Stories and Poems

Taking it one day at a time.

[writingbliss]

Find Me Please. (View post)

If you’d show up at my house tonight,

It wouldn't matter what time.

I’d wrap my arms around you.

No questions asked.

It doesn’t need to be said outloud,

If you’re not ready.

Your actions would make it clear.

If you’d show up at my house a week from now,

It wouldn't matter what time.

I’d wrap my arms around you.

No questions asked.

I know there is fear,

I have it too more than you know.

Together though, we both know,

We’d make it through. 

If you saw me at the bar,

I don’t care the last time we talked. 

If you called me at 3 am,

I'd answer as soon as you lit up my screen.

I'd listen to you talk, breathe or even snore.

It's a way of you coming home.

No questions asked.

I'm yours.

If you sat down next to me, and laid your hand on mine,

I’d rest my head on your shoulder. 

No questions asked. 

After days and days together.

Almost a hundred straight, 

I don’t need words of confirmation.

Because I know your mind almost as well as mine. 

Am I afraid of conflict?

Of course, aren’t you? 

I don’t want us to argue or yell,

I just miss talking to you. 

Life is never easy.

There will always be stress,

Even when we don’t need it. 

But together, we’re stronger.

I think we both know it deep down. 

And as long as we’re honest and true,

It wouldn’t matter what you do. 

Because I will always be there, 

Sitting and waiting for you.

[writingbliss]

Relapse

Twelve years clean.

No one would have known.

The scars were never deep,

And they faded into the unknown.

Voices grew loud and heavy,

The darkness felt too hard.

The pressure got the best of me,

Now lines mark down my arm. 

A temporary release,

The sting as a sweatshirt pulls. 

Maybe everyone is right,

Maybe I’m the problem.

Days without rest,

Thoughts heavy,

One line.

Two line.

Three line.

Until my wrist was full. 

Sometimes this is the price to pay,

When you’re always left to fight on your own. 

I’m sorry I am weak.

I’m sorry I’m not good enough.

I’m sorry it will never be me.

Don’t worry though,

I’ll give myself more scars,

Than I’ll ever leave on you.

[writingbliss]

Drowning

Surrounded by a blanket of darkness, 

The air thick with true silence.

Though her mind was loud. 

Thought after thought erupting. 

As though the ground beneath her separated. 

A mind so loud though only she could hear it. 

Too many thoughts at once.

A single thought was how it started.

Then suddenly she was in a jungle surrounded by vines.

Each one a different ending. 

Each one a different middle.

Each one a different beginning. 

Each one with their own sense of negativity. 

Dragging her down.

Down as though stuck in quick sand.

There was no escape.

Every movement pulling her further in. 

Faster the thoughts coming.

Like a wave crashing into a person,

Pulling them deep into the waters.

Salt water filling her lungs.

Drowning. 

Alone.

No escape. 

[writingbliss]

January 3

It’s coming up again. 

And it’s already starting to haunt her.

He keeps coming up on social media.

New profile.

New profile.

New profile.

It brings her back to that night. 

To the side of his face.

To the words he spoke.

When she knew she made a mistake. 

To when he reached underneath her seat and pulled out a gun. 

To when the fear took away her voice. 

When obedience took over.

Disobedience felt like death.

She smoked what he told her,

Drank what he told her.

Lost herself in the passenger mirror. 

When he ruined her, she did not cry for help.

She did not scream. 

At sixteen, she lost herself. 

Her innocence.

Her childhood. 

And now, thirteen years later,

She tries to be happy, 

But she’s ruined. 

She looks down at her arm,

Two tattoos that have been there for eleven years. 

One a sexual assault survival.

The other a heartbeat. 

Each year it gets heavier.

She’s been in a world where no one understands.

But each year she’s survived. 

Thirteen more days until thirteen years to the date.

And she’s afraid she’ll never be the same. 

[writingbliss]

Patience

You brought back light into her life. 

In an alley of darkness, you were the little beacon of hope.

Like the slight warmth and light a flame of a lighter gives off on the coldest of nights. 

You found her when she needed you the most.

When everyone thought she wouldn’t survive another day.

