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.