i'm writing this from my grandparents house. i've lived here my entire childhood, yet my teenage years were spent in the city.
my grandparents remodeled it entirely after i grew up. it looks almost beautiful now, unlike the nightmare that it was during my younger years. this gloomy balkan decor; beige, brown, grey, red everywhere; this faint smell of rotting. i never knew where it came from. i kept asking everyone who entered that house: "do you feel it too?" no one ever did. maybe it was me rotting inside that house, after so much physical, mental, sexual abuse inflicted onto me.
i don't remember anything before the age of 6. i just know that the abuse began way before i remember. it began earlier than i want to ever admit and that fills me with dread. i so desperately wish i could hold my younger self in my arms, tell her that i will rid her of all of the tained hands that are imprinted onto her body, i will shield her from the judgmental eyes that follow her. but that is not feasible. it's long gone, long dead.
i try to lick my wounds by telling myself that "time is such an abstract concept", i lose myself in absurdities, theories, concepts, the answer is so much more simple than i would've thought. time goes forward, no going back. those times in which i was hurt repeatedly are over, and it is impossibly bittersweet. those times in which i would wet the bed every night because of the constant abuse, i would have to stay awake to be aware of the much-too-old hands on my much-too-young body, i would hurt myself physically, punish myself before any one could ever get the chance, all of the insults thrown at me i would assume to be my reality as to "protect" myself from a world in which i could possibly be "good".
jesus christ watched over me as i was ripped apart and put back together again, and no one saved me. no one helped me. i prayed to god and his choir of angels to either kill me or help me yet nothing ever happened, time just kept going forward.
now i am forced to move on, to completely separate myself from the years that made me. to rip myself apart from the reason why i'm like this now.
bittersweet is the only word i could use to describe what the hell i'm feeling at this very moment. it's fucked, sadly. but on the bright side, i get to buy as much alcohol as i want.
happy one year to the album that saved my life, that helped me cope with my most deeply rooted trauma and that showed me there was comfort in what i was feeling
kaledo-art
romaincrisis
areudirty
stormborns
germansingergirl
pixelskylines
tangentwithtanner
kianamaiart