Five words turned her world upside down and for the first time,

She had strength she did not even know and even now they replay in her mind.

“Him Asshole, Me Good Guy.” 

And good was what you were, what you are. 

You took someone who was scared of the world, 

Who spent years sheltered by men.

Someone who learned to be a shell of herself, 

To mold herself into what an abuser wanted her to be.

You broke her out of it, 

And maybe she molded in certain ways for you.

But she was able to be herself for you which was the most important.

You liked her for her laugh, for her smile, for her random comments.

The way that even though she was always around, 

She did not always need to be involved.

You could stand on your own, 

Have your own conversations,

Do what you would.

And she would watch proudly out of the corner of her eye,

To see you doing so well even when you had your own battles.

You were her world and even then, 

She never tried to tie you down.

She’d sit there and point out asses with you,

Rate girls with you, 

And if you went over to girls, 

She knew and trusted you’d come back to her.

And you did, always, until you didn’t.

And even then, she wasn’t mad or upset.

She didn’t change how she thought of you.

She didn’t judge you for it.

She still held on strong despite it. 

You know she is not like the others.

She is someone who will actually be there.

She will actually stay.

She will find ways to make it work.

She is someone you’re safe with.

So she will have patience.

Because even if you don’t think you’re worth it,

She knows you truly are.

[writingbliss]

One. Two. Three.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven.

Green. Red. Orange. Teal. Black. White. Gray.

Obsolete. Desolate. Felodese.

Isolate. 

Hide.

Thoughts like rivers, constantly running. One thing to the next, her mind is a constant battle. An attempt to contain herself, to focus on just one thing. Though when caught on one thing it would stem off into a million others. A happy thought turned bleak as obstacles, ideas, challenges, and any negative thing that could happen that should happen would enter her mind and wash away any once of positivity. 

Cat. Dog. Rabbit. Fish. Otter. Shark. Gerbil. Hambster.

Star. Square. Circle. Oval. Rectangle. Octagon. Pentagon.

Happy. Angry. Sad. Confused. Scared. Concerned. 

Life.

Death.

Death. 

What else could bring peace to the never ending mind? To where it’s days on days without sleep? To where a single thought could physically make your body ache and there’s nothing in the world that could take that ache away? To nightmares. To every time you close your eyes, even to merely blink creatures of the night consume her. The world around her turning to become what may possibly be the most terrifying place.

Up. Down. Left. Right. Behind. In front. Inside. Outside.

Rap. Country. R&B. Oldies. Traumacore. Theatre. Metal.

Deep breateh in. Deep breathe out. Deep breathe in. Deep breathe out.

Breathe.

Breathe.

Breathe.

I can’t. 

I don’t think I can.

Not anymore.

[writingbliss]

Unsettled.

She’s out of touch.

One moment angry, one moment sad. 

Maybe she’s crazy? 

In a life where she loved where they only loved themselves, where she should hate him but she can’t. 

Where she knows he could easily pull someone else in, replace her.

And even when she was torn upon the bathroom floor, tears consuming her– an entire household unable to console her, she still found a way to find fault in herself and save him. 

Narcissist. 

That’s what he was, if only she had known it earlier on, maybe she would have saved herself from all the pain, then again, knowing her, she would have used it as an excuse to hold on tighter– with only the hope of saving him, of bettering him. 

Even now, when reflection takes over and she goes quiet, she can only think, hope and pray she did save him in some ways. That she bettered him in a few. 

When made to feel like there was no survival without him, she found herself still living somehow. 

Throughout the anxiety, even during the days where she was afraid to leave the house because while it may not have been his basement, the comfort of the concrete walls provided a sense of security she had grown used to within four years. She was forced to move past it though, to take it day by day. 

And though in finding out she was better off without him, she found herself with someone one and the same. And could it be that she was too naive to notice the pattern? Or could it have been that she found comfort within it? Or was there a part of her deep down that believed there was no better out there for her? That after the past decade of her life, this was it. She was that type of person. She was damaged, ruined, and she did not deserve anything other than what she had found in those two. 

Screaming.

