Are you okay?

NewGuy and I have been getting pretty phsyical. I mean I’m comfortable with all of it, but it’s physical so here is where my suitcases of baggage come in. I sat on his floor with a tall glass of water trying to settle my breathing and holding his hand. “Are you okay?” He asked me. Of which I assured him I was fine. “No I mean with all of this. Are you okay?” Right then my heart melted. I’m leaving and the night before he decided to be the exact man I’ve ever wanted in my life.

I crawled behind him and whispered, “You are too good to me.” He thinks he does nothing and doesn’t understand. I get quiet and shower his back with kisses while I try to choke back tears. At least he can’t see me crying. “You make me comfortable. You care for me. You take care of me.” I started to choke a little harder on my tears. “You asked me if I was okay. You accept me.” Then he caught on that I was crying. “I’m broken NewGuy.” He reaches for my hands, “What?” I start to cry harder, “I’m broken. I’m used. I’m hurt. I’m no good.”

This was the point of which he picked me up and put me down on his chest holding me tight. You’re not broken. I cried harder at his care. Our last night together and Steve had to jump in, I cried harder that I lost a night to him. You can talk about it if you want to. “You’re so good to me.” I whisper in his neck with tears running down my neck. How does someone hurt such a beautiful person? I cried harder, and he held me until my tears slowed. He held me while I shook with everything I have. “I’m sorry.” I kept whispering in his ear while I wiped my tears and tried to forget it all. Please don’t apoligize. He said like he meant it, and I fell into his body not wanting to move.

You’re so good to me.

Steve

Makes me want to vomit everytime I think of him. Lately the only thing I can be is relovted. As NewGuy and I get closer emotionally and physically I can only remember all the horrible memories I’ve pushed away for so long. Sometimes it’s utterly depressing and I want to ask NewGuy to stop and I want to cry.

Then I look at him, and he’s not reaching for me because he wants to test my boundries. He’s reaching for me because he doesnt want the distance between us.

Then I feel his hand on the bare of my back and I know all the times I stopped Steve’s hands in that exact spot, and NewGuy doesn’t move. He simply holds onto me and let’s his presence be known without even me asking him to stop he does. He makes me feel utterly comfortable.

Then he holds me tight and calls me beautiful.

Sometimes I want to hold NewGuy for as long as I can and never let him go, because he’s so good to me, and he doesn’t even know it.

I’ve got to get through this

That’s how I’ve lived my life for quite a while. “I just gotta get through this.” I’ve got to make it through the Steve situation. I’ve got to make it through being on a college team. I’ve got to get through my first year at school. Have to make it through high school. Have to make it through heartbreaks, nightmares, shakes, episodes, and emotions.

How much of my life did I not live and just “get through?” Perhaps that is my biggest problem right now. I can’t just “get through” something, because I have nothing to “get through” I’ve already been wading knee deep in my past, and I “got through” that really well. I found someone who treats me really good, I fell in love with my college, I quit my team, I found myself.

I have nothing to get through. I’m just living now. Maybe that’s my problem, when’s the last time I didn’t have some epic moment of passion getting me through things and keep going!? When is the last time that things were good and that I just sat back and enjoyed them? Damn have I really been living my life full speed trying to miss as much as I can and breeze through the worst of it for this long?

No wonder this slow paced, east movement of life startles me a bit. This is how it’s suppose to be. More bad things will come, but I need to learn how to enjoy the good things for what they are. Good.

Someone once told me

The body needs interaction, that after being touch deprived for a while our body starts to freak out. Frankly mine was doing just fine, and I was the farthest thing from coddled. Then I went to Mexico, where everyone hugs. The kids lean on you, and then the people I met there (from my school) started hugging, and even now we still hug hello and goodbye.

My senses are having a feild day. Now my body is starting to freak out. It misses all of it. I can’t get enough of little hugs and touches. Sunday night was a bit of a hard one for me, I was writing poetry and it became a little too much to think about. I normally set my pillows up to lie to myself that someone is there. That night, it simply didn’t work. I was lying to myself and I knew it. All I wanted was to call up someone and tell them to never let go.

That and I’m getting sick so I just feel like shit anyway.

Walked Home

You know so I don’t get “raped.” He meant it as a simple gesture and instead I had to stop myself from falling for him again. If only you knew how much you walking me home meant to me. I’d kill to have someone want me to be safe. Yet there’s a shadow on the happieness of having his company.

One day I’m gonna meet a guy and he’s gonna want me to be safe, and I’m going to have to tell him the story. Part of me wants to tell everyone and get it the hell over with, and then part of me never wants to tell a soul because I don’t want to look into the eyes of someone else and hear the words escape my mouth. I just want to curl around his arm and tell him to protect me because once someone violated me, and I want him to kiss my head and say “Never again.”

