"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

Texting

My life feels frivolous.
I don't think I'm doing this right, this whole "living" thing. I see other people living but I dont know how to do it myself. I feel unattached from people. I feel like I have no real connections. I feel as if I am floating, a ghost.

When will I understand what it is to live?

My friend thinks I will always chose Flyer over her. And I think that's why she doesn't like him. I won't chose either of them. I don't chose people. You can't just "chose" someone. You can chose a pair of shoes or an ice cream flavor. But you don't "chose" people.
They just come into or leave from or stay in or watch or participate in or destroy or excite or affect or whatever your life. You can't chose them. And neither can they. I think.

I get sick of texting Flyer some times. Because sometimes it's "You're so beautiful" or "I miss you" or just a bunch of hearts and kissy faces. That's fine and all, but it just feels fake. And it happens when we have nothing else to talk about.

Why is that? The same thing happened with me and the boy, or really me and any other person I've had a relationship with. When we run out of things to say we fill in the silence with "Aww you're so cute" and "I love youuuuu" and "I miss you more!"
All of these words mean so much, and are so important, and heavy. But they become conversation fillers. Their gravity is lost in their overuse.

I hate it.

I don't really have much to say recently. So much pain has been caused by those who I thought were my close friends that I stopped feeling it and became numb again.
You'll know when the numbness bubble pops--I'll have plenty to say then.

-Beaskie

Lyrics

Long were the nights when my days once revolved around youCounting my footsteps praying the floor won't fall through againAnd my mother accused me of losing my mindBut I swore I was fine
You paint me a blue sky and go back and turn it to rainAnd I lived in your chess game, but you changed the rules everydayWondering which version of you I might get on the phone tonightWell, I stopped picking up and this song is to let you know why
Dear John, I see it all now that you're goneDon't think I was too young to be messed with?The girl in the dress cried the whole way homeI should've known
Well, maybe it's just me and my blind optimism to blameOr maybe it's you and your sick need to give love then take it awayAnd you'll add my name to your long list of traitors who don't understandAnd I'll look back and regret how I ignored when they said run as fast as you can
Dear John, I see it all now that you're goneDon't you think I was too young to be messed with?The girl in the dress cried the whole way home
Dear John, I see it all now it was wrongDon't you think nineteen's too young to be played with?Your dark twisted games when I loved you soI should've known
You are an expert at sorry and keeping lines blurryNever impressed by me acing your testsAll the girls that you've run dry have tired, lifeless eyes'Cause you've burn them out
But I took your matches before fire could catch meSo don't look nowI'm shining like fireworks overYour sad, empty town
Dear John, I see it all now that you're goneDon't you think I was too young to be messed with?The girl in the dress cried the whole way home
Dear John, I see it all now it was wrongDon't you think nineteen's too young to be played with?The girl in the dress wrote you a songYou should've known
You should've knownDon't you think I was too young?You should've known

Wake Up

I figured it out.
Why I didn't kill myself that night.
Or any other night, really.

I want to die. I want to die so bad it hurts.
But I don't want to be dead. I don't want death.

No, I want to die and be born again. A different person. Completely different.
I want to die and erase my life from this world. I want Beaskie to become nonexistent, and for my soul to become someone else.

I want to die out of my own life and into a new one.

It wouldn't hurt anyone, because I would have never actually existed. People wouldn't miss me because they would have never met me. I wouldn't miss them because I would have never met them. It's a perfect plan.

The flaw is I won't wake up. And this is where the epiphany I just had comes in.

My logical mind, however suppressed it may be at the moment, knows that becoming nonexistent and being reborn is not possible. Somehow, through all the shouting demons in my head, the tiny voice of that logical mind was heard just enough to keep me alive every time.

If those demons get louder, if my logical mind gets quieter, I might not survive again.

And much to my dismay, I won't wake up.

-Beaskie

Hummigbird

I've cried of happiness three times in my life.

The first time was one night when the boy was on the phone with me and was telling me all these wonderful things about how we would get married and raise a family and be in love forever.
However, I don't really count that time because after I hung up the phone I started bawling from how absolutely terrified I was of spending the rest of my life with him.

Okay, so I've cried of happiness twice in my life. And they're both because of Flyer.

The first was when he gave me a carving of a Hummingbird for Valentines Day. Not only is it the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, but it was sentimental, too. In my mind, a Hummingbird symbolizes peace, and hope, and possibilities, and warmth, and kindness, and energy, and intelligence, and beauty. This is because in my mind a Hummingbird symbolizes my Grandma. She embodied all these characteristics and more. When she was taken away from me, my mother gave me a Hummingbird necklace. Later on I gave her one too. We always search for Hummingbirds, and they always seem to show up on the right day, at the right time, just when we need her most.

