. Needing a vacation from all this serious things. It might be best described if I was five, because I’d just simply say, “Mommy I can’t do it anymore. I’m too sad, too sick to my stomache.”

Exhausted.

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Words

I try to fancy myself with words. I like learning new ones, and new meanings. It’s words though that hurt people the most, or can do the most damage. Which may be why I told my counselor about my blog she warned me about these words: the negative ones I might get and the positives ones that might make me think a little harder. It’s a gamble to tell someone your story. There’s a lot to be said in bearing it all.

I want to say thank you to the people who give me something to think about, but I want to tell my readers the few who comment that the words can be scary sometimes.

There are some comments I have to say “go to hell” to after I read them. Not because people are rude or not understanding (mind you these things can happen) but because it’s so easy to say “smile more!” Excuse me!? Go to hell. Do you know how it feels to walk around wounded? Do you know how it feels to have to reprogram your heart and mind to learn what love is?! You are so lucky that you have to not learn you just know. You were taught with out knowing it. I have to relearn completely. I feel seven– and in college. Totally lost.

My advice to those who have stories like mine out there is to tell them- and hold your breath for the worst. Because cousins will tell you to “get over it already” friends will tell you “your just over reacting” and inside your thinking “i’m just being a baby about all this” your not! You have your rights and if it doesn’t feel right that’s all that matters. It’s so hard sometimes there are things that people can sympathize with but they won’t really get it.

I guess the point of all of this is watch how easily your words hurt and effect people. Phrases like “that test raped me” hurts me so deeply and I can’t ask people to stop because then I’m giving away my story. Things like “just get over it” are the hardest because I would if I could I’d do anything. The best thing I’ve heard from someone was Sean and I asked him why me? He said “Why not, it doesn’t matter to me at all– I love you no matter what.” Yep that was the best. I was accept. I was loved. I was everything I feared I’d never be– and now all those fears are still here.

To those who have stories or questions for me that they feel unfit for this blog, I started an email just for anonymous purposes. I will say nothing to no one, but I am here. I am one. someonetospeakto@gmail.com

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Life

The hardest part isn’t finding what we need to be– it’s being content with who we are — lyrics.

Perhaps that’s just it. That’s what I got to do. Be content. With who I am. Instead of always pushing to be someone else maybe I should just accept who I am. What am I then?

Am I a victim? Am I a person who had their options taken from them? Am I a chamber of strength? Just who am I exactly? And what would I push to be if I could test myself to be the person I want to be.

Someone I would want to be is probably skinner, prettier, and smarter. Someone I am is someone a little too black and white a little too tarnished, and someone a little skeptical — or so I think.

Sean use to have this way of describing me, and it made me happy to be the person I was. He told me, *reminiscent pause* he told me I made him alive. Made him see the happiness in life. The colors behind the cruel black and white. The happiness in the steps of humanity. He told me I was something he’d never forget. He told me I changed him for the better and turned him into the best man he’s ever been. Half the time I thought he was feeding me bullshit, but the other half, made me really think what it felt like to be alive.

Who am I really? My name is simple and short. Three letters defined by the end. My heritage defined by the rest of my name. My face filled with lines and cheeks full from smiling (when I smile). My eyes sometimes heavy with the truth, are shades of different colors. My body is tense and rigid at times, but hold me a while longer and you’ll feel my muscles relax and my head fall into yours. Hell maybe I’ll find that soft spot in the back of your neck with my finger. Perhaps I am a clam, maybe I need someone¬† alittle stronger (in many ways) to pry open my soul and stick around.

I’ll think a little harder on who I am and we’ll see maybe my life is waiting on an epiphany.

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A “Clam”

My good friend from high school talked to me today and we talked a little bit, and I made a joke about my conservative ideas about myself and how I don’t party like normal freshman. His exact words “It’s college what did you expect” Then he went on to call me a “clam” because I never open up to anyone. Of which I said sure I do. Then I listed off Sean, and Margie. And then my list stopped. He’s right I don’t open up.

