trigger warning: abuse
Age 3-4: I remember yelling and screaming. Things were breaking. The sound of glass shattering rang inside my ears. We followed him up the stairs as he banged on the bedroom door, trying to get you to open it. You finally did. All I remember seeing was broken glass, the little porcelain clown dolls you collected, all the little pieces of them now lay on the floor. There was blood on your feet. He shooed us away.
Age 6-7: I remember laying on your bed. A strange hollow feeling crept up inside of me. I didn’t know what it was. I couldn’t recognize such a feeling. The swirling emptiness begged to be soothed, but I didn’t know how to make it known to you. All that came out was “I don’t feel loved.” I guess I wasn’t soothed enough because that feeling would continue to exist within me to this day.
Age 10: I remember you being gone for awhile. I’m not sure how long though. As a kid, the concept of time feels like forever. But you went away, and I was left with him in your absence. I don’t know why I didn’t get to see you while you were gone. Perhaps you were ashamed. You had made me a paper craft heart though, with different layers and glitter. In the center you wrote, “You are loved.” I still didn’t understand why you were gone. I still never truly felt loved, especially after you chose him over me and sent me away.
Age 11: You were angry. There was glass cups being thrown at me. I ran to my room for cover. There wasn’t a lock on the door. You ran after me and used your fists on me. I covered my neck and head as best as I could. The next day you said you were sorry. But still, I was sent away days later, again.
Age 13: One evening, when you weren’t home, I found solace in a sharp kitchen knife. If my words couldn’t explain it, maybe the cuts on my arm could. Maybe the scars would finally reflect what was happening inside me. I never really shook this way of coping off- it still follows me to this very day.
Age 14: You weren’t home much. You weren’t throughout my life but especially these days. You came home late angry one night. I hid under the covers and braced myself for whatever doom was about to come my way. My bedroom door flew open. You were screaming and yelling at me. I froze, I couldn’t say anything so I stayed under the covers. You were so angry as you smashed the mirror that stood in front of my bed. You turned and left my room, continuing to scream and break things. I prayed. I don’t know who I was praying to. But I prayed for it to end soon. In the morning, there was blood on the door and wall. I cleaned and vacuumed everything. You said you were sorry.
Age 16: We had an argument. I don’t remember what it was, but in response you mocked me and said, “what, are you going to go cut yourself now?”
Age 18: I switched the bathroom doorknob that had a lock on it with my bedroom doorknob. I finally found a way to keep you from barging into my room when you were angry.
Age 20: I couldn’t stay another day in your home. I couldn’t continue living this way. I couldn’t stand him. I couldn’t stand you with him. I couldn’t fathom why you would live your live this way with him and these people. I left.
Age 21-29: Even though I left your home and don’t see you much anymore, every day you’re under my skin in some way. Even though you’ve hurt me and scarred me, I still love you. I have forgiven you. Now I watch as your own life falls apart, and it hurts to see you live this way. I’m scared every day for you. But I can’t do anything to repair you. I can’t save you.
And you still say you’re sorry.
I wish I was enough from the beginning.
Maybe then I could’ve saved you in some way.
My ways of feeling and thinking are warped now because of the way I grew up. I always wonder if things would’ve been different if you didn’t do what you did. And here I am, 29 years old, still wondering if it’ll change.
I still pray to something or someone for you that it’ll change.
It’s taking a lifetime to try and learn to not do the things I do or feel the way that I feel. It’s ruined my quality of life. It’s ruined relationships, it continues to ruin them. It ruins everything. I’ve found people in my life that have poisoned me just the same as you have. And as the years go by, I keep this all inside until I can’t anymore. And even when it does slip out, it doesn’t make any sense and nobody knows what to do to help me. I feel like an alien. And it seems as the more alienated I feel when I let any of this out, the more I work harder to hide it so it doesn’t disturb anyone. I’m half alive, but I feel mostly dead more often than not.
I’m trying the best I can, but some days the darkness consumes me and I can’t break free. I can’t change my ways of thinking. I can’t snap out of it. I’m suffocated by this part of me that I can’t explain. I can’t escape it. And if I can, it finds its way back to me. I can’t explain it to people either, they look at me with sad and misunderstood eyes.
I have episodes where I can barely control myself physically and mentally. I’m a prisoner in my own mind. Living through it and waiting for it to pass it torture. Is this what you felt, too? Did you want someone to feel this way, too? Well I’m here to tell you that you have given me this gift that’s laced in poison.
And though you might deny it and pretend everything is ok, it isn’t. It never has been, and it never will be.
I can’t be left in the wake of your mistakes.
I close my eyes
these tears won’t stop bleeding
and I’m losing my mind
and you all just stand there
and stare at me
as my world
to the ground.
nobody can save me
and the emptiness kill me
and I just wish