NYE

I can't explain it, but I hate this night. 

I love the idea of moving on and starting a new year, but these nights have been so terrible for me. 

Two years ago the boy and I kissed for the first time, at midnight. 

Last year I tried to kill myself for the first time, at midnight. 

And this year, even though I'm with you, I can't bring myself to be happy. I don't like big parties like this, I feel overwhelmed and in danger somehow. And today is just a bad day, because of the past.

I hope you have fun tonight, I truly do! I just don't know if I will be able to...

I hope you understand. 

-Beaskie

Punishment

I wish you would just punish me.
Punish me already! I deserve it!
If you don't, I'm afraid I'm going to punish myself.
We all know where that leads....

-Beaskie

Normal

Sometimes I just wish I was normal.
That my talent wasn't something this large.
This stressful.

Maybe I could be good at science. Or math.
I could be a writer.
Or a politician.

Sometimes I wish I was normal.

But, where's the fun in that?

-Beaskie

Sharp

I'm still uncomfortable with us. I have to swallow the bitter taste in my mouth after we talk, after I say "I love you, too."It's still hard for me. I don't want you to feel like I don't love you, because I do, so I try not to bring it up. But that's really hard for me, too.
I want to smile for you.
I want to laugh for you.
I want you to forgive yourself, even though I haven't forgiven you yet. I will, I just haven't yet, and I might not until I see you.
You're just too good to be true... So the fact that I was sharing you for a while without me knowing about it scares me, because as I hold on to you, I, in reality, don't even have a grip...

I had a dream the other night. She isn't in my dreams any more, it's just me and you. Only I asked you why you love me and you did two things. You corrected me--loveD*, not love. And you couldn't give me an answer. You said you had no idea...
This is why I haven't been sleeping.

I've been happier recently. I'm out of the hole. It was scary, but it put my limited happiness in perspective.

You're the only person sharp enough to sharpen me.

I choose you, Flyer. I'll choose you over and over again. I'll choose you every morning when I wake up and every night as I fall asleep.
I'll choose you every day of my life, if you'll choose me, too.

-Beaskie

Help me.

I can't move.
The words that have been said
Scar me.
The words that have been left unsaid
Scar me.
Why is it that when I reach out for help
I get anger.
Or worse,
Nothing.
I'm still weak from my attack,
As much as I hate to admit that.
I can't do this on my own,
My support system has been cut in half.
It was already so small to begin with
If I reached out to you...
It's a big deal.
I don't like to do that.
It takes courage I don't have.
And strength I need to preserve.
So please,
If I reached out to you...

Help me.

-Beaskie

So close....

I was so fucking close.

I was 

SO

FUCKING

CLOSE!!!!!!!

Now what? I have a boyfriend who I can barely talk to, a best friend who is disappointed in me, and all I'm wishing is to be dead again. I'm wishing I was back in the hole, because there I don't feel anything. I don't give a shit if my life is falling apart. 

But I got out of that hole, so now I give a shit.

A whole lot of good that's done me.

I WAS SO FUCKING CLOSE! 

THIS IS NOT FAIR!

I CAN'T HAVE THIS AGAIN! I WON'T!

You know what. No. I can't do this.

-Beaskie

Sleepless...

Another sleepless night, filled with body racking sobs. Will it ever stop?
It's not just you--I'm in pain for many reasons. Two other things are weighing down my soul, causing it to suffocate.

I can now say my ex boyfriend is going to jail for what he did to me.

My brother didn't even call my sister on her 15th birthday.

And then this, too.

I have to get some sleep one of these days. You always helped me to fall asleep. Everything is backwards--the more I say it the truer it sounds.

I can't wait 'til we can look back on this and see it as a way we grew closer. It needs to be behind us, not in front of us.

Another sleepless night...

-Beaskie

http://m.youtube.com/watch?v=yKyOo7aajAo

Grateful

I'm grateful you. I'm grateful that we can have problems like this and still love each other. I'm grateful that you're understanding when I'm hurt. I'm grateful that you don't hit me. I'm grateful that you don't scream at me. I'm grateful that you aren't him. I'm grateful that you don't call me names and belittle me. I'm grateful that we can work things out. I'm grateful that you are going to surprise me. I'm grateful that you love me. I'm grateful that you are sorry. I'm grateful that you and her are over. I'm grateful that we can communicate.

I'm grateful for you. In a weird way, I'm grateful for this, too.

-Beaskie

Normal

I want things to go back to normal between us, I really do...
But, I think that will take quite a while. We need to build up trust again. Everything's been turned around and even if we turn it back the right way we'll still be dizzy from the changes. I don't know how long it will take...I know that if you weren't so far away maybe it would make it easier.

This is a deal or no deal situation. Her or me, no exeptions. I can't share you anymore.

I won't.

-Beaskie

Alone

I can't take this...the pain...
It hurts more than I thought it ever would.
I want to end it. End me.

I really just can't handle this pain anymore. Why? Why do I have to feel this? What is the reason behind it? Is there any reason at all!!?

I do miss you. But it hurts too much. I feel...

Alone.

-Beaskie

Explosion

My eyes are dry now. They ran out of tears.
Everything feels backwards. This is not what I'm used to. I want to talk to you about this, but I can't and I won't.
No, I don't want to. It's too painful.
My ground is suddenly unstable, and I can't stop my head from spinning. I never saw this coming.
The pain has lasted since it happened...and it's been quite a while. I kept that pain in because I knew you were feeling it too, and I didn't want to add to it. I did what you do--I held it all in until I couldn't take it anymore and it finally exploded. Only it exploded inside of me, so now my insides are covered with the painful residue of the explosion. I'm tainted with it.

I hate her.

-Beaskie

Letter

My eyes are wet. They have been for a while.

I wrote you a letter. It should come on Monday. I put a lot of thought into it, so please, please, put a lot of thought into your response. That's when I want to talk again, after you've read it.
I'm not abandoning you.

-Beaskie

The Makings of You, Your Eyes

I've been listening to these songs all night. I'm not getting any sleep either. Sleeping brings nightmares of being alone, and I can't handle those.
I've crawled back into my dark place. I almost cut last night.
I haven't said those words in a long time.
I know you're sorry. I know this hurts.

You're not going through this alone.

-Beaskie

Reply To You

Say it on here, if you must.
You'll be receiving word from me soon.
This is all I can handle.

Socks

Maybe this is an overreaction. I don't care. It's my reaction.

The boy looked at me when he wanted to, touched me when he wanted to, hurt me when he wanted to. I wasn't real to him--I was some cartoon character that didn't actually have feelings. The kind of feelings that would cause him to think twice about his actions.

No, I didn't have those kind of feelings. Not to him.

But the truth is, every one has those kinds of feelings. Even those cartoon characters you see on tv or on apparel. They cause feelings in others.

In this specific case, it caused a feeling in me. Of objectification, of abandonment, of being downsized to a cartoon that doesn't have those kinds of feelings.

This wouldn't be such a big deal to me had it not been for the boy. But the boy exists so so does this reaction. I hate it. And I hate that you bought it. Mainly because I hate him, and the whole male-dominant world I live in. But still. It's not okay with me.

I was a sock to him. I was something low to the ground and easy to step on. I was effortlessly replaceable and I had no value.

And I was also that sock to him. I was something to look at and touch and hurt whenever he felt so inclined. I was something to laugh at. Objectify. Mortify. Criticize.

I want you to decorate me with tokens of adornment, and to heal me with cures of fondness, and to take delight in just the thought that I'm yours. I don't want you to objectify and mortify and criticize me. If you do, you won't have me for very long.

I know that that's not what you're doing. But you're doing that to the sock version of me--and all women--and even though that isn't your intent, that's what I'm receiving.

Like I said, this might be an overreaction. But it's my reaction.

I want to be your wife. Not your sock.

-Beaskie

And Yellow, Too

Concept:

The bridge.

i'm sorry
he brought us there

I felt...naked.

me crying in my underwear

She died on November 1st.

on the morning, of halloween
like a story out of people magazine.

After you calmed me down...

i drove home, and fell asleep alone

And then it happens...

i'm sorry, for crying

I'm crying because of him

don't feel bad
you didn't do that

You know my true person.

the story that we won't share

And I'm really trying to get to know yours, too

we're all going to hide it well away, somewhere

And then, some news

a warning for a family

And my person, my health...

the kind a person gives about anatomy

But you've learned. You know. You heal.

now, well known, let's never sleep alone

And now, the grande finale

Black and blue
and yellow, too
fade the stains
as embers do
let's wake up tomorrow

and feel new.

-Beaskie

Moved on?

I knew this would be hard, we both did. But I didn't think it would be this hard, because I didn't think you would ever stop trying.

