Blogs

To the Monster Under My Bed (thank you)

There's an older version of me that I've tended to try to forget about. He was most like my brother, I think... He learned from him, and took after him too. Before it became clear the kind of person my brother was, there was some assumption that things could be okay. That it was all actually fine. And he was able, for a time, to live that way. When I started to realize that things weren't fine at all, I kept trying to amputate that part of myself. He was too similar, and I couldn't han

August 18

About the Imposter in My Bathroom Mirror

I've been in a weird place in recovery lately. I figured out a way to compose myself and exist as a single unit... But so much of my memory remains guarded. It feels impossible. It feels endless. But even then, if someone were to say something along the lines of, "That must've been scary," I just think to myself, well... Yeah, it must have been. But hell if I know, because it didn't happen to me... Only I guess it must have. I feel fake when I recount things, sometimes. Like I haven't

August 17

When I Left this Planet Behind

I keep thinking about what I can remember of that bathroom. I can remember a decent amount... What the tiles on the walls looked like, the painting on the wall, the windows, the layout. But the color of the floor remains a mystery to me. When I was scared that my father was going to kill me, I think a part of my brain decided that what felt the best about starving for air was the idea that I was actually drifting along in outer space. Maybe it was the idea that even if I were to

August 15

The Monster Under My Bed

I was scared of the monsters under my bed. Invisible entities that wanted me dead. Blood drinking vampires , Brain eating zombies, Flesh eating ghouls, The devil who'll take our souls. But the devil is real. He's not a little red man with horns. He's made of flesh and bones. The monsters walk among us, Masquerading as the rest of us. Uncles, fathers, brothers, teachers, or the guy who fixes your sinks. They don't write

August 14

To the boy they silenced

Hey. I... I did forget about what happened to you. I don't know what words to use, really... Nor how to comfort you about what he did to us. You couldn't have done anything to stop it. I hope you realize that. I hope you realize that shame isn't yours to bear. I would understand, though, if you felt ashamed anyway. I know I do. I used to think I was so misled. It was easier to believe that it was some strange nightmare, rather than a reason to fear the consequences of any mi

August 12

To the girl who was left out to dry

Dear Margot, My breathing gets real shaky when I think about what happened to you. Us, I guess. But it doesn't always feel fair to say that, when there's so much I still don't understand. My breathing shakes, but it's still me breathing. We can both do that now, really... I don't know. I feel ashamed when I think about the way I felt about you before. The judgment... the embarrassment. I kept just... twisting it in my head. I confused what they told me with what I know and feel now, an

August 11

Some Bitter Pill

Out of all the bullshit I grew to accept over the years, it's... arguably worse, knowing that I'm probably not as crazy as they led me to believe. It's when I remember smaller details that make it... actually more rational to believe than not, that I... crumple the hardest, sometimes. I should be glad. I don't know what this feeling actually is, though. It is a more difficult pill to swallow, I think.

August 10

Fighting Insomnia

To whoever it may concern, I feel like I'm at a crossroads. I know what the pain is... It's hiding behind the first thing my younger self tried to talk about, something that I actually found myself immediately tearing down, when we last spoke. I wasn't even really thinking about it... I just said, "No... Actually, that doesn't make as much sense," in my own... misled way. Maybe just to keep that defense up for myself a little bit longer. The first thing they wanted to talk ab

August 10

Taking Stock

I usually hate crying. It's something I was always shamed for, but I would be unable to control it much when I was younger. It makes me uncomfortable, being obviously upset. But when I'm alone with my thoughts, the dam breaks in unexpected ways sometimes, I guess. I was lost for a while. A lot of pain, a lot that I would rather not express. And I started to realize that it wasn't all in my head... but in a way I was okay with, I guess. Because there were/are also other parts of m

August 10

to my old growing pains

[Note to someone who was gone for quite some time. I think about her a lot, lately.] Hey, you. I wanted to thank you for a lot that I've been thinking about lately. It's funny that we got this far, I think. Maybe that's not a normal word to use, but I'm not really a normal person, I guess. I do laugh when I think about what happened to us, and understand how unlikely it was that I ever would have made it this far without you. Thank you so much. I don't blame you for doin

August 7

The Second Waltz

Gray. Never-ending, impenetrable fog. I strain my eyes, Trying to see the light, Tring to spot the lies. But there's nothing to fight. Not when everything's blind. A quiet, distant buzzing, A low-pitched humming. Like the electricity in the wall. Like a beehive, Or a distant waterfall. It grows louder, Right up in my ears. Almost like a fuse meets gunpowder. Just when all is lost, the ground disappears.

August 6

Letter To My Father

Weekend dates And movie nights. Infinite stars in the skies. Coke and french fries. Once again, you're asleep, I'm awake and count the sheep. It's all you ever seemed to do, Even when I had the flu. But there's a secret side to you, One that's not at all new. Apparently everyone knew, For me it's an entirely new view. One of violence, of control, You wouldn't even let me take a stroll. You controlled wha

August 6

Buzz

Noise. Never ending buzz in my ear. Humming. Purring. Whispering. A dull ache in my head. A relentless wave of dread. Then they grow indignant. Flashes of black and yellow pigment. They grow deafening. Blaring. Ear-piercing. They beg me to function, To take action. I want to earn their satisfaction, To elicit a positive reaction. But I can't will myself to motion. Why should I tire when all that's

August 4

Inherited

Another day, Another punishment. Another price to pay, Another day I must live in banishment. I scream into the void for answers: "What have I done to deserve such treatment?" But all I see are shadowy dancers, Faceless figures from the past. Dismissing me. Ignoring me. Overlooking me. I reach out for one, But my hand is stopped. The flow of time is chopped. they are not here anymore, Long since dead.

August 4

The Wings You Clipped

Don't touch me. For I am not yours to touch. Don't call my name. For I never learned yours. Don't hold me. For your hands don't fit me, Like my father's shirt on the little girl I used to be. Don't tell me I agreed. For my 'no' to you meant 'convince me'. Choking. Hurting. Fearing. Enduring. Lying. Lying. "I'm fine", "I liked it", "I'm not gonna regret it if you stop now." Lying.

August 4

A Grain of Salt & A Pound of Chocolate

Feeling sick

I have nothing to say to you anymore. I have nothing left in my head, apparently. I just had to clean up in there again... Someone sure left a hell of a mess. I have nothing for you. All that I still have is for me, now. I'm learning how to be selfish in a way that... isn't, actually. It's not selfish to breathe. Or to eat food, or to drink water. Or to wake up in the morning without wanting to put myself down already. To make a mistake without hurting myself over it. I

selkiespot in venting

August 3

The feeling-that-shall-not-be-named.

I believe that one of the most important 'maintenance' steps within one's healing journey is to allow ourselves periodic check-ins with ourselves. It's entirely too easy to convince ourselves we are 'fine' whenever we are asked by others in passing.....you know? They'll say, 'Hey, how's it going?' and we'll reply something like, 'It's good, how are you?' The conversation usually goes in one or two directions from there. It either ends, for that was the hello and goodbye you'll typical

Capulet in Blogs

July 23

Human Waste

I dont know what to say to you anymore. Or even about you. I hate that I cared at all... but that "care" had many names, over the years. Adoration. Respect. Trust. Comraderie. "Love." But you understood more than you let on. And im going to be excruciatingly honest about this: as someone who has genuinely struggled with dissociation, emotional issues, & a personality disorder of my own as a result of what you did to me? I dont care anymore. I do not give a single shi

selkiespot in venting

July 22