Hand prints.

Burning oil.

Missing in life. 

The feeling that no matter what she would never be good enough, there will always be something better. 

Physical to mental. Emotional to financial. 

Day after day.

She allowed herself to be drained. 

Drained into nothing.

A shadow. 

A shadow along the background of a gorgeous painting in a museum. 

Where the world is consumed with color, brightness and soul.

And she became nothing but a darkness barely seen within the corner of the wall. 

And maybe that is where she is meant to be.

That is where she will stay.

[writingbliss]

Demons Consumed

Red. The top of her hand- hidden by little puddles of blood pooling from torn skin. Was she in a fight? Only with her own demons. Only with the world crashing around her. Only with her own emotions and fears. Only with the fear of upsetting the one person who means the world to her. A fight of internals. Only turned external by her own demise. Never one to play with knives or razors, nor was she big on alcohol or drugs to numb the way, she found her own pathetic way to handle these battles. To take herself out of her mind to hold even a single cohesive thought for a moment– that thought was OUCH. A mistake years ago when nail salons closed helped her find her outlet for pain when the world became too much, when her feelings began to entirely erupt and overwhelm her to where her stomach churned. Super glue, nail glue– clear, quick drying and strong. Strong enough that a layer of skin would be ripped with each pull, where with each layer applied, dried and peeled- her mind would go numb. A $3 bottle meant to make her nails look decent became her outlet. She used to write when things got hard, but that turned into pages and pages and all it would do in her opinion is give her even more thoughts about everything as she returned to the pages to read them over and over. Overthinking. Always thinking. Would death even make the thoughts stop? 

Looking up, she took in her surroundings with a deep breath. One, two, three, four cubicles to the side, lit by fluorescent lights dimmed by a cover. Her desk by the entrance, under darkness. There were lights above her, though she kept them turned off always. In a way, this made her feel hidden from the other person or two who may be in the office with her on any given day. A paper towel collided with the hand. Red soaking up on it as pressure was applied. The hand had been healing, though today, she decided to play with it. Peeling at the healing skin until she actually bled. Distracted for a moment from her thoughts. From her fear of speaking up to him, telling him exactly what she felt needed to happen. The fear of telling him how she actually felt about everything lately. This isn’t a break up story. At least, it’s her hope it isn’t. If there was anything she did not have to sugar coat or deflect from it was how much she truly and deeply loved him, how much she tried for him to be everything and anything even if it was never enough. Maybe he’s just been waiting for her to speak up, testing limits? Maybe he’d understand what she wanted to be able to say but couldn’t because of her fears. No. This would upset him, it would anger him. She knew it. Because his heart wasn’t with her, his time wasn’t with her. She knew it deep down, though pushed it aside hoping this would be temporary. Though the previous night, it was made clear that it was not temporary and it had to change, though would it? Or would he lie to make her happy? Or tell her to toughen up? Or deflect it onto her and turn her into a bad person for what she wished she could say?  Could she open up to him and be honest? No. She’d chicken out and brush it off with a “I’m fine.” Just like usual. She always had to be fine. Even if she wasn’t. 

And this is why I lie, why I smile and fake it all. And broken isn’t hot to you, and depression is a turn off– when it comes to me at least. 

When it feels like the world around her is crashing and she knows he feels the same, though instead of focusing on the two of them and growing and getting out of that hole together– being a team, he slips away to an ex. And then she turns again and he’s down a hole so deep, something she’d only seem glimpses of whenever this ex would appear in his life over the months they knew each other online before he came out to be with her. He’s too blind to see it though, and she’s too scared to speak up. So idle they sit. Him with his ex online every waking moment of the day, drowning as she consumes him. And she, trying to better her life for them, working to oblivion, staying up all night in tears just wanting this woman out of his life so she could get him back, back to being good, to being okay. Sometimes, she is afraid to enter their apartment. Afraid of what’s going to happen. Will she be violated by him being possessed and ripping a shower curtain down on her as she is naked and vulnerable? Or will a drink be thrown on her? The alcohol irritates her scalp, tears in her eyes as she tries to get away for a moment, he follows and lays on her. Making it all worse as she chokes on her tears, only for him to turn and ask his ex what they should do and when she says separate, he agrees. His ex would like to be rid of his girlfriend, wouldn’t she? He is so convinced he’s evil, and she is tearing herself up trying to prove him otherwise while the true evil laughs over it. But if she were to bring this up to him, tell him how she feels, what she sees– would he even believe her? No. He’d get angry, he’d say its jealousy. Meanwhile, she would give her soul away to the devil if it meant saving him. And in a way, she already had.