If I could I’d tell you my entire story. From start to finish everyday. I’d say something like.

I was assaulted in high school. I stayed up for nights on end with insomnia, but it wasn’t even that; it was my fear of dreams so I’d fight sleep with every ounce of my body. I’d shake at the sight of my ex boyfriend. I mean shake. I’d go days without eating because if I ate, I’d puke. So then, I went days puking on end. It was really sad when my dentist noticed the decay on my teeth. I told her I had the flu. I hid from everyone, because it seemed so obvious, and yet no one knew. I longed for someone to take me away from every hurt, every fear, and him specifically and then Sean came around and he did do that. Then. He left me. Worse or better off I still haven’t decided.

Or maybe I’d say something like a text book.

I was molested in high school. My boyfriend didn’t understand the word no, and I was severely depressed because of a loss in the family. He would touch me and my body used every defense mechanism it could think of except that vocal chord that knows how to yell. He took away most of my life and I’ve been fighting to get it back soon. He was a “good guy” according to my friends and that part hurt the most. Then because being “single is a curse” my friends hooked us back together. My sentence continued. They blame themselves, or him. Me? I just blame myself.

Or sometimes when I’m really sad I just want to say things like.

I’m broken. Totally broken. Dont love me! Don’t touch me– You’ll get this. It’s contagious this hurt everywhere. It’s an ache in your heart and a burn on your skin. It’s a disease everyone talks about and you’ll laugh too, but inside your heart clenches and you have to count the beats. Save yourself and quarantine me because what i’ve got you don’t want to catch.

Then when that gets too much I switch.

Love me. Please for the love of all that is holy someone show me the things I missed. Pull my hair back. Kiss my forehead. Stroke my arm. Hold me tight when I’m scared. Hate the S.O.B because clearly I can’t. Give me strength because today I don’t have it. Today I’m going to hide under the covers and you’re going to let me stay and bring me a note with a poptart for lunch that says “Please eat beautiful you have me worried” and I’ll eat knowing I’ll have to force myself not to puke– just because it will make you feel better. I’ll cry. I’ll cry so hard, please hold me. Hug me. Prove to me that I’m not contagious. Oh love me.

iloveyou

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My “God”

I went to “bible study” today (hey I’m trying to find my “place with god” don’t judge) and we talked about Forgive and Forget. And how god does so why can’t we. Forgive and forget? What if there is scars? What if there is hurt?? What the hell? What if I can’t even get angry enough to think about forgiveness?!? What if I’m not worthy of losing this hurt? What if this is just the hand I was dealt and there was no changing it for other things. What if there is no “Why me?” and instead just a “Why the hell not me!”

What if it hurts so bad. What if I cried in a place full of people. What if I can’t breathe because it hurts sometimes. Because sometimes I’m so sad. I’m so fucking nothing. That I think I can’t afford to be anything else but sad. Why do I deserve this “healing” when there is millions of other people?! why the hell me? What the hell. What if I could cry because I can’t forgive myself. I can’t cut myself the credit.

So why should my god?? What am I?? but used, abused, torn, and broken. So broken. I know I say “broken” a lot but let me tell you what it means to me. It means I was put on a shelf to be forever looked at different. I lost my luster. I lost my “new toy smell”¬† I lost the ability to stick my plastic head up high, instead someone tore it off and now it kinda hangs there. I’m broken in the sense that I can’t be fixed. I’m dirty. Destroyed. Broken. How can I ever ask anyone to “forgive me” if I can’t forgive myself?

There’s this feeling inside. Like I’ve been here before. I’ve done all this any the only thing I can feel is exhausted. I could never ask my god to take this away, I’d ask him to never let anyone else feel like this.

Because it feels like hell. Is sitting inside of you. My chest hurts, my face burns from my tears that sting, my heart feels heavy, my body feels limp.

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