And no, you haven't stopped trying. But it feels like you're trying less an less every day.

I absolutely love that you are having such a wonderful experience in college. And I love that you have such a good network of friends.

But what I don't love is that I can never talk on the phone with you, or skype, or FaceTime. I understand when you have homework, but I wish you would put aside some time for me ahead of time. And I wish you would step away from your friends for ten minutes to check up on me and hear my voice. 

I try really, really hard. I want you to know that you never leave my mind. I post pictures of you on Instagram all the time, I write about you in my blog, I send you random thoughts over Facebook, I wrote and sent you a letter... Plus, in case that wasn't enough, I made sure you had a journal of all our memories together, filled with pages telling you how much I love you that you could read everyday. I try so, so hard.

I don't think you're doing this on purpose. I don't think you are trying to not talk to me. I don't think you love me or miss me any less. I do think that you've stopped trying as hard to stay in contact without realizing it. 

You've gone on to a new life. You're done with this city, with this school, with this life. You've moved on to a new stage in your life.

The problem is, I haven't. I'm still in this city, I still go to this school, and I still live this life. And I can't help feeling a little left behind and abandoned.

I want to tell you ever detail of my every day, and I want you to tell me every detail of your every day. I want to come home and call you on skype immediately, even if we both have homework to do, even if we both just do what we have to do and not say a word, just so I could see your face. I want to fall asleep on the phone with you every night. I want to know you're thinking about me the way I think about you, I want you to remind me of that in little random ways. 

You've moved on from this life, and it's starting to feel like you've moved on from me, too.

-Beaskie

Believe Me

Last night was terrifying. It wasn't the worst night of my life, but it was up there.
Nothing will ever come close to the worst night of my life.
But last night was terrifying. I can't remember the last time I felt that alone. The girl is back, and she won't leave. And you aren't here to make her leave or even try to talk her out of staying so she's back for good.

I knew this would happen. I knew she would come back.
When you were here, I needed you every second of every day of every week of every month. And you were there instantly and then I was okay. Somehow you put up with me needing you like that, somehow you put up with my "issues". Maybe you just kept telling yourself it would get better, that one day I'd be okay and you wouldn't have to put up with it anymore. Maybe you kept telling yourself that you were leaving soon, so no matter what--whether I was better or not--you wouldn't be here to put up with it, you could love me from afar and take the good parts and not the bad.
I don't blame you, I would want that too.

But here's the thing, I'm not better. In fact, I feel worse than I did before. I didn't believe it was possible, but I do. So now I need you more. I need you more than every second of every day of every week of every year. But you are 1016.3 miles away and I can't have you like that.

I wrote you a journal. And in that journal I wrote down every single good time we had over the summer. My hope was that it would remind you why you put up with me when I was like this. My hope was that it would give you some motivation to not give up. My hope was that even if I couldn't give you good times, I could give you the memories of them.
It's almost like a will--the journal. The good me wrote it as a will, because I knew that once the summer ended and you had to leave the good me would die and the bad me would inhabit my body. It's the good me's will, because the good me is dead now.

I tell you I'm scared and I can't loose you and that I'm sorry more than I should. And I don't know how much of it you believe.

But you should believe me when I tell you I want to kill myself.

Talking yourself down from killing yourself, it isn't easy. It isn't possible, in fact. You need someone else to do it, someone who cares about you. I needed you to do it, because sometimes I feel like I'm losing you when the bad me is here. Sometimes I feel like you just don't want to deal with the bad me. And when she's here, when she's me, when I'm her, I don't know how much of it you believe.
But you should have believed me last night.
I still want to kill myself, Flyer. More than ever before and the only way I'm stopping myself from doing that is telling myself that I can't get up from my bed. If I don't get up, I can't get to the knife I so desperately want and I can't use it to slit my wrists and my throat and anything else that will bleed.

There's no end to this. This is who I am. A big part of me wants to let you go, because I know that all I'm doing is holding you back. I knew I would. Because if you did everything I want you to, it would be holding you back. I want you to call me when I feel this way, but you can't because you have your own life. And I want you to be here to stop my hands from strangling myself, but you can't because you're gone. And I want the next 55 days to disappear so I can skip right to the part where I'm with you again and can feel happy again, but you can't because nobody can.

Please, take this seriously, and believe me. You can't see the pain I'm in so it isn't real to you, but listen to me, and believe me. This pain isn't going away. This is who I am now. Do you really want this? Do you really want me? Do you really want a dead body for a girlfriend who is 1016.3 miles away, constantly doubting everything and hating everything and trying to commit suicide? You're only 18, you have so much love. You can't possibly want to throw your life away on me. I don't deserve that. I want it, yes. But do I deserve it?

-Beaskie

Round and Round

It's a way of hurting myself. Not saying no.
I don't say no and it hurts. I hate myself because it hurts. So I want to hurt myself as punishment. So I don't say no because I know it will hurt and that's my punishment. But by not saying no it makes me hate myself again. So I want to hurt myself again. So I don't say no. And it never ends--the hating and the hurting.

I'm spinning at your expense.

Round and round and round it goes. Where it stops, nobody knows.
But I know--nowhere. It stops nowhere.
How could it? How can I?

How dare I...

How dare you...

No. It's not your fault, it's his.
No, it's not his fault, it's mine.

Well who's fault is it anyways? Does it even matter? It wouldn't stop the circle from going round and round and round. Nothing would. It stops nowhere, remember?
Someone put it in motion, spun the circle, gave it momentum. But it's been going for so long, who cares who spun it in the first place? The one thing I know is whoever it was, they can't stop it.
Maybe they're surprised at the force they put behind the push, maybe they're proud of how fast it's spinning.
Regardless, they can't stop it.
And even if they could, would they want to?

-Beaskie

She's Back

I'm not quite sure what to do with myself.

I told you last night. I'm the girl again. And you said I wasn't and it was just a phase and I would be ok because I got through it before but it isn't true.
I act like her. I talk like her. I feel like her. I am her. I am the girl again.

And before, when I was the girl, you would come and she would leave. You made her leave and you saved me.
But now you can't come and she won't leave. Now I don't know how to make her leave and I don't know how to save myself.

So now you're in love with the dead girl again.

I can't ask you to understand. I can't ask you to deal with it. I can't make you put up with this again.
It was hard enough last time. It'll be even harder now. Are you sure you want that?
You might think you want it now, but we have 67 more days of this. Do you really want to deal with 67 days of dead girl 1,601.3 miles away?

No. I can't ask this of you. And I'd get it, if you changed your mind. I would. Really. I wouldn't want to deal with 67 days of dead girl.

I can't promise I'll be nice. I can't promise I'll be good. I can't promise anything except more pain because I know it's coming.

How can I put you through that? You are out there, living your life, being happy. And I am here, calling with tears and doubt and fear, being depressing because I am depressed and making your happy life not so happy anymore.
People aren't supposed to do that to each other--make them less happy. I'm supposed to make you more happy. And I did, when I was happy. I think I did make you more happy. But now I'm not happy and I'm making you less happy and that's not okay.

You're in love with a dead girl again. What can I say? I didn't ask for this. And neither did you. I can't ask you to want this. I can't ask you to love this.

I just hope you still do.

-Beaskie

Absolutely

Today was absolutely perfect. And I am happy.

My family is beautiful--those who are and aren't related. They love me like a family should, only more. They are heartfelt and sincere. They are absolutely perfect. I have so much respect and fondness for all of them, and I realized today that I need them more than I ever thought I did, and then some.

I finally got to hear Flyer's voice today. 76 more days till I can see him again (well, almost 75). He will take this new life by storm, and I'm so proud to be able to watch him do it. He is absolutely perfect.

And I finally got to hear your voice, too. It's been months. We both sounded pretty fake, if you ask me. We must talk soon, I have a feeling we both have a lot to say.

Today was absolutely perfect. Today was the start of a new year, and a new life. I have a good feeling about this. I have a feeling that I'll make it.

And I am happy.

-Beaskie

The Girl

I regret so much. I've told you already, but maybe you don't understand...
I regret holding back for so long. I had no idea that what I was trying to hold back was an unstoppable force that would overcome me no matter what. I had no idea that what I was trying to hold back was what would save my life. So I held it back for months. And now I wish more than anything that we had those months. We are down to days...and I'm scared. How could I not be?

Are you?

Tell me.