Lifting the towel, blue hues looked upon her wound. Raw. Red. Irritated. A subtle constant sting, especially as her sweatshirt brushed against it with each movement, though it hurt, she forced a smile and hit her vape. A smile upon her lips as her boss crossed the room. Fake it. Fake it. Fake it. Those two words repeated like nails on a chalkboard in the back of her head as the minutes ticked away toward the end of the work day at the office. A part of her was afraid to head to the apartment, to see what was going on. To hear the way he’d go at her, the way his ex would sound pleased over the computer. Maybe she should just try to go into her second job early? No. That would make it worse, wouldn’t it? Her mind wandered back to the beginning. To when he used to tell her he was going to marry her, to when he tried to convince her they should just go get married, to when he promised he’d never hurt her, he’d always love her, he’d never let her go or down. The paste few weeks had been a lot of let downs, and even though each one killed her, and even though she had fucked up and actually lied to him, not an ‘I’m fine’ lie, hadn’t she been punished enough? Or was this some game that he and his ex were in together? Lead her on, get her to spoil and take care of him while he’s here, then the moment he goes back– he’s gone. Entirely, back with her. The thoughts, nonstop. It wasn’t her fault though, and he’d tell her it has to stop, but that would be like her telling him to stop being depressed. A person can’t always just turn it off just because another doesn’t want to deal with it. So instead of talking about, or trying to say what’s bothering her, she began just shaking her head and saying it’s fine. 

[writingbliss]

Syndrome

Fingers against her own throat as if a fight for breath. Once upon a time, if she had seen another like this, she may have deemed it dramatics though now, in the midst of her feelings she found herself unable to breath. Each day the air grew heavier, each day her lungs wanting to give. Under the weight of the world she felt as though she was moments away from succumbing, that the end of her line was here. That after three years in that basement and finally after breaking free, that once again she could find herself and fly though now, her body ached for the security and safety of it. Hands moved to a green pack, lifting a cigarette from the carton to bring to her lips and light it. A deep exhale. She could do this right? She could stand her ground and stay away. The smoke burned her dry throat, her stomach ached for something other than nicotine or liquor to enter her system for the first time within two weeks.

Glassy blue hues met their own within the reflection of the rearview mirror, dark circles protruding and swelling her under eyes. When was the last time she slept more than just an hour or two? Two weeks ago. In his bed. Was it that she had just grown dependent on a man who had been entirely dependent on her or could it just be the anxiety– the overwhelming possibilities of where life could take her now that she was able to leave? To go out to a bar for a drink with a friend or go out on a real date? To see family without the anticipated guilt and bombardment of text messages and calls hearing about how he felt excluded? Even she felt pathetic lately with the silence in her life. Without the yelling, without being told to change nearly everything about herself from her weight to her hair, to being told she couldn’t buy herself a pair of sneakers because all she had were winter boots because he wanted a new toy and she was his ‘access to the world’. And as sad as it seemed, she missed being told she was crazy and maybe she was. Maybe he was right. 

A drag of the cigarette, the daylight dimmed by the reddish hue of smoke from wildfires, the air from it rough already. Yet all she could think about was him. What was he doing? Would he be shooting today? Should she be? Did she make a mistake? Who was she? For three years, with little to no identity except for his. To be forced to bite her tongue, to not have an opinion nor live. Her life was his and she became lost each day as friends slowly stepped away because of him, as her family began to look at her differently. And now, she had no idea where to start. The world hitting her like a train off track. It felt and looked as though she had woken up in a world of her own personal hell and now she was just lost. Insecure, incapable, lost, unsure of herself in every which way. She only wished to be back up there– with him. In a basement of chaos and mess, with him in control of everything about her because it was the only way she knew to live. Another drag of the cigarette, a wandering mind.