I’ve been distant lately

From my blog. Which is mainly because I’m feeling good. Slash I have end of the year sludge when it comes to things I have to get done, which means I run around like a chicken with my head cut off. But a whole lot more tired.

Life. is good. Really good. My ex boyfriend begged for me back while he had a girlfriend. I was hit on for three hours by an excon who was just released from jail. I have only a few more weeks left of living in my dorm, with my nagging, narrow minded roommate. I have meetings up the wazoo and projects all due in a matter of days.

Yet life. Life is good. So how does any of that make sense? Because I finally came at peace with who I am. I’m not a victim persay, I was I was badly hurt, really emotionally fucked up. That doesn’t mean who I am. Who I am is who ever the hell I want to be. I want to be a hippie I want to change the world, and I do. I voulenteer. I give back. And not in the lords name, or to raise money, or to raise awareness. Just because I like helping the people who need it. I realized I am beautiful. My face is full of unique traits that most people would die to have. My eyes are neither green, nor blue, they are hazel. My hair is neither red nor brown, or auburn. It changes with the seasons, like my eyes, they change with the whim of the sun, the flit of my heart, and it’s desires.

There’s more to come, it’s just hard to write about the good stuff you know? I feel like writing about it is, pointless. Not making any type of ground, but I am. I’m proving to myself the things I feel.

Steve

was a screw up.

He never went to college. Lied about going into the miliary. Lied about moving to three different states. Barley graduated. Almost made it to state in wrestling his junior year, but missed the last one and since then tried to lose more and more weight to go back again. In a sense he was stuck at this age in high school. So he liked to visit. A lot.

Seeing him would cause me to shake. I would feel something in the pit of my stomache that made me want to puke.

He joked around once with slapping my face. It was light. It was nothing, but it was enough to send me over the edge. I remember pushing him back and getting mad, but it only lasted an instant because he had his hands clenched on my wrists. I couldn’t move, I could back away because he was stronger than me. He proved it. I remember for a breif second I was scared. Shitless. He owned me and it all registered. But he was smooth talking, he soothed his voice and reassured me it was all a joke “I wouldn’t do that” I believed him, but I always knew. He had the power. Always.

It’s odd that I associate smaller men with losing control, but the bigger men– the ones I probably couldn’t hold myself against that I feel the most comfortable with. Because it’s the comfort in their arms not the squirley power of Steve.

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. Don‘t 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.

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.

Continued…

*See the previous post for full story*

I went home that day trying to calm my nerves and I remember crying a little bit at night and not sleeping well. I remember the day or two after were hard I walked on egg shells around the halls again. Nothing was comforting again. My coach tried to keep me reassured, but I was beyond her help. Finally I managed to push everything down and was walking the halls with no worries again. I was starting to laugh and think freely. It only took me two days this time. I was proud of that.

My team and I were lifting weights upstairs. I remember I was on the bicep machine and another team walked past us to get a drink. My stomach revolted as I inhaled. That sport always just smells like Steve. I thought I was going crazy. That was until I looked up and saw my worst nightmare coming back from the darkness I hadn’t seen him in months and here he was in my comfort zone, in my school, by my team. I remember the shakes taking over my whole body and fast.

I thought of all the fears I had only days ago. I thought it was some sort of sign. I left my partner and ran to my teams locker room. From there I passed a few freshman on my team who gave me a very hesitant look. I thought of running. Just running and not stopping. Or going somewhere. Instead the shower seemed comforting I sat and then I curled into the smallest ball I could. I cried and tried to find my breath. I tried to calm down. I tried. I tried.

Then, I knew she would come down, my coach was there. “What was that about?!” She asked scared, more than I, now that I think about it.  I remember trying to shake it off like I was fine, but I couldn’t convince my arms to let go of my legs. She didn’t buy it. “You just ran down a flight of stairs before I even knew you were gone and now you’re here. What is going on?” Finally I spoke in bits and pieces. “He’s up there. That’s all. I’m fine. I mean really I can normally stand him it’s just. I wasn’t use to it. I wasn’t ready for it. I’m fine really. He just isn’t suppose to be here.”

I sat there trying to catch my breath until my team was done with weights. “I just felt really sick. I think it’s the flu.” I lied to the team. The week was shaky but I went back to the old mentality of still having months till my surgery I’ll be fine. My coach immediately talked to the other sports coach and pointed out alums shouldn’t be invited to practices and she wants fair warning next time.

I sat in a shower stall crying, and put someone through that– I felt horrible.