it’s one o clock in the morning. i smoked. i laid down. i popped on my murder mystery and makeup video from bailey sorian, and i start getting ready to fall asleep. usually i wake up an hour later or two to pee, and i switch to playing affirmations for the duration of my sleep. and they really do help.
but today, that stupid video i chose. triggered me.
i know, it’s only been a year. but god. i am still so angry.
i still have so much deep hatred. if there were a stronger word, i would use it.
i still hate you so much.
and i hate that i do. i hate that you even have any sort of impact on my life.
i lay and my eyes water and i think about the sheer and utter humility of it all.
i’m not the only person to have been handcuffed and crying in a jail cell.
if anything, by the end of this year of trying to recover, i’ve realized how un-alone i am.
but the humility of having your hands cuffed behind you. with blood on your face. with your head pulsing. with scratches on your blood, open and raw.
with cops faces grimacing. “i cannot believe they arrested you.”
i keep telling myself. it all happened for a reason. and it did.
even the day i got out of jail. you were still sitting in your truck in my dads neighborhood when i got home. you were still watching me. you were still making it clear that your grip and your threat was still tight as can be even after the most hurtful, disgusting act had been done to me.
maybe you don’t know. maybe you don’t know what it feels to be strangled when you don’t fuck someone right. or when someone accuses you of cheating when they’re inside of you and their hands are gripped tight around your neck. maybe you don’t know how it feels when you beg them to stop and you start to see little white dots buzz in your periphery as he grips tighter and tighter. and you just let him. you start to give up. but then you think off all the times before when you sat at a table with him, using makeup to cover up scabs on his face from when you scratched him. (your lawyer later tells you his threats of using the photos of his face scratches would have done nothing to defend them, they are a defensive wound. woman almost always claw at their attackers face especially when struck down and climbed onto)
you probably don’t know what its like, driving to the drug store, picking up foundation and concealer to match his light skintone, going back, not being able to look him in the eye, not being able to mutter a word, only thing you can say is “sorry,” you apologize over and over and over again as if you were the reason he got hurt. he was hurting you, but you’re only just now letting that thought become a reality. you were not the problem. you were trying to save yourself. and in that moment, you almost lost your fight. you almost let him win. would i have died with him? if i stayed? i don’t know.
a part of me wishes i did.
a part of me knows he’s the type of person who wants to break down beautiful things into smaller pieces he can manage and control for a lifetime.
he would have never killed me, he would have hurt me, until i was so hurt, i couldn’t remember what happiness was.
but in that moment you decide, not anymore. you fight back. and not in the sissy, scratching, fear way. in the, i want to fucking kill you and just fucking might because i don’t see a shred of human in you anymore.
and desks are pushed, and pictures are ripped off the walls and you hit him in the head and the only thing you can remember is hitting him as hard as you can, “maybe he will stop,” “maybe if it’s this bad this time, he will just leave me alone,” “maybe if its this fucking bad, he will treat me better.” he didn’t. treat you better or leave you alone. he’s going to rot still thinking of how to ruin your life or equally apathetic about his abuse, his rotten ways, his insecurity. all of which you now have to process. in the eyes of a survivor, not in the eyes of the person he wanted you to believe you were.
and just like that someone you love. someone you held hands with. someone you made a life with. someone you kissed more than anymore. someone you betrayed your family for. someone you did everything for. someone you imagine your life with…
they’re slamming your head against the wall, over and over and over again.
and you almost feel yourself smile.
not because you’re completely sadistic.
but because this feels like the end.
the end of this.
with him.
in this house.
and you were right. it was the end. thank god it was the end. but
i’m here. over a year later.
i wrote something similar with the photos i sent to the DA for my case, along with letters from my closest friends to give me “good character” in the laws eyes. maybe that’s why she dropped the charges so fast. maybe because a lot of women have been me.
and i found that out when i went to group, for survivors of domestic abuse.