“It would only be twenty four hours without me and I promise I’ll call whenever I have service to check in!” 

Her words were soft though laced with confusement. In his driveway, a laundry basket in hand. Though she stood small at 5’2, she had never felt smaller than that moment as he leaned over. His hands attempting to remove the laundry basket. 

“So you leave me alone with Sam and you get to go get drunk with random people and I am supposed to be okay with that? Are you crazy? You must be. You’re already on thin ice.”

His words stung. Thin ice. A threat she heard whenever he did not get his way or she tried to refuse. It was what he used to always get her to cave. Her face had been red by this point, but she did not know if it was from anger or sadness. Was what she was trying to do really that bad?

“Random people? It’s my fucking cousins, Steven. I am going to Lancaster with my MOTHER and GRANDMOTHER for my cousin’s college graduation party. It is literally a fucking tradition for my cousins and I to go to Downtown Lancaster when I’m in the area– do you really think my cousins would let me go home with a random guy? Why are you so fucking insecure? I can’t stand here all day, I need to go home and pack for it.”

His hands dropped from the basket. She turned away from him, placing it in the backseat of her small car. His hand on her shoulder, a rough turn. Her hues met his. 

“What am I supposed to do with Sam alone all weekend? How am I supposed to get cigarettes? Will you be able to Doordash us or will you be unreachable?” 

Why bring his son into this? Did he not survive nine years as a father without her? Was he unable to hold responsibility?

“You will figure it out. I’m sure of it.” 

An eye roll escaped her. She knew it. And she knew he wouldn’t like it. 

“If you go, I swear to god. Don’t bother coming back.” She stood silent. Afraid. Was a graduation party really worth the end of this? Could she live without him? Her mind ready to leave, her body in disobey. The basket out of her car before she even knew it. Tears down her cheeks as she made her way back inside. There would be no travel for her that weekend, instead, the basement. Listening to him tell her about how irresponsible and disrespectful it was that she even thought of going. 

Her reflection held hatred toward herself. That was only two weeks ago and that was when she should’ve pulled away and never returned. She had learned fast to disassociate and go through the motions with him in a way that even had him convinced that things would be okay. Whether it was him allowing his son to verbally abuse her or himself. The constant ridicule for everything. Yet, if she were to say no or refuse a single thing, she would be the bad guy. 

Her fingertips burned. The cigarette was down to the filter. She dropped it to the gravel from her open car door and lit another one. The office, though only holding three other people, felt too small like there were too many people. Most of her work day had been spent outside lately. Smoking cigarette after cigarette until her throat grew numb. Her mind wandered, trying to only make sense of how she came to be like this. How she grew to be an empty shell, unsure of daily motions she once knew so well and trusted. Her body ached. A part of her wanted the work day to be over so she could go home, yet like every day for the past week, she fought the instinct to drive up to him. 

“Are you hungry?”

It was 8:30 pm. It was the first time they met. She didn’t understand why he wanted to meet at his house. She thought it was because he just wanted a quick hook up– and that after she would turn him down, she’d never hear from him again. 

Instead the night was full of conversation about movies and shows. The shock on his face when his favorites growing up were some she never even heard of or never watched. Though with seven years spaced between them, it had made sense. While he was watching shows like Lost, Heroes and more, she was still on Disney channel. 

It was innocent that night. “I’m good, but if you’re hungry get yourself something, please.” Her words were soft. Food. Something she did not handle well to begin with, especially in front of those she did not know well. She thought he would just order for himself and she would be okay in her own world for the tiny bit it would take him to eat when it got delivered .

“If you don’t eat, I won’t.” Maybe that should have been the red flag she listened to years ago. The pushiness, the way he forced her to order and guilted her into getting something. But she thought it was just him being cute and she caved after twenty minutes of him complaining of how hungry he was. And when the food came, she got to listen to how she wasted his money when she barely touched it. But she told him she was not hungry and she thought it was clear that she only ordered to satisfy him. 