--

Today I was her. The girl. And I treated you like him. The boy. Because when I was being the girl with the boy, I was programmed to do certain things to get certain results. The girl had been programmed to do everything in her power to get the boy's attention. So the girl would try and try with conversation and surprises and gifts and complements and love and the boy wouldn't pay attention to her. It became clear that the boy wanted one thing and one thing only, and that was the only way the girl would ever get his attention. So the girl did it, over and over and over again, because she was programmed to get the boy's attention and that was the only way how. And soon it became normal. Soon it was programmed--the only way to get not just the boy's, but any boy's attention, was to do that. And so today, I wanted your attention. And I did it. And it worked. And I didn't even think twice about it.

But you're not the boy. When you found out all I wanted was your attention, you chuckled at how hard I tried.

You don't have to do that. Just ask! I'll give you all the attention you need.

Stop me, next time. If you're not paying attention to me, and I start to do that. Because odds are, that's the only reason I'm doing it.
I'm scared to think that this has happened a lot, with out me ever thinking twice about it. I think I have done this before with you, many times, and neither of us knew it.
So stop me next time. I want to not be her. I must get rid of the boy, but I can't do that if I'm still the girl. And I don't think I can erase the girl with out some help.

Will you help me?

-Beaskie

Admit

I love you, so much. And I am so sorry about last night.

I hate admitting this. Because I keep telling myself it isn't true. But I guess I can't lie like that anymore.

I'm still terrified of you. Absolutely terrified. Because I still confuse you with him. And when you say things like that...do you want to...that's him. That's how it started the first time. That's how he tricked me, how I fell completely head first into the hell hole that was rape. And you said it and then you became him and then I...

That's why I need to hear your voice. I need to be reminded that it's you and not him. And what you did, after you turned into him, was perfect. You reassured me that neither of us were ready, that we should wait until marriage, that you love me. And you held me. And that was what made you you, and took him away from you in my mind. You held me. I need that. All the time. Before, during, and after. And I need your voice, and your face. Before, during, and after.

I'm sorry if this is too much to ask...but it's the truth. And I have to admit to myself that I'm not over being terrified 

of men, 

of him, 

of you. 

I thought because you are so perfect, I wouldn't be scared anymore. But I'm still terrified, an I probably always will be. But don't change what you do, you are perfect. And I love you.

-Beaskie

Real

I have these dreams.
These...nightmares.
And I say they're crazy.
And you say they're crazy.
Because in those dreams you choose her.
Because in those dreams, you don't choose me.
And I know you have chosen me.
I have chosen you, too.

I'm not a jealous person.
I hate jealous people.
I don't hate myself.
But...

I'm not sure you understand the extent of how much you have done for me.
You have literally saved my life.
I say that all the time.
It's true.
I cry when I think about it.
Happy tears, of course.

So please.
Listen to me as I repeat myself yet again.
Please.
Choose me.
Because not only have I chosen you,
I have fallen in love with you.
The real kind of love.
And I'm scared that someone else will fall in love with you, too.
You are incredibly lovable.
But you and I.
We haven't fallen in love.
We have fallen in the real kind of love.
And that isn't really falling.
It's rising.
And once you've risen to the real kind of love,

You never fall.

-Beaskie

Today

Today I finally understood what all the commotion about this thing called "love" really is.
Because I felt it.

Not that I haven't felt love towards you before--quite the opposite. But in this single moment, a moment of passion and truth and vulnerability and togetherness, it was overwhelming. It was startling. It was so intense, so engulfing, so real, so pure. It was devotion. It was desperate. It was everything. It was undeniably what "love" actually is.

All thoughts of hopelessness, all thoughts of self harm, all thoughts of a desired end to my life have vanished. Because of this moment we shared. Because of today.

I'm crying right now, just thinking about this.

Just thinking about today.

This was real. Nothing before has completely erased all the godawful thoughts in my head. Nothing.

But today, I realized that they are gone. Completely.

That is more than relief. That is more than happy. That means more than everything, because it saved everything. You saved everything. Today saved everything.

Now I can do this. With out a doubt. I haven't gotten out of the darkness yet, but now I believe that it is possible.

I will live. Just in hope that I can feel what we felt today again. And again. And again.

Today changed everything.

You have saved my life.


I love you.

-Beaskie

Movies

You can look through someone else's pictures and feel like you're watching a movie. You've probably seen the movie before, if you know the person, or used to know them. And maybe it's a new movie if you've never met them. But after you watch, you feel like you've learned something about the person, even if it's just what they look like.

But when you look through your own pictures, are you watching a movie? I feel like I am. I do it a lot. Because it feels weird, watching a movie of yourself. Every time I watch it, I don't really feel like I learned anything, not even what I look like. No matter how many times I watch it, the movie never seems familiar. Redundant, yes. But not familiar.

Maybe everybody feels this way.

If only I could make my life a movie. But I don't want to be the main character, I just want to watch. Because the main character always has to be the one to figure out how to make the ending happy and make everything come together perfectly because that's what makes a good movie. But somebody watching never has to work to make the ending good because they know it will just happen. They feel like they want to help, they brainstorm ways to make everything fall together perfectly, but they always know that they don't have to actually do anything, because the main character will do that for them and the watchers just get to sit back and enjoy the happy ending they had no part in creating.

If only I could just watch my own movie. It would be like living without the risk. I can try to live in the main character, but there is never any risk because I'm not the one making the story happen.

But if I were to watch, who would play me?

-Beaskie

Bubble

Well.

I guess you aren't in my life at the moment.

I have no fucking clue what is going on with you. I guess it's something pretty important. I guess it's something pretty dramatic. I guess it's something pretty intense.

Because why else would you cut me out when I need you most?

I've never heard of family doing that to family.

Guess my bubble just keeps on popping.

The boy.

Pop.

The train tracks.

Pop.

The cuts.

Pop.

The screams.

Pop.

The fear.

Pop.

The nightmares.

Pop.

This.

Pop.

I thought I had been pretty good at this whole guard-your-heart-don't-trust-anybody thing. But I guess I forgot to include family in that scenario.

Pop.

I hope you're okay. I hope you know that we have a lot of work to do, whenever you decide you want to put the work in. I hope you know that I actually do want to get to know you. I hope you know I hope you want to get to know me. I hope you have a real reason for what's happening right now. I hope...

But it's time for me to stop hoping.

Or else...

Pop.

-Beaskie

Sleep

I've been having these dreams...about the boy.

You know that saying, after you break up with someone but you still "see their face everywhere you turn"?

Yeah, okay, well these dreams have been taking that to a whole other level.

It's a different setting every time. But basically I'm walking around in a sea of people, and one by one someone will turn and make eye contact with me, and then their face just morphs into his.
And then I start running and screaming.
And I run to my parents, but their faces turn into his as well.
And I run to my siblings, and their faces change, too.
And I run to my friends, but their faces have also turned.

And I run to you. And I get so close, but not quite close enough. And just as your face is about to turn, I wake up.

A few nights ago I had that dream, but more extreme. Not only did their faces turn, but their whole bodies changed into his. They actually became him. And there were hundreds of them. Of him. Surrounding me. Each one was a different nightmare in it of itself. One would be the countless fights. One would be his physical aggression. One would be the cuts. One would be the screams. One would be the rape. One would be the unspeakable.
It's just like it was while I was with him. Everywhere I turned, a new nightmare appeared. There was no way out.

And then suddenly I was in a hotel room. By myself. Hiding.

I realize now that I had a gun in my hand. I realize now I was in a hotel room by myself because I was going to kill myself.

I think.

But then the army of the boy came. And I awoke again.

And sleep becomes something I dread, for the dreams are all too real.

-Beaskie

Though

John Green wrote, "But we can't know better until knowing better is useless."

Maybe this should be my mantra. I can never fully forgive myself for being so blind to the obvious and promised destruction that was the boy. Well, at least I haven't been able to forgive myself yet.
But I didn't know better.
I couldn't have known better.

Am I just telling myself that though? Could I have known better? I don't know. I don't remember. It's useless now.

Maybe not, though. Knowing better is useless to a person who never encounters the same situation again. If you never face the same problem, the solution is, in fact, useless.
This is the same philosophy most high schoolers use when viewing math--math is only useful to one who has a future in facing those types of problems ever again. The rest of us are left with useless solutions.

Maybe in this situation, though, knowing better being useless is a relief. Sure you have an irrelevant solution--but the burden of that knowledge is enough without the added weight of facing the problem again.

A friend of mine is beginning to present herself like the boy once did. And I must stop convincing myself that my knowing better is useless when, in reality, it is not, for I am unfortunately facing the problem in which I had once "uselessly" learned to know better.

But this could be a good thing, though. This whole knowing better after-the-fact actually not being useless thing.

Learning to know better was painful beyond words--that goes without being said. And maybe my knowing better being used to my own benefit (by preventing this similar--yet equally as wretched--situation from escalating to what it once became) might give the pain a hint of purpose, might ever-so-slightly ease the suffering.

