I’ve never felt like my body was mine.
TW: SA
Reading an article tonight about a sexual assault put me in a tailspin that I haven’t had to deal with in a while.
Sexual assault is a crime that will never know justice. If a rapist is ultimately convicted of the crime that occurred, the rapist is never sentenced to solitary confinement outside of our memories as survivors of sexual assault.
How incredible our bodies are, that our own brains will camouflage a memory to protect us…except when our brains are tired and broken down. That’s when the disguise slips, and the mask is ripped off only to reveal a horrific and ugly monster as if you were watching an episode of Scooby-Doo.
For years I’ve wanted to let these secrets I keep go. I’ve wanted to tell all of them to someone who would be just as loyal to them as I had been as their keeper. But I’d convince myself that my sexual experiences were consensual and nothing more than what I was expected to do as a person who was simply seeking affection. Convincing myself that these people were not in the wrong didn’t it make it feel like a vicious secret. Instead I’d warp certain experiences into stories that felt like I were present both mind and body. That I allowed them, and warranted it. Only now do I see differently. Only now I do I feel differently. I feel afflicted by my own secrets that I really never asked to keep in the first place. Because I didn’t ask to be assaulted. I didn’t ask to be taken advantage of or abused. I didn’t ask to be someone’s personal toy, and I certainly didn’t agree to it. And just because I didn’t respond doesn’t mean I said yes.
Saying nothing does not mean yes.
Saying nothing does not mean yes.
Saying nothing does not mean yes.
I get so mad when I see people posting pictures having basic family time with their parents. I think the only time I’ll have that is when my parents are dead and I’m attending their funeral. Pretty fucking wild.
Every single day I live with trauma. 35 years next week and each one I’ve been negatively affected by their actions. Even as a grown adult this still has an impact on me.
I don’t want advice. I don’t want opinions. I don’t want any feedback. Sometimes it’s just nice to get it off my chest even if it doesn’t make it feel better.
I have been loving everyone’s Barbie looks. Here’s mine!
What the hell am I doing here?
I’d never walk out on my significant other if they were emotionally upset over something. Ever. How do I not get the same treatment? What makes me undeserving of a hug, or an I’m sorry. Or maybe just don’t leave.
I’m short circuiting
Short wired
Overwhelmingly
Self deprived
If I had known then what I know now
Would I sink with the ship
Arms stretched at the bow?
And if the dots all connected
And the stars all aligned
Would you think of me differently
Then you did the second time?
I’m a mess
And yes
maybe Im a little selfish
But would it kill you to try
And be a little selfless?
Have your priorities shifted?
Are you carrying all of the weight
Until you can just barely dead lift it?
I wish I knew then what I know now
Still sinking
Arms still stretched at the bow.
You were the iceberg
And I was the shitty seamen
In the crows nest screaming,
“Jesus Christ it’s just a bit of ice would you give it a fucking rest!”
…..But I’m lonely…..
You’re here and I am so lonely
Life is fucking weird
And superficially
super phony
But who’d of thought it…
You were a part of it
You helped mold, shape, and tear a part all of it.
And now I’m tired
I’ve grown weary of my surroundings
Im homesick in a box
With a box of my belongings
Trying hard
Reaaaaaally fucking hard to make you fucking understand
My fucking point
And the fucking reason
Why every time I pull from your fucking hand it’s for every apology you ever made
That you never fucking meant..
Only on your fucking time…
When you felt it was fucking time well spent…
But I’m not sorry
Never was and I’ll never be
A sigh of relief
Cause I can finally see
It’s not worth it
Never was and it’ll never be
A sigh of relief
Cause I am finally free
I miss Ryan.
I miss having that person to pull me off the ledge instead of slowly poking me off of it.
I’m almost 36 weeks pregnant.
I’m also extremely depressed on top of it.
I’m reaching out, but who’s even listening?