Memories coming and going. Some that she once labeled as cute memories, the he’s the one type of memories, now came across as red flags to her. What if she had stood her ground that first night and refused? What if she had the strength to say no? Maybe the whole relationship was her fault, possibly she was the reason for everything that went wrong. He trained her to believe she was always at fault, most of the time for just existing and trying to be herself– to hold onto her own identity while with him. But could it also be the fact that since high school, she tried to be a people pleaser. Always going out of her way for others hoping it would help? For the longest time, she felt like she needed to over compensate for her weight. And now, though she lost more than half, she still saw her old self in the mirror. Maybe he was the best she could do? Or maybe he saw someone still learning who they truly were and took advantage to mold her into what he wanted? Was any of this really her fault? She knew that she was to blame as well, no matter what anyone around her kept telling her.

Her hand scrolled on her phone through messages. 

Fri, Jun 2 at 6:20 pm to Sean

You’ve been asking me since Wednesday to tell you I’m 100% in and it’s something I haven’t been able to do and I don’t think I can. It isn’t your agoraphobia and it isn’t necessarily Shane. For the past two years (and while I admit it’s my fault), I’ve given up so much time with my family and I’ve lost myself. And it isn’t fair. I don’t regret the time we’ve spent together, I’ve loved 99% of the time we’ve had, but I’m not happy and I don’t think I can be until I find myself and put myself first. I really do think we need to break up. This is turning toxic in my mind, and I spend so many days feeling sick because I feel like I can’t be myself or put myself first. THere’s nothing either of us can do to fix this with how I’ve been feeling. I am so sorry. And maybe one day we can be friends but like I can’t be with you or around you right now.

Fri, June 2 at 6: 21 pm to Rachel

Call me don’t text about this kind thing.

You can at least respect me enough to do that.

Fri, June 2 at 6:25 pm to Sean

I’ve tried and you’ve made it hard for me to do it that way.

I tried Wednesday and you wouldn’t listen.

I don’t want to talk to you right now.

Fri, June 2 at 6:25 pm to Rachel

You’ve said to me in the past that breaking up over a text is something you’d never do.

Fri, June 2 at 6:25 pm to Sean

And I felt like I had no choice here.

Fri, June 2 at 6:25 pm to Rachel

I need my fucking medication Rachel. We need to sort out all of your belongings.

His medication. A slight laugh did leave her lips at that message. Just as it did the night she broke up with him, surrounded by her family as they fed her liquid courage to take this step. How she thought she would back down, that she wouldn’t be strong enough. But she put her phone on Do Not Disturb and she went to her Uncle’s and waited until she felt like she would be able to truly walk away. At first she thought she may cave– possibly attempting to go up there to talk to him, but then he showed his colors of only caring about himself and she stood her ground. 

Maybe it was the liquor or her family in the background turning this small event into a party, but for that night she felt strong. Until she didn’t. Until hours later, a few bottles down, she broke down. What did she do? The fear of her future came crashing down. Her mind was ready to sleep for the night but unable to shake the feeling that she was not meant to be in this location, but rather up with him in his bed. It was what she knew. Her family tried to talk sense into her about it. One moment she would agree with them and start to feel okay, but then a switch would turn and she would be sticking up for him. Fighting for him. Eventually they got her to sleep though. And in the morning when she woke up, she felt like her world was on fire around her. She felt as though she was burning into oblivion. She needed him back.

—

A month of therapy. A month of acting as though she was moving on before she returned. 

I think I have Stockholm Syndrome– get it because you live in Stockholm?

[writingbliss]

2872.

Two thousand eight hundred and seventy two days. 

And only a lifetime of more days left. 

It’s funny though.

How one day you can see yourself as strong-- a survivor even.

Then the next day you look at yourself in the mirror and what you see scares you.

Dilated pupils, fear and confusion. 

The same expression you stared back at two thousand eight hundred and seventy one days ago. 

 I once thought I had everything going for me.

I was happy. 

I was never alone. 

I was always out and having fun. 

I’d laugh until I cried.

Things felt easy.

And then, then I got in that red rabbit with you. 