Or, quite possibly, it could be what finally breaks me.

-Beaskie

Bodies

There is nothing to do. I just stare at the wall. Nothing is ever satisfying. I don't feel better. I have conversations through closed doors. I stare and I do not see. I don't try. I have to remind myself to blink, and to breathe. I leave, but I don't go anywhere. I wander but I don't search. I have no purpose.

How wasteful.

Someone with a purpose could have had this body. Someone who would fight. Someone who would change lives. Someone who would not only search but find, not only see but understand. Someone who would never let the door close in the first place. Someone who would feel better. Someone who wouldn't forget to breathe or blink.

Someone who would try.

Someone with a purpose.

But instead, I got this body. 

And now I'm wasting it.

-Beaskie

Today

Well.

The big day is here.

Scared.

Shittless.

Still wishing you were here...

-Beaskie

Response

I feel like I am becoming a different person.
Quickly.
I'm more upfront with people. My filter is diminishing, but not in an inappropriate way. In a finally-being-able-to-say-what-I-used-to-be-too-scared-to-say way. I feel bad doing it sometimes but eventually I realize that if everyone just said what they were actually thinking, people would finally get somewhere.
There's a saying that goes something like people don't listen to understand, they listen to respond.
I agree.
But I'm making my own saying.
People don't say things to communicate, they say things to receive an expected response. 
So I'm tired of saying things because I know what kind of response I'll get. That gets you nowhere, considering you learn nothing new about the person if the response you get is anticipated. You can uncover a great deal of insight about a person by experiencing reactions you don't previously anticipate or mold your diction to purposefully receive, but rather experiencing reactions you would have never been able to guess, and--most importantly--didn't try to.
So I blurt out what is really on my mind now. And you know what? I've learned so much about the people in my life--family, friends, and even complete strangers.
The most shocking thing I've learned?
They all say things to receive an expected response. They don't say things to communicate.

Maybe that's why I feel like none of them really know me.

-Beaskie

Permanence

You make me melt. It's euphoric, as you say. I agree.
You never know how much you miss a person until they come back. I missed you immensely.
You said, "I feel one with you."
I feel one with you, too.
You said, "I will take care of you."
I will take care of you, too.
You said, "I want to be your rock."
You are my rock. You are my rock and so much more.
I will be your rock, too.
I say this over and over--because it's just so true-- it always feels like the first and last time with you.
Every kiss feels as exciting as the very first time we ever kissed did.
On the bench, under the stars, two years ago.
Every kiss feels as passionate as the last kiss we will ever have.
Exciting. Passionate.
Every touch sends chills throughout my entire being.
The good kind of chills, that is.
We bring out the oddest quirks in each other.
We bring out the deepest darkness in each other.
Whenever something is funny, I always look for you, to see if you think it's funny too.
Even if you're not there. I always look for you.
And whenever something is sad, I always look for you, to see if you are looking for me, to try to take the sadness away.

You always are.

There seems to always be a "but" in every relationship.
Something that reminds you that no one is perfect. That you probably won't last much longer. That you're only in high school, or college, or whatever. That nothing is every as happy as it seems.
I had been searching for that "but" for a very long time now.
I used to think it was just something I hadn't found yet.
But now I think it doesn't exist.
I was searching for the "but" because the absence of it was terrifying. It meant possible permanence.
Permanence used to be terrifying. Because in my world, the promise of permanence always seemed to be broken.
But because there is no "but", permanence seems like an actual possibility, not just a promise.
Permanence is good.
Permanence is what people look for. What they deserve. What is rare, and, when found, cherished.
I was looking for the "but".
I was doing things backwards.
I didn't realize that you have to look for the permanence, not the "but".
And once I realized that,
I also realized

I had already found it.


-Beaskie

Stop.

It has to stop.

The regret.

The "I'm Sorry"s

It makes it hurt so much more.

What I did...it was hard. Harder than hard. The hardest thing I've ever done. 

So you can't regret it. You can't say you're sorry for it. You can't wish it never happened. Because then it would all be for nothing. The pain. And the pain was so much, it can't all be for nothing.

If you are happy it happened, if it helped you in any way, if it somehow made things better in however small a way, tell me. Or if it didn't...tell me it anyways. Because the pain couldn't have been for nothing.

The hardest thing I've ever done. 

Please tell me it wasn't all for nothing.

-Beaskie

I Can Hear You

Everybody treats me like a child.

I can't be trusted to stay home alone, says mom. I'm worrying because you've been in bed all day and [apparently] the thought of you staying in bed for the rest of the day is terrifying, says mom. I don't want to leave you here alone like this, says mom. Like what, mom? I'm in my bed. I'm perfectly safe. It's summer. There's no harm in sleeping all day. But no, says mom, I can't be trusted to stay home alone. I'm calling Flyer, says mom. He'll take care of you when you're home alone today. I can trust him. But no, I can't trust you.

I can't be trusted to take my medication on my own, says dad. I'll take care of giving you your medication, and be sure you never take anything more than the right dose, says dad. I won't tell you where the medication is, just for your own protection, says dad. Protection from what, dad? You're not always around when I need something, and it'd be nice if once and a while I could self-diagnose when I need some help fighting off the demons. But no, says dad. I can't be trusted to take my medication on my own. I'll tell mom where I keep the medication. And I'll tell sister where I keep the medication. I can trust them. But no, I can't trust you.

I can't be trusted to be on my own for a week, says brother. I'll make arrangements for your mother to come with you while you stay here, just in case, says brother. Just in case what, brother? I'll be gone from 7 am to 8 pm every day. You'll never even have to see me. But no, says brother. I can't be trusted to be on my own for a week. I'll have mom come with you. I can trust her. But no, I can't trust you.

Everybody treats me like I'm deaf, too.

They all stand around, eyeing me as they carry on with their conversations about how they worry because I can't be trusted to stay home alone and take my medication on my own and to be on my own for a week.

HELLO

I can hear you.
I'm right here.
AND GUESS WHAT
I have a surprise for you.

I can be trusted
     to stay home alone
     to take my medication on my own
     to be on my own for a week

I'm not deaf.
I hear every last word you say.

Stop with the pity-party.
Stop with the "being like this" and the "for your own protection" and the "just in case".
It's all bull shit.

And the fact that you think I haven't noticed, that I haven't caught on.

That's the worst of it all.

-Beaskie

Silence.

Words don't come as they used to.

They come to my head, rapidly, without pause. 

But are left unsaid.

I feel silent.

I haven't spoken of the deep and terrible things.

I haven't spoken of my hidden tinge of jealousy, and insecurity, and fear of loss.

I haven't spoken of my long to end a relationship that has grown tired and strained.

I haven't spoken of the hands that haven't left my neck for weeks.

I haven't spoken of the terrifying need I hold for you.

I haven't spoken of my undying wish to be dead, and be born anew. 

I haven't spoken of the demons haunting my soul the moment I slip into sleep.

I haven't spoken of my fear of you, which has grown exponentially as we become closer.

The words have just stopped.

I'm simply too tired to keep conversation.

I'm simply too tired to strain my mind with the search for words that will always inevitably fail me.

I'm simply too tired to process the conflicted emotions I hold towards you.

I'm simply too tired.

-Beaskie

All Day

Lying in bed.

Silent.

Can't eat.

Can't sleep.

Hoping you'll just show up.

Can't move.

Can't think.

Thinking hurts too much.

Came out of nowhere.

Consumes my mind.

Lying in bed.

All day.

Becoming the furniture.

Waiting.

For what?

For who?

Who is you.

All day.

Please come.

I have become part of the furniture.

-Beaskie

A Big Part Of Me

I feel like I'm going crazy.

It's making me obsessed. I can't get it out of my head.

The worst part is I can't decide if I want to know when it happens or not. If I decide I don't want to know I'll always be curious, but if I decide I do want to know then I'll regret it the second I find out.

A very big part of me wants us to stop until you and her are figured out. I feel like I'm becoming part of this situation and I'm not--this is strictly between you and her, I have nothing to do with it. Being with you with it on my mind is hard, but would being without you make it any easier? I hate being without you. I love you. But could that be easier for us both?

I don't know. Like I said, a big part of me wants to find out.

What do you think?

-Beaskie

Ghost

Do you remember when the walls fell

Do you remember the sound that the door made when you close it on me

Do you know that I went down to the ground

Landed on both my broken-hearted knees

I didn't even cry

Cause pieces of me had already died.

I'm a ghost.

...I keep trying to scream but my tongue has finally lost its sound 

...I don't cry

I don't try anymore 

I am lost

Broken down the middle of my heart

You know you make me a ghost.