Sometimes, Flyer is my Hummingbird.

The second time I've cried of happiness was just now. Flyer was as well. He said it's never happened to him before. I'm shocked I could be the cause of evoking such powerful emotions.
We spent the day together. We woke up together and had breakfast. He asked me to Prom in the sweetest way possible--putting a giant sign in the quad at our school and then taking me flying over it. We went to a movie with my family.

But for what ever reason, tonight was special. Tonight, the feelings of want turned into need. Tonight I could say "I love you" with out questioning it or being afraid of it. Tonight I realized that he will keep me alive, and I realized that he has been keeping me alive for months now. Tonight I realized that he makes life worth living, and therefore I will keep living it, if only for him.

Every kiss has the same excitement as if it were our first. Every embrace has the same passion as if it were our last. Every touch makes my heart skip a beat. Every look sends blood rushing to my cheeks.

I have never wanted a person this much. I have never loved a person this much.

I want so badly to be a part of him. I want so badly for our bodies to just fuse together and become one. I want to live inside of him where it is safe and warm and no one can ever hurt me because all there is is love coming from him and surrounding me. I want to shrink until I am two inches tall and sleep in the palm of his hand. I want to be two years old so he can hold me like a baby and rock me to sleep. I want to have superpowers so I can kill anything bad that comes within ten billion lightyears of him. I want to keep him forever, and I plan to.

He told me he would teach me what love feels like. He has kept his word.

-Beaskie

The Slaughter House

I was at a JV Football game on a Thursday afternoon with the rest of my squad. We were sitting in the stands, there to support JV Cheer. I texted the boy and asked him to come to the school and sit with me. That way, he couldn't accuse me of looking at other guys because he would be there to see for himself that I didn't.

He came to the school but sat on the other side of the field, in the opposing bleachers. I had no idea why. He sat there and stared at me for maybe an hour. I kept standing up and motioning for him to come over and he would shake his head. I texted and called him and he wouldn't reply. The girls on my squad thought it was funny for about a minute, but then realized how strange it was, as did I.

He finally came over, and sat on the bleacher behind me, about four feet to my left. Again, I asked him to come sit closer, and he continuously refused. Eventually he moved to sit behind me, and I would lean back and try to kiss him but he wouldn't let me.

The constant rejection was possibly one of the most painful parts of those 11 months.

Later on, when I was asking him why he was being so weird, he turned it around and blamed it all on me, claiming that I was being a heartless, selfish bitch for not noticing that he was sad and for not holding him or asking him what was wrong.

Every night I would cry. Some nights it was because we were fighting. Others it was because he was putting me down. This was one of the putting me down nights, but it went to a whole new level when I told him I would cut myself because I hated myself so much and thought I deserved it, and he didn't try to stop me.

I cut myself for the first time that night, crying on the phone to him the whole time.
Later that night he came over unannounced and raped me so hard I bled for hours. I was crying the entire time and he wouldn't stop. Just like he wouldn't stop calling me a self-centered whore while he knew I was cutting myself.

People who kill someone spend their life in jail. He did more than kill someone. He did more than kill me. I wish he had killed me, but he would never be that forgiving.
No, he murdered me. He butchered me. He slaughtered me.

I hope he spends the rest of his life in jail.
I hope one day he gets slaughtered too.

-Beaskie

Defenses

My life is not my life. It's someone else's. It's not my life.
This isn't who I am. This isn't who my friends are or who my family is. These aren't situations I get into. These aren't people I have to deal with. This isn't my life.

I must be dreaming. This must be the longest, most extensive dream I've ever dreamt. Or maybe it's all a joke. It's a sick joke, but that's better than reality.

No, this isn't reality. This isn't my reality. It can't be. This is not my life.

Thankfully my mind has figured out how to put up enough defenses to actually convince me that the life I'm living is not my life, or I probably wouldn't be living at all.

There are two things keeping me at the high school I am at now. Dance and cheer, in that order.
Dance is falling apart. Half the people have left, the other half don't care. And I'm the only one that wants to put up the show we have scheduled a month from now. It's even a question if the class will continue next year because of budget cuts.
And I don't know if cheer is enough to keep me at a school where everyone either thinks I'm a slut or has turned their backs on me.

It's kind of a fantasy I have--going to a new school. Starting fresh, completely fresh. No one would know who I am or what I have been through or what my problems are, and they would never know. For one year I could be who I was so long ago. For one year, I could actually live my life.
But changing schools would be accepting defeat.

I do not accept defeat.

-Beaskie

Burden

If there's one thing this whole experience has done quite well, it's test the friendships I have to the point of make or break, do or die.

Some did.
And some died.