Little did I know it’d be hours until I’d be home. 

That I wouldn’t remember getting home or how I got on my couch. 

Or waking up to pain in my abdomen 

Or that night noticing bruises along my body. 

Little did I know what exactly happened. 

What about the next day when friends had to hold me down after smoking? 

The panic attack, realizing what had happened.

What about the three months of constantly hurting myself? 

Or how Z reacted when he found out later on. 

Or how about when D decided to tell our entire graduating class what happened to me? 

And how at that moment I knew it wouldn’t be the same? 

And how about the way people started to leave once the found out? 

I thought that was rock bottom. 

There was nothing left to hurt me.

I could finally move on. 

But then-- just as I started to feel like me again.

The girl who was vibrant and bubby.

The girl who wasn’t afraid to walk alone anymore.

The girl who loved herself. 

You found your way back in. 

One Facebook message. 

And everything came crashing again. 

And the healing had to start again. 

Now four years later, I still suffer because of you.

There are times where I can’t breathe in public.

There are times where I feel like I’m safer alone. 

There are times where I push everyone away.

Some days I’m a victim.

Some days I’m a survivor. 

Some days I cry.

Some days I laugh.

But all I can do now is learn to live with it. 

If you can sleep at night, why can’t I?

[writingbliss]

Happy times, golden days

Happy times.

Golden days.

What do you do when love fades away?

Months have past,

Still feeling the same.

Hoping you’ll come back,

Like each and every Christmas day.

With each passing hour,

It hurts me more.

Knowing that I have lost you so. 

Happy times.

Golden days.

What did I do to push you away?

Is it that I’m not pure?

Is it that my mind is fried?

Why will I never get to call you mine?

Happy times.

Golden days.

It’s time to man up and turn away.

A year has passed,

You’re not coming back.

Time to find someone who won’t run away.

Happy Times.

Golden days.

Now I am perfectly okay.

[writingbliss]

Suffocating

The darkness sweeps in,

The air seems fogged.

The lights go dim,

The happiness fades.

Suffocation.

Depression.

Feelings.

Not always physical,

But worse when emotional.

Inescapable. 

Unstoppable.

Scary. 

The pain.

The scars on the arm aches,

The cuts on the heart split.

Hope?

Hopelessness.

Lonely.

Alone.

So alone.

Walls feel like they’re caving in.

Help.

Please.

Silence.

Tears.

Help please, it hurts.

Silence.

Suffocation.

Silence from one.

A plea loud enough for anyone to hear.

But do they?

Suffocation.

Not always physical.

But the most painful when emotional.

Push with all one’s might.

The walls can’t trap one tonight. 

[writingbliss]

Healing

One month and the pain burns, You hurt until you hurt yourself. You cry at any possible moment, And push your loved ones away. Three months and you feel dead, You want to tell, but don't want to disappoint. You hurt yourself daily, And only cry in the shower. Six months and everyone knows, You still don't want to talk about it. You cry more often about it all, And fake a smile like it's all better. Nine months later and whispers die down, You're back at school, a new year, where everyone knows. You distance yourself, because you're scared. You still don't know how to trust again. One year later and the first month's pain comes back. You shut yourself out and mourn your life in silence. You fight your drowning pain and force a smile. No one seems to notice how time went by, You've become just a memory to them. A year and a half later and time starts to move. Looking at your life with nothing to prove. You want back with your friends, but they've moved on. You search for someone new, to find where you belong. Two years later and you don't give much thought. It's become nothing but the past and you want to move on. You've found new friends and love. You're finally able to smile. Life's going good and the pain is quickly numbing. Three years and one month later and everything changes. He tries to make contact with you and it all comes back. The loss of your virtue, innocence and three of your teenage years. He thinks it's alright to try and invade. Three years and two months later and it gets worse. You actually see him and the vivid memories come back, You feel like it's happening all over again. Everything is different this time. You hurt, but you don't hurt yourself. You try to push away, but friends keep you near. You cry, but you no longer hide it. You avoid it, yet people get you to talk about it. Your friends keep your trust, your love keeps you safe. Time continues to move and you still find times where you're able to smile. Once again you're healing, This time differently. This time it's healthy. This time it's with ease. This time with help. Healing has become second nature to you, Something you're always doing. Keep healing, Your smile looks great on you.