-Beaskie

Seven Years

Yeah, I did tell you sometimes I think you should. But I didn't say you would lose me for it...I said I would understand. Frankly I deserve it. And I don't own you. You wouldn't lose me for that. Honestly, losing me would be impossible. If you don't, don't let the reason be me. I have nothing to do with this.


I got a call from an old childhood friend today, telling me he's visiting over the summer for the first time in seven years and wanted to see me.
I haven't seen him for seven years.
What am I supposed to tell him?
I wonder if I can get away with not telling him at all...
I mean, he didn't know who I was before all this happened.
He doesn't know I've changed.
He'll just think it's me.
I hope college will be like this, too.
People need to stop thinking of me as changed.
Because it's just me.
People should just accept that I'm just me.
Maybe I should accept it, too...

-Beaskie

Fear

I write all these things. But can I ever mean them? I hope so, I know I need too. I doubt myself when the pain comes again--whevever solitude feels as if it is on its way.  I'm too scared. And I'm scared because I'm scared. This is a different type of fear--there is no fear of physical safety or mental stability. But it is the same type of fear--the fear of being unwanted. The fear of being second best. Unable to compete. Rebound? 

I hate all of these terms.

But they are accurate. 

Probably because I hate all of this.

-Beaskie

It All

A bunch of nothing.
That's all I heard.
A bunch of nothing.
You call them words.

I call it a whole
in the "truth" that you told.
I call it superficial.
I've heard it all before.

Good intentions are present.
Entirety is absent.
In love you have plenty.
In completeness you lack it.

When will you learn?
All I want is it all.
When will you see?
Only that prevents falls.

No beating around the bush.

No thick coats of sugar.
No leaving out the sour
just to make it taste sweeter.

There was something more.
Was what I expected.
But what I heard was the same
as when you last said it.

Don't tell me I'm strong.
Don't tell me I'm brave.
I'll tell you you're wrong
though I know it's true anyways.

Promises, promises.
How pretty they sound.
Before the remnants of promises
are scattered on the ground.

All I want is it all.
Nothing more, nothing less.
All I want is it all.
It's not so hard, is it?

-Beaskie

Obligations

I must not relapse into delusion. No one may own me, yet I wish to own you. It's easier to tell other people to change rather than forcing change in myself. But I must--I must. I cannot risk what I so minutely regained. Fool me twice, shame on me. And I feel shame--have I already been fooled? It's my fault--this foolishness, this hurt, this shame. You've forgiven me for the disasters I have caused, and I welcomed this forgiveness while I knew it was undeserved. I am not strong on my own. And you have tried to protect me from the aloneness I should be experiencing. But you cannot do that forever. Though I will never stop convincing myself that you will. You are young, I must stop expecting you to throw your youth into the engulfing fire replacing what once was my heart. You don't deserve my obligation, I don't deserve your sacrifice. The fight is now within me--it always has been. The fight to be strong in solitude. The fight to stop convincing myself that the inevitability of this solitude is nonexistent. If I have asked too much of you, I'm sorry. And if you have suffered in answering, I'm sorry. I'll always wish for this, I just must stop expecting it. I cannot consider you mine. I made the same mistake I always do--maybe one day I'll learn.

But while I come with some baggage, you come with some of your own. You must not feel any obligation to me. If anything, you probably have more of an obligation to her.

-Beaskie

Who Am I

Who am I to call you mine?
I feel my love for you--divine.
Our eyes will lock, finers intertwine.
But who am I to call you mine?

Who am I to wish your eyes
to look upon me from time to time?
Which you may grant, for you are kind.
But who am I to call you mine?

Who am I to will your light
to alleviate the dark in my own night?
I'm damaged goods, you're convinced it's might.
But who am I to call you mine?

Who am I to want it be I
to reach for you despite great height?
Above all others who equally tried.
Yes, who am I to call you mine?

Long Story

I was talking to a new friend I had made the other day.
He asked me what I did that day so I listed the various errands I ran, including going to therapy.
I just said that not thinking about it, but then he asked why.

Why do you go to therapy?
What do you need help with?
What happened to you?
Are you on medication?
Are you suicidal?
Can I help?
Everything will be okay.
Wow you're crazy.
Maybe I should help...
Maybe I should run away.
So why do you go to therapy?

What kind of question is that? "Why" do I go to therapy? That's a pretty loaded question, and you don't just ask someone "why".

So I said it's a long story.
Family issues.
Anyways what did you do?

I go because I'm depressed.
I go because I've been suffering.
I go because of everything that's happened.
I go because my life is just a long story.

It's a long story. Anyways how was your day?
Long story?
Family issues. Just random stuff. A bad relationship. Long story.

But the problem is that doesn't shut them up.

Well I have time! I can listen! I have family problems too! Yeah my ex was terrible!

God I wonder what happened to her.
Maybe she's mental.

Well my ex-boyfriend was sexually, physically, and mentally abusive. He broke into my house multiple times and now I'm waiting for his trial where I will be testifying against his six felony charges.

Yeah, that would shut them up alright.

But only to me. It would only shut them up to me. They'd turn around and give their version of my story to someone else.

So I say it's a long story.

That might not shut them up to me, but it sure does with everyone else.

I'm no longer gossip if I'm just a long story.

My life is a long story.
Family issues.
Bad relationship.
Just random stuff.

Long story.

Anyways, how was your day?

-Beaskie

Faith

There are so many things I want from this world. And so many things I need.

One of the things I need is faith. In me.
From my friends.
From my family.
From me.

How am I supposed to have faith in myself if my own family doesn't have faith in me?
My own brother.
Yes I'm talking to you.

If you can't handle the darkness I express on my blog, stop reading it. Simple as that.

If you don't want me killing myself on your time, fine.
But maybe try to be the one to stop me from doing that.
Because hearing that you believe I will makes me want to even more.

If you dare take this out on our dad I swear to god I will lose it. He's done nothing wrong, all he had to do was tell me you didn't want me to stay with you this summer without someone else there and I knew it all.

I'm going to college in New York. And no, I don't plan on bringing my mother to babysit me.

I
will
be
alone.

And you have to have faith in me. YOU of all people should have faith in me.

Do not pretend like you understand how I am feeling because you read this blog. We have barely talked since I saw you last. This blog is for me. I don't care if you read it but I do care if you assume you know everything because of it.

Call me when you read this. Because you have a lot of explaining to do.

I have every right in the world to feel this way. But you don't.

And if you don't want me there then fine, but just know that I am determined to stay there this summer by myself. I'll do whatever I need to.

-Little sister

Hundreds

Lips connected in every way.
Truth in every spoken word.
Comfortableness in every shared presence.
Stability with every glance.
Chills with every touch.
Love,
With everything.

But that won't stop this.

__

Sometimes I forget how bad it was. Sometimes all I can think about is how bad I am now. And that's a good thing, because just focussing on how bad I am now saves me from also having to deal with how bad it used to be.

He raped me.

Hundreds of times.

He knew I didn't want it. He knew I was terrified. He knew I couldn't fight back. He knew I couldn't say no--I wasn't allowed to say no. He knew he had control over my body, so he exploited it to the full extent.

Hundreds.
Of.
Times.

In my own bed.
In the shower.
In the car.
In his bed.
On the couch.
Anywhere.

I cried a lot. While he was raping me. I was sobbing. It hurt, a lot. Not only the sexual part of it hurt but he would physically hold me down, or throw me around, or pull my hair, or hit me, or even scream. Multiple times he wanted me up against the wall and he would press my head so hard into the wall I couldn't breathe. With every thrust my head would hit the wall and it would start to bleed. He saw the blood and it didn't stop him. The night after prom he made me take a shower with him, forced me to perform anal sex (which, by the way, is also rape), and then proceeded to finger me so hard he popped my cherry. He forced me to give anal sex four times that night, and made me bleed more and more and more. I couldn't sleep all night, I felt sick to my stomach.
I spent the next day crying in my bed, not only because of how much physical pain I was in but also because I somehow believed I couldn't live without him.
And that was even before the rape started.

Hundreds of times.

He would do it three times in one night, about four or five times a week.
That's twelve to fifteen rapes in one week.

Hundreds.

He wouldn't say goodbye when he left. I sobbed before, during, and after.

Every time.
Hundreds,
of times.

People who are raped once by their lover are scarred for life.
And he raped me hundreds of times.

Now what? I'm too scared.

He won't get out of my head. He won't leave me alone. To this day he comes into my mind and rapes me,
every night.

Hundreds,
hundreds,
hundreds more.

-Beaskie

First

This is the first time I haven't said goodnight to you.
And hopefully it will be the last.

I miss you all the time.

How can I keep you forever, when I need you this much?