One of my closest friends in the world has completely turned her back on me. Physically and literally. She constantly says "I'm just too much for her to handle" as her justification for abandoning me when life is just "too much for me to handle". The only thing that will ever bring me out of this black hole is a support network of family and friends. I thought I needed her to get out of this, but recently I've noticed her true colors showing--and I don't like them at all. She has turned into someone who does not take responsibility for her inappropriate actions, who listens to, believes, and spreads rumors about me--no matter how ridiculous--, who asks mutual friends of ours to choose between me and her, and who is able to live with herself, knowing she has abandoned her closest friend in her darkest hour.

It's so common for people to just not want to talk about, or even acknowledge the existence of, issues in the world that are upsetting. Out of sight, out of mind. Out of conversation and acknowledgement and action, out of mind and out of any possibility of being resolved. That's what this friend is doing--along with the rest of the world.

Sorry I'm "too much for you to handle". Don't bother coming to my funeral, which could easily result from this betrayal; I don't want to be a burden.

-Beaskie

Afterthought

Maybe the reason why I like Flyer's hands so much is because they aren't strangling me.

-Beaskie

No Matter What, This Has To Last

There are so many things on my mind right now. It's an odd feeling--usually I have to fight to keep something on my mind for a period of time.
My mind is racing in circles. But the circles are so small it looks as if it is staying in one place. And it feels that way, too. So maybe my mind is stationary. But maybe it's moving.
Who cares.

One of the things on my mind is an unanswerable question.
The night the monster came, I was millimeters away from ending my life with the kitchen knife in my hand.
So why didn't I do it?
Is there something I'm holding on to? Is there still some saneness left in me?
I must find the answer, because I'm not confident that whatever it was that stopped me will stop me the next time the monster visits, especially if I don't have a concrete idea of what kept me alive that night.

Another thing on my mind is strength. For most of my life I thought I knew the definition of strength. Physical strength, I thought, was literally being strong, agile, muscular, cut.
Mental strength, I thought, was not letting little things get to you, to be happy and make others happy and to live.

Turns out I was wrong. I don't know yet what the truly correct answer is, but I know that I was most definitely wrong.
Here's what I've come up with so far, though it's subject to change:
Physical strength is a trust in your body to not fail you. Whether it be agility-wise, self-defense-wise, health-wise, or otherwise, you must trust your own flesh to keep your heart beating.
Peristalsis is the function in your body that keeps your organs doing what they're supposed to do. You can't feel or control it--mentally or physically--but it is literally what keeps us alive. In order to have physical strength, you must trust your body to do what it was somehow made to do, to let peristalsis do it's job, to fall unto yourself, to know it will catch you.
Mental strength is the ability to simultaneously depend deeply on others while knowing that if they were to disappear, you would be able to carry on. It's a way of attaching yourself to another while still being detached enough to hold your own. Not only will this bring you absolute mental strength, but will aid the attachee in finding their own strength as well. I'm not saying to always expect people to fail you or leave, or to constantly be preparing for the worst. It should come naturally as you begin to become attached to someone. Always remind yourself that while you feel this undeniable love for them, you must recognize the space between you, as you are two separate physical beings. There is a beauty in the way humans have the ability to do this--become somehow attached to something completely external to ourselves, while still keeping our own identity and beings. It's a balance, it's delicate, and it's strength.
Also keep in mind that I'm not saying this from an experienced point of view--I have not figured out quite how to do this, for I have noticed myself becoming irrevocably attached with little to no hope of every being able to be detached, and that scares me to death.

The topic of strength has brought another topic to my mind--Flyer.

Being a young girl, the pondering thought of who my soulmate will turn out to be is a constant fantasy. I imagine and re-imagine, create and change and mold and tweak until I have the "perfect man". But the next day I think differently, so the "perfect man" is no longer perfect, and is completely erased as I start anew.

There is something about Flyer's hands. It's indescribable, but I'll try anyways.
When his hands are on me, I feel present. I so often feel like a ghost watching humans live, I forget that I am one of them. But with the faintest contact, I am reminded through him that I exist. That I can breathe and feel and talk and live.
Today he was sitting near me, and without saying a word reached over and touched the back of my neck.
I felt as if I had just woken up. Or as if he had just woken me up. I could relax my shoulders, and feel my heart beating, and remind myself that I am alive. He can touch my feet and help me see. He can rub my shoulders and help me hear. He can place a hand on my back and help me breathe. He can wrap his arms around me and hold me like I'm a child and rock me back and forth and listen to me weep and help me live.
Like I said, this sensation is indescribable. These words don't really work--they never seem to. I guess it's close enough.

But he's looking more and more like the illusive "perfect man" I have always fantasized over with every touch.