and that’s why when i wrote in big, black, letters:
something felt different.
i am crazy for loving you. i am crazy for accepting your cruelty. your control. your insecurity.
crazy is fucking me, then fighting me, then leaving me naked in the bathroom scared only to end up in jail.
you fucked me up. and that is crazy.
you abused me. and that is crazy.
you used me.
you blackmailed me.
you used me more.
you used me for sex.
for my body.
for this stupid, fucking hole in between my legs that sometimes i wish was never there in the first place.
you made me feel so small.
so cheap.
so dirty.
you always told me no one would love someone like me.
and i was crazy to believe it.
and this isn’t a segway into my love life now and it doesn’t have to be,
because i’m still so angry.
i am so filled with rage. sometimes i remember and i ball my hands into fists and i punch my bed and i look completely deranged, but that is what the cycle of abuse does. sometimes i remember and i just cry. and i just sit. and just look at other people and i wonder if anyone knows the feeling. that feeling being told you are so shitty, so rotten, so dirty and used that no one will ever love you…that feeling when you’re broken, bloodied, and bruised in a jail cell. i wonder if you know? i wonder if you’ve thought about it. i wonder if you have forgiven yourself. i wonder if you think you have anything to be forgiven at all. i wonder if you ever even loved me? i don’t think you did. and i don’t think i loved you. i think you picked me apart slowly. as soon as you met me, you knew you didn’t deserve someone as good as me. so you did what are cowardly, insecure men do… instead of growing to be my equal. you did what you could to drag me slowly, without me noticing of course, down to your lowly level.
the thing is, you succeeded. in some ways, i am much lower than you now. i, now, don’t have much money. something i brought up as a failure of yours.
i, now, have to depend on my parents (well, my mother) for shelter as i try to save back up what i spent on our fateful breakup night (eighty five thousand dollars i had saved to move into a place on my own). i, now, have a drinking problem… i, too, am an alcoholic who drinks to cope, not to celebrate. i basically became you. and if i were a weak, degenerate, ignorant, insecure, self loathing, piece of shit… like you? i would probably be the same version of you for the rest of my life.
but one thing i have learned through it all. and through this year of healing and fuck ups and forgiveness…
the universe sent me through hell and back because i am strong. i am resilent. i am adaptable. i am still so full of love and hope. i am still so grateful.
the universe knew you were far too weak to endure what i have.
the only that can’t even manage his own inner voices of self hatred? how can he make it through real life? real life trauma and disdain?
to know that you will never know what victory truly feels like: standing on your own two feel. full. beaming. ethereal… knowing that you are so lowly you will never access the most high vibrations this world has to offer us, and by us, the people who do the work. who look inside. who spend time to heal. to build themselves up, time and time again after someone tries to knock them down… knowing that you will never experience the truest love. the love that someone like me could have given, foolishly, easily, and had…
it all gives me much joy.
and for now, it calms me.
it keeps my chest from pounding and my heart from tightening at the thought of it all. of what happened then, and since.

and let me just say: hating you forever is not the goal, quite the contrary… i want feel apathy for it all. i want peace.

i don’t remember the last time i watched one of the sweet videos i made of you. or us. but i can tell you, they make me feel absolutely nothing.
no anger.
no longing.
no pleasant warmth.
i feel nothing.
the people in those videos don’t even exist anymore.
neither you or i.
it feels like a funeral slideshow.
two dead people.
and it’s true.
i entered a different reality, and different phase of my life, after.
i barely connect to the girl i was before this.
i barely feel her in me.
sometimes i feel the mourning come in. it’s sporadic, but its definitely there.
the sweet girl. the easy to love girl. the yes girl. the caring and attentive girl.
all of that remains lost to some degree.
because cutting you off of me took some of my parts away too.

i was foolish and weak when we met. i am smarter and stronger today. i am more beautiful because i have grown and will continued to grow and evolve from all of this. because life happens through me, not to me.

i can’t wait till the day you are completely eradicated from my brain. i truly can’t.

you’ve stunted enough growth,
it’s time for you to go.

the words & thoughts of a woman you found elsewhere.