-Beaskie

Flawed

I get dizzy when we fight.

The entire room starts spinning forwards and I feel like I'm constantly falling head first.
It's the same feeling I get when I become the furniture.

Oh, how wonderful it would be if I could become the furniture.

__

I said I wanted Flyer to still have feelings for his ex.
I still do.

Sort of.

I sometimes get a weird feeling when I'm with him, or usually after I leave. I don't know what it is, I can't tell if it's regret or happiness or love or fear or pain or healing. It's just a weird feeling. And I think if Flyer still had feelings for his ex then that would give me something to explain this feeling. Even though in the back of my mind I would know it wasn't the cause for the feeling, it'd still be a scapegoat. There's never anything wrong with Flyer--I search and search for a flaw and come up empty handed every time.

I wish he had a flaw. Then I wouldn't feel so bad about my own.

-Beaskie

The Unspeakable

My eyes are burning.
My bad knee hurts.
The skin on my wrist stings from where my nails were unconsciously digging in.
There is a never-ending ring in my ears.
The clock ticks with every second.
The full moon stares at me, daring me to remember.

Remember the unspeakable.
Remember the unspoken.
Remember the silenced.

My eyebrows hurt from being furrowed for so long.
My head hurts from pulling my hair.
My stomach churns.
My mouth turns down.
My lungs don't work under the hands.

It has never been spoken.
It will never be spoken.

I tried once, I told the one closest to me. But she didn't understand, and I gave up immediately because I instantly knew I couldn't say it.

No, it will never be spoken.
Things like that aren't meant to be reiterated.
Things like that are unspeakable.
Things like that are unspoken.
Things like that must be silenced.

People like me are silenced.

-Beaskie

Letter To A Friend

I know I'm hurting you.
I know I'm hurting my family.
I know I'm hurting those who I care the most about.
I know I'm hurting the people I never wanted to hurt.

Did you think I was oblivious to that?

Just because I know these things does not mean I am trying to do them.

Also, just because I know these things does not mean I can prevent them from happening.

I have lost many abilities I once had. I have lost the ability to motivate myself to do anything--schoolwork, eat, sleep, even dance. I have lost the ability to concentrate on things that need to be concentrated on. I have lost the ability to remember what it feels like to be happy. I have not lost the ability to be happy, but I just can't will myself to feel it anymore.
Another ability I have lost is the ability to reach out to others, to express just how much I want them or love them or need them, to show them how vital they are to my survival, to be their friend.

I used to be such a good friend.

I am not trying to hurt anybody. I did not just wake up one morning and decide to push everyone who ever cared about me away by hurting them. I am not saying it's an accident, but I am saying it is not on purpose. It's not a conscious decision. It just happens. And I can never really tell why or how or when until after the fact, when it's too late to change it. The damage is done.

I am trying every way possible to stop. It's constantly on my mind, as well as a consistent topic of discussion with my therapist. I can't figure out why I have lost the ability to be a friend. And I can't figure out how to get it back.

But I am trying. I'm trying harder than you think. I'm trying harder than you could ever imagine.

Do you think I like doing this to people?
Don't you know that I'm sorry?
Don't you know that I hate this too?

I won't stop trying. Just because I haven't figured it out yet doesn't mean I won't. I know I will, but I know it won't be soon--I've come to learn that everything heals with time, and sometimes that "everything" can take a long, long time.

So please don't give up on me. It's asking a lot to put up with this while I try and try, but please believe that I will find the answer so that I can believe that I will find the answer.

I hope trying my best is good enough to hold on to you until then.

-Beaskie

A Death In The Family

My best friend thinks she's lost me.

I don't think anyone has lost me, I think the only person who can lose me is me. The others never had me.

You don't get to have anyone but yourself.

I hate that the world looks at relationships like that. Having someone. Losing someone. Those concepts are impossible, but when attempted they are dehumanizing and emotionally scarring.

__

The other day a boy I went on two dates with texted me saying, in short, that he would have me again. When I tried to explain that he had never had me in the first place, his single-minded response was, "That's because you didn't give me enough time! Just you wait and see, I'll get you! I'll have you again! Just you wait!"

That sounds like a threat.

Actually, that is a threat.

The boy tried to have me.

That's the scariest threat I've heard in my life.
__

No, my best friend didn't lose me, and I didn't lose her. We never will, because we will never have each other. But I know when she says she lost me she's not meaning it in such a literal sense as I have perceived it to be. I am a very different person now. Parts of me have changed for the better, and parts for the worse. There isn't a single person on the face of the earth who wouldn't change as much as I did if they were in my position.

There isn't a single person on the face of the earth who doesn't change, period.

But there's no going back. I must go forward with my life. I have been held back enough and it has to stop. It's nowhere near easy, because going forward means accepting the situation.

It's as if the old me died. And when someone dies it is difficult to move forward because you don't want to leave them behind. You want them to come with you, so you wait and wait until you finally realize that they will never come with you again because they can't. So you move forward, slowly and painfully, until you regain the momentum you once had.
This is what I am trying to do. I am done waiting because I know the old me will never come with me again. So I am slowly and painfully moving forward.

But when my closest friend is still back there, waiting for the old me to come back, how am I supposed to move forward? At this rate I won't get anywhere anytime soon--if ever. I'm taking one step forward and two steps back.
I guess because the old me only figuratively died we all had a harder time accepting the fact that she wasn't coming back because we thought there was more of a chance of a resurrection. But that is just as impossible as the resurrection of a normal, dead human being. So we must all move forward.

It will never be an easy thing--to move on from yourself. To mourn yourself and then accept that you have died and that the new you must move on. It's a foreign feeling to me, and is to blame for a majority of my deep depression.

But if my best friend can't stop mourning over the old me's death, how will I?

-Beaskie

Pelear

I will never fight for another person again in my life.

I don't believe that fighting for someone is a way of showing them you love them. Fighting for someone means they aren't showing their love for you, because they are expecting you to chase after them in order to prove their feelings. There are a million other ways to show someone you love them. Fighting for them should never be one. The word "fight" should never used in correlation to "love".

It took me 11 wretched months of fighting for someone who wasn't worth fighting for to understand this. And I will never make that same mistake again.

This doesn't mean I'm not willing to put effort into a relationship. It means I will not put effort into a relationship when the other person expects me to while they put in none whatsoever. If there is a problem I will gladly spend all the time needed to work it out, I will make compromises for the person, and I will meet them half way--but I expect the same in return. When you fight for someone, you are expected to sacrifice, not compromise. You are expected to go all the way while the other person isn't reaching at all.

That's unrealistic, unfair, and unnecessary.

And selfish.

And I won't fall for it again.

-Beaskie

Tony

Over winter break I went out with a guy for about two weeks.
Let's call him Tony.

He told me he liked me right after my Winter Dance Recital. So we went on a few dates. It was the same time as my depression hit. It was also the same time as Flyer's best friend.

I'm pretty sure he thinks he loves me. Whether he actually does or not I don't know--or care. Me and him had nothing to do with him and everything to do with me. I dated him in the same mindset as when I slept with Flyer's friend. I wanted to hurt someone, the way I had been hurt. I told him a hundred times that I would hurt him, but all he did was tell me he would always listen and care and superficial shit like that. I knew I would hurt him, I didn't know why or how but I knew I did.

I don't think I ever really liked him. I most certainly wasn't attracted to him--I wouldn't let him kiss me. I felt like I had to be with someone, because I have never been on my own before. I wanted to finally have control in a relationship, so I took advantage of his feelings for me. When I finally saw what I was doing I backed off and cut off all ties. I was hoping he'd be so hurt he would never speak to me again--that was the point.

But no, of course not. Things don't ever go the way I want them to.

He contacted me today for maybe the fifth time after we ended. Every time it gets worse, today it was incredibly terrible. "I will get you," "Just you wait and see,"and, my favorite, "I assure you I will get to your heart! That's a promise. Unless you marry Flyer."

So this kid is in love with me and pretty much wants to marry me. And all I did was notice that and use it to my advantage, lead him on and hurt him. I wanted to use someone up like I had been. I wanted to give a big "F you" to the male population of the world.

I also have no idea why I ever led him on...I knew I didn't like him from the beginning. And I knew he liked me a lot.

He likes me way too much. He loves me way too much. It's actually extremely frightening. He also has certain characteristics that are similar to the boy, which is equally as terrifying.

He was a power trip for me. He was a toy to play with. He was a casualty of my wrath.

Yes I am ashamed of leading him on. But I haven't told him that I never really liked him. I haven't told him that I used him for my own satisfaction. I haven't told him that he never really meant anything to me. I haven't told him that he was a repercussion of my own messed up mind.