And the last thing that's on my mind. Driving.

I was driving home tonight and I did it again. No one knows what I do when I drive home late at night because I'm always alone. And I doubt I'd do it with anyone in the car anyways.

I sit in the drivers seat and take off my shoes. I like feeling the petal with my bare feet. My hands start the car and I get on the freeway. Music is playing loud and I feel like I'm dreaming again.
My hands let go of the steering wheel.
I drive faster and faster, usually around 80.
My entire body feels like it's going numb. I'm still dreaming, still sleeping, still driving.
My eyes close.
Sometimes, if there aren't too many other cars around, my eyes will stay closed for 20, 30 seconds at a time.
And my hands are floating and my eyes are shut and my body just floats up and out of the seat, out of the car, out of the city and sky and just floats into oblivion while the car below is still going at 80 miles an hour with a dead corpse as a driver.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mEBq5cfH_cc

"Love can hardly leave the room

With your heart."

-Beaskie

Phalanges

The hands have moved.

Or rather, another set has joined them.

There is still--and always will be--a pair around my neck.
Suffocating.
Strangling.
Killing.
"Love."

We were in his car and fighting.
Well, he was fighting. I was a shrinking.
If you know me, you know that one of the things I can't handle is being yelled at. It's almost worse than someone hitting me. I instantly shrink back into myself and become a small, terrified creature who can't seem to muster up an ounce of the bravery and strength she once had.

I need to work on that.

So he was yelling and I was shrinking. He screamed and I shrunk. His face turned red and his eyes watered and he was practically foaming at the mouth and I shrunk.
But then I grew. And I yelled back. And for an instant I wasn't shrinking anymore.
But he didn't shrink. He grabbed.
He suffocated.
He strangled.
He killed.

And in that instant those hands around my neck became permanent.

"Danger is inevitable, but fear is a choice."

At that moment I had no choice. I was afraid. I feared for my life and I ran.
I ran and ran and his car followed.
I ran with invisible hands around my neck that would never leave and became illuminated by oncoming headlights belonging to the arms, the body, the soul connected to the hands.
I stopped running and turned and was an inch away from taking my last breath.

And he stared at me. And grinned. For he knew that he had made his mark. He could see the hands. He could see the fear.

But now there is another pair of hands. And I cannot tell you their story because I have not heard it yet.
One hand is on top of the other. And they are both pressing on my heart.
They aren't squeezing. They aren't ripping or tearing or crushing.
Just pressing.

It turns out that pressing is more painful than suffocating.
And the uncertainty of the origin of these hands adds to the pain.

And both hands are permanent.

-Beaskie

Demons

It doesn't end. Will he ever leave?

I got a blocked call from him this morning. I know it was him. He used to do different voices on the phone all the time, just to make me think I was crazy.

He didn't need to do that, I was already going crazy.

I threw up after I got that call.

--

I'm sitting in a restaurant and suddenly he's here. Well, someone practically identical. I turn away to place my order and when I look again he's gone.

I'm starting to think these things are figments of my imagination.

--

Demons are permanent. Once one inhabits your brain, there is no going back. The boy was a demon.

There is no going back.

-Beaskie

The Catch

I need to learn to trust again.

You make me feel whole, complete. You make things easy. You can read my mind. You make my heart beat easier. You hold me so tight I can't breathe, yet breathing comes easier with you. You allow me to smile. You allow me to laugh. You enable happiness. You want the undesirable person I have become. You're the opposite of everything I have known. 

You and I have our own lives, yet can come together as one instantaneously. We look and sound like everything love should be. But the catch is me, the catch is me. The strings attached are fear and pain and depression. The catch is me. 

I don't trust it. I don't trust the completeness to be real. I don't trust the easiness, the heartbeats, the breathing, the smile. I have this awful premonition that it's all a joke, a farse, a trick. That the evil universe will morph you into the boy. That the boy will return and hurt you. That the depression will infect you, or repel you, or kill you. I have this premonition of fleeting bliss, and I do not trust that there is any permanence. I'm waiting for it to end. I'm expecting solidarity to return. 

Lack of trust killed me last time. Will it kill me again?

It's so exhausting and painful. I've put up so many walls and barriers and motes with alligators and fire breathing dragons. And it's not a matter of him getting past them--for he has with ease--but it's a matter of me opening the last door for him, for there is only a handle on my side of the wall, and he has no power over whether or he may enter. It's exhausting. I'm so tired of guarding myself, yet I doubt that I will ever stop.

The boy is still in my life in this way. It's not fair, and not controllable. It's not preventable, yet not my fault. All I know how to do is hope that one day it will stop, and he will be gone for good.

All I know how to do is hope that one day I will open the door.

-Beaskie