How am I supposed to tell him that? Haven't I hurt him enough?

I want Flyer to still have feelings for his ex.

-Beaskie

Filter

I am not usually one to hold back on saying what I am thinking.
I don't blurt it out immediately, I take a few seconds to think about what I'm about to say, but whether or not I decide it's a good idea to speak it doesn't matter--I'll say it anyways.

Sometimes that saves my life. Sometimes that gets me in trouble.

I hope that this time, it didn't hurt you. Because most of the time, that's what it does. Hurts people. People I love and care about.

I guess the excuse my mind gives me is "They deserve to know what's on your mind".
But the real question is, do they want to know?

-Beaskie

Unnamed

It's hot. Only the first row of people are visible, yet I don't look. They aren't there. No one is there but me. I am center stage. I am alone in my auditorium. My energy is filling every space of the room. And I move. My mind is blank--completely blank. I don't have to think, my body does the thinking for me. I can feel every beat of the music inside my head. My body moves gracefully and purposefully, every motion representing a very specific memory, emotion, or thought.
My message is clear.

I begin innocent, carving my way through the thickness of the world. I feel strong and proud, nothing has ever hurt me. Yet that does not last, for when I wish to go up my body takes me down. I am surprised, but not defeated, and I easily stand back up and push the problem out of my way, veiling my eyes to the true terrors of the world.
But a veil only covers so much, in fact it is quite transparent.
And my eyes are opened.
The hands are introduced to the audience. They take me down with strength and purpose. I am hit repeatedly with my demons who shatter me, while still unknowing of their existence. At last I turn to look at the demon, and find it is myself I am staring at. Confusion is my immediate reaction, but as Who I once was, Who I planned to be, Who I might still wish to be, begins to recede, I am forced to face nothing but reality.
I am scared. So I run, believing myself to be stronger than this. But I am not. I fall backwards. Before I am able to get up more demons begin their deluge. I scatter across the stage, beyond terrified. Trying to reach up, trying to get out, trying to understand.
I stand up for a brief moment but fall again. However, having the hope of once again being able to keep myself up has set in, and I decide to not give up. I reach for the answer, dragging my lifeless body across the floor. It is much more difficult than I could have ever imagined.
Who I used to be is fine. She is fine. She continues on, she is tall and standing and fine.
But I am on the floor. Still hoping, but mostly doubting. The hands are still there, and drag me down repeatedly.
I finally muster up the strength to stand. The hands reach for me, but this time I see them coming.

"No."

And I turn to face her. Who I once was. Who I used to be. She is no longer I, I am no longer she. The acknowledgement of this fact gives me more strength than Who I used to be will ever have. I have become stronger. I have become me. Not Who I used to be, but me.
The hands come back as I realize that they will always be there. I know that now, and I know for the most part how to prevent them from taking my life. And I continue to grow as Who I used to be continues to fall. I feel her energy, and turn back to acknowledge the lessons I have learned from her. But as she turns to leave, I stay.

Center stage.

Every move I made on stage tonight was a reflection of my journey. I cried heavily afterwards, not because anything had gone wrong, but because it brought every emotion I had ever felt to the very surface of my heart. In three minutes and forty six seconds I told the story of the past year and a half without words, but with my body.

I will never be satisfied with a life without dance. It is the only way I will ever be able to convey my soul truthfully to others and to myself. I will never give it up. It has taught me so much, more than anyone else or anything else ever has or ever will. It will never leave me. It will never betray me. It is my closest companion and my deepest love.

A true artist brings beauty to pain. A true artist creates from devastation. A true artist externalizes an internal battle.
And a true artist is never afraid to inform the world of their minds, their bodies, their hearts, and their souls.

I was glass, and he shattered me. It isn't hard to shatter glass. But it is impossible to put it back together the way you found it.
This time, as I put myself back together, I will make sure I become more durable.
Unbreakable.
Unstoppable.
Unshattered.

-Beaskie

Perfect World

We wake up in each others arms.

     Maybe you kiss me.

     Maybe we hold each other.

     Maybe you touch my face.

We walk into the kitchen.

     Maybe we eat some sugary cereal.

     Maybe we watch cartoons.

     Maybe you make a Starbucks run.

We both drive to work-you to the airport and me to the studio.

     Maybe we meet up for lunch.

     Maybe you send me flowers at work.

     Maybe I surprise you with a visit.

We both go home and eat dinner.

     Maybe we order take out.

     Maybe we have a romantic dinner.

     Maybe we eat icecream on the couch.

We start to get tired.

     Maybe we take a shower.

     Maybe you rub my feet.

     Maybe we watch a movie.

And we fall asleep in each others arms.

And we wake up in each others arms.

And we live in a perfect world.

-Beaskie

All Of This

I feel unclean.
I feel rotten.
I feel unworthy.
And I do not forgive myself.

I see shame.
I see pity.
I see self-loathing.
And I don't wish to look any longer.

I hear sobs.
I hear screams.
I hear footsteps.
And the footsteps are not in my favor.

I inflict pain.
I inflict exhaustion.
I inflict scars.
And the inflictions are not voluntary.

You have all of this.

And you feel love.
And you see strength.
And you hear laughter.
And you inflict happiness.

If you could be proud of all of this
     The rot
     The shame
     The screams
     The scars

If you could be proud of
     all of this.
If you could believe others are jealous of
     all of this.
If you could care for
     all of this.
If you could love
     all of this


If you could be proud of all of this

Then maybe
     all of this

Isn't so bad.

-Beaskie

Circle

There's so many cycles.
The cycle of life.
The cycle of abuse.
The cycle of doubt.
The cycle of depression.

I've been stuck in that last one for a while.

My cycle gives no warnings. My cycle has no reason. My cycle is an attacker, an abuser, and doesn't take into account anything but its own heinous intentions.

Yesterday my day was fine. I had dance practice from 1-6, and then had a break until we started again from 9-11. At 6 I drove to my studio to work on my own piece during my break.
But I couldn't get out of the car.
I was just sad.
For no reason at all.

So I sat there for a while, being sad.
And then I started to cry.
And then I started to bang my head against the wall.
And then I started to scream.
And then I wanted to cut.
And then I realized I couldn't move, so I couldn't cut, so I dug my nails into my skin instead.
And then I felt the hands.

The hands wouldn't let go. They were so strong. Every time they visit, they are stronger.
And every time they visit, I am weaker.

And the hands' grip would tighten and I couldn't breathe.

Literally. Not metaphorically.

I. Could. Not. Breathe.

It was as if I was drowning in air. My lungs were closing. My eyes were blurring. My face would turn blue. And at last I would manage a desperate gulp of air and start screaming for help before the hands gripped tighter and I lost my air again.

It was like someone was in the car with me.
Trying to kill me.
They got so close...

Finally my dad found me and brought me into the house. My murderer had been attempting to kill me for about 45 minutes at this point. He brought me on the couch and put a blanket on me and I just cried and cried. I was whimpering and trying to not scream because I didn't want my killer to hear me and find me and choke me again. So I whimpered and my breath was hitching and I couldn't see straight and finally I managed to stop the whimpering so I just breathed.
And the numb feeling started. At my toes and my fingertips, like always.
And my head was spinning because of all the crying and adrenaline and fear. And the numbness feeling consumed my entire body and my mind was spinning uncontrollably and suddenly I felt as if I was becoming undone, becoming nothing, becoming the furniture, becoming a vegetable, becoming--not dead--but nonexistent.
I liked that feeling. I wanted it to stay.
Nonexistent.
Peaceful.
Then I fell asleep. Somehow I ended up at home.

I slept all day today. That always happens. The cycle is exhausting.
I couldn't speak for most of the day either. That happens, too.

The venom hit my heart. It took a little piece away from it. That's what happens in the cycle. It's a sickness, I have to wait and just let it work through my system before I can be better again. Once it comes on there's no stopping it midway. I just have to wait. Sleep it off. Hope I don't kill myself in the process.

I know the cycle is over when I can tell myself "I am okay. Everything is okay."
Then I can go back to being normal. Then I can go back to waiting for the next cycle to hit.

Until then, I wait.

-Beaskie

Condensation

Rain is good.

It washes. It cleans.

It muddles. It baffes.

It soothes. It numbs.

It soaks. It drenches.

It makes noise.

It feels like something.

It feels wet.

It has a name.

It has a purpose.

It has a smell.

It has a lifespan.

I would like to be the rain.

Rain is good.

-Beaskie

Answered Answers

I don't think I've ever told you how sorry I am.

I once heard that if you have said you're sorry three times, you deserve to be forgiven.

I disagree.

I don't think I can ever stop saying I'm sorry. Whether or not it's needed. Part of it is because of the boy-I was constantly apologizing, whether I had committed whatever needed to be forgiven or not was irrelevant. But part of it is because I know what hurt is, and would never wish it on anyone, especially not those I love.

So I am sorry. I'm sorry more than three times. I'm sorry for that day and night. I'm sorry for the repercussions. I'm sorry I kept it hidden for a few days.

As I say I'm sorry to you, I am also saying it to myself. I haven't forgiven myself for it, and I don't expect anyone else to, either.

--

On that first day, in all honesty, you reminded me of the boy. Just for that moment, when you turned to the street. That's a stunt the boy would pull to get me to fight for him instead of against him. He would never actually follow through with it, just use it as a way to scare and control me.

But then I realized, you weren't the boy.

I'm still having a hard time realizing that.

But because you weren't the boy, that meant it wasn't a stunt. It was real. And I actually had to stop it.

So I did.

And I was terrified.

-Beaskie

Bugs

Too many thoughts in my head again.
I can't see straight.

My therapist and I have dissected my newfound understanding of the boy's ways of sexual abuse for the past week or so. Everyday I find something new, some other way in which that abuse has changed who I am.

As soon as I sense any sort of sexual atmosphere, my mind stops seeing straight as my survival instincts cloud my vision. I call it a "survival instinct" because, at the time when this instinct surfaced, it was for survival. This instinct is what convinces my mind that I want it--I want to have sex or take my clothes off or whatever the situation might be at the moment. This way, the pain of knowing that these acts were done while I did not want them was avoided.

That pain is too much.

So I convince myself it's what I want. It's what I need. That I am in complete control. That I am deciding to do this. That I always have the option of stopping but I don't because I don't want to stop.

The reality is, as soon as this instinct kicks in, I don't have the option of stopping it. The reality is that I never really want it, or need it. The reality is that I have never been in control, and have never decided to do it. The reality is the boy--though he is long gone--is still controlling that part of me.

This is my reality, and has nothing to do with the person next to me participating in it. I know Flyer will feel as if he is forcing me to do something, or should somehow know what to do.
He can't know what to do. I don't really know what to do.

Actually, I haven't a clue in the world what to do, how to stop this, how to make the boy leave, how to finally have control.

The boy is like a parasite. He himself is the bloodsucker. And soon as he becomes aware of his target, he becomes an infestation. His poison is released into his prey. In this case, his prey noticed the parasitical attachment on her heart, body, soul, spirit, and somehow was able to detach it from her. However, that almost doesn't matter, because the bloodsucker has done his job--sucked out blood, sucked out life, sucked out love and hope and happiness and safety and control and sanity--and left his victim with his own poison slowly dripping into her veins, arteries, and ultimately, her heart.
His poison is suffocating, and rapid. It's deadly. It aims to kill, and never misses. While the parasite might be out of site, his destruction has left an irrevocable path, headed towards inevitable and unavoidable darkness.

I'm waiting for my antibiotics, but I am afraid the cure I am seeking is nonexistent.

-Beaskie

Peace

These are the moments in which I experience peace:

When I can feel the warm breath coming from your nose on my closed eyelid.
When I can try and time my breathing to match yours.
When we aren't distracted by notifications or text messages.
When I can feel the warmth from your body rise up and encompass me, surround me, protect me.
When I am so close to you my body shakes with yours on every heart beat.
When the path your fingertip left on my cheek tingles moments after you've traced your love.
When my head fits perfectly in the crevice of your shoulder.
When I briefly open my eyes to check if you're okay and find that you are doing the same thing.
When you touch my stomach or my feet or my hand or my neck or my face.
When I can listen to you sleep for hours.
When I can say to myself I would be happy if time were to irrevocably freeze at this very second.
When I feel small in your arms, yet have never felt bigger.
When I am reassured of your love.

At times a memory will creep into my brain and disturb the peace. I shake it off--both physically and mentally--and you notice the physical and mental shift.

When you hold me closer and kiss my forehead.
When you silently remind me everything will be alright.

These are the moments in which I experience peace.

"Yes" Means No

Rape.

It's talked about. It's studied. It's publicized. It's hidden.

And it's everywhere.

Every 17 minutes a woman in the United States is raped.

The boy most definitely raped me. I now have no doubt in my mind that that statement is true.

No means no. But saying nothing does not mean yes. I said nothing, and for good reason. He had been pressuring me constantly, claiming he would "trust me more". The first time it happened he brought it up so quickly I didn't even have a chance to say no or yes. We were in the car, and suddenly he said we should have sex right then and the next thing I knew he was buying condoms at a 7/11 and finding an alley to park in. He saw that I was terrified, and way past hesitant. But I didn't say no, so he took my lack of a response as a yes.
If I had said no I would've never heard the end of it. That would be one of the many mistakes I made in his eyes, and he would never let me forget it. That, and he might have physically forced me to have sex, an experience I was not about to ask for. I was hoping he would see my fear and hesitation and stop, but of course he didn't.

This is a form of rape that is very unknown to the public eye. We often hear of violent rapes where the girl is kicking and screaming, and it results in bruises and cuts and even broken bones and death. Or we hear of rapes where the girl was intoxicated past the point of consciousness, and had no say in what was to happen to her body. But we never hear of rapes where the girl was fully aware of what was going on, and wasn't kicking or screaming or really resisting, but never actually said yes.
Even if they do say yes, if a man notices the slightest hesitation in her voice, it's a definite no. There are a million reasons why a woman may be afraid to say no, and therefore the rape is too often seen as consensual in the man's--and the court's--eyes.


The boy was incredibly manipulative. He would somehow make me be the one doing sexual acts to him, and not the other way around. There were many methods he would go about to do this. One might be him seeming unsatisfied after we had sex, telling me it might have felt better if I was the one coming onto him and taking control. Therefore, that's what I did. After the sex I still felt the uncomfortable, violated feeling I got when he was the one controlling it, but an element of confusion came into play when I thought about the fact that I was in control, and I still did it, even though I know I did not want to. Another way would be his never ending fairytales about all the crazy things his overly-experienced ex-girlfriends would do to him, making me jealous and giving me a drive to do these things--and more--in order to please him. Eventually, the manipulation became so strong that I lost sight of the fact that I didn't want to engage in any sexual activity with the boy because I was so focussed on whatever act he wanted me to perform on him next.

For a long while I didn't consider the relationship sexually abusive, entirely for this purpose. I was the one who did it to him--not the other way around. I never said no. I told him I wanted it. I took control.
The relationship I had before the boy was very obviously sexually abusive, but in a very different way. He would do things to me that I didn't want. I would cry and try to stop it and I couldn't so I would cry some more as he forced his way into my personal bubble of privacy and sexuality. That was one type of sexual abuse--the boy's type was completely different.

I now can very clearly see the type of sexual abuse I suffered from the boy, and I can also see that it is much more painful than the common types of sexual abuse, and also much more unknown to the world. I was manipulated into having sex with him. I was manipulated into taking control, or doing things to him, or telling him I wanted it. I was a puppet he used to fill his desires. However I was a puppet completely convinced I was not attached to any strings, and was performing all on my own.
Now I see the strings. Now I understand the abuse.

It has also become a habit of mine to succumb to, or claim I will perform, sexual acts without actually asking myself if I really want it. It has happened multiple times with Flyer, also with Flyer's best friend (mentioned much earlier). I went through with whatever was happening simply because that was how I was programmed to act during my relationship with the boy. It became so drilled into my head because it was a survival tactic--as well as being my only choice. Neither of the boys this has happened with are at fault for this in any way, shape, or form. Flyer has never once pushed me or manipulated me in any way, and I know he never will. It is me who is at fault--I have to learn to ask myself what I want before committing to doing what he wants.

One time I did ask myself if I actually wanted what was going on with Flyer at the moment to happen, of if I was doing it because I thought I was obligated to please him. The answer was no, I didn't want it, and I told him to stop, which he promptly did. I was so proud of myself for building up the courage to say stop, and so relieved when the command wasn't received with the expected yells, hits, or force to continue. Saying no is a terrifying thing in my mind, no matter who I am saying no to.

It is upsetting to me that I have become this way. I know who I am, I know I am strong and independent and most definitely on the same level as any man in the world. A body is sacred--be it a man's or a woman's--and the only person who can know what it wants and deserves is the soul occupying that body. Not only had I let my body's fate be decided by a different soul during the boy's relationship, but I have also wrongfully learned to not only accept this fact, but expect it, and even make it happen when another soul--Flyer's--won't decide what my body's fate is for me.

I am the only one who will be able to break this terrible, destructive habit. And it must happen, for I am afraid of what it might lead me to do.

-Beaskie