[writingbliss]

Who will be?

Who will be there to save me from myself?

When I become my own worst enemy filled with self hate.

No light, no sparkle, nothing but darkness.

And who will be there for her when she's spiraling down?

Down into the depths of despair where it's so thin.

Looking around with nothing left to say or do

.No hope, no smiles, nothing but self hate.

And who will be there for him when he's falling down?

No one to catch the heart falling from his chest.

No love, no compassion, nothing but pain.

And who will be there for them when they're losing sight?

When all they hear is all that's wrong with them

.No compliments, no happiness, nothing but loneliness.

And who will be there for the world when it starts to break?

No good, no savior, nothing but fear.

Who will be there for those who need saving?

Who will be there for those spiraling down?

Who will be there for those falling down?

Who will be there for those losing sight?

Who will be there for those starting to break?

Who will be the hero who brings smiles to the world,

And saves each and every person from their own worst enemy;

Themselves. 

[writingbliss]

Requested.

Bing. A message request.

           Once again, as it did three years ago, her whole world shattered.

Arthur Garlick wants to message you. “Who does he think he is?” She whispered, tears filling her eyes. Only a few weeks after it hit three years since he violated her, ruining her life forever. He was back. Trying to get back in her life again. It felt like a knife stabbed her in her heart. Tears began to fall as she opened the message, reading it.

‘I just wanted to say sorry and i hope you can forgive me. Ive been 100% clean since september first. I spend my time at an outpatient rehab and going to twleve step meetings and takin care of my grandma. I dnt talk to any girls for any reason who arent atleast twenty years old and dnt . Sell drugs anymore and dnt talk to ppl who sell or do any type or drugs or even drink. If im not mistaken you also deserve for me yo say thank you and you helped me in my case by changin your mind. Ive completly changed my life around and became a completly different person. Id like a second chance at life even tho im not sure i deserve it. Im trying my hardest to be a good person. Im extremly sorry for any pain ive caused you and anyone you know and really regret it. I hope you and your friends can forgive me. Im doin my best to be a good person. Take care Samantha and i wish you the best. Godbless.’ (Sent at 12:05 am).

           As she read the message, her heart sunk to her stomach. The pain of the assault came to her hips. It hurt. Hurt almost as bad as when she woke up from her drug hazed self on her couch on January 16th at 8:26 pm. Fear clumped her throat, she felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her finger nails dug into cuts that rested along her arms, her tears began to fall in an unmanageable way. He was really in her inbox, acting as if the suffering she went through and still was going through never happened. She wanted to scream. She wanted to end it all there. Herself. Himself. Anyone.

           After three years why couldn’t he remain invisible, only sometimes attempting to add her on Facebook which was usually an easy ignore. This time there wasn’t just an accept or reject button, there were words. His words. Trying for a second chance, she was legal now. Nineteen years old. Nothing could stop him then. There was no illegal age difference, nothing. He was still six years older and she was now an adult. It would only turn into his words against hers.

           Never had she felt so alone at that point in time, she had no one to turn to. No one who would really understand. Closing out the message, she called an old friend, Marie. When they were still close, they tried to set him up and it back fired, she ended up a victim as well. No answer. She called the guy she wanted to talk to. No answer. Alone. So alone. The tears would not stop falling though, she would not stop gasping for breath. She texted the guy. No answer. Looking through the message again, she began to feel hurt, damaged. How could he even think of thanking her? Thanking her? For what in reality? Drugging her up enough so he could take her virginity without her even realizing what was going on? By making it so she didn’t have a voice?

           Her fist dug into her mouth, muffling her cries. She couldn’t let her family hear. Would not let them know he was back. That he was contacting her. She was too scared to even go to the cops as she was three years ago. All closing and healing wounds opened again and this time she did not want to fight for her life. She wanted to message back. To tell him all she had to say, but why couldn’t she? Was she seriously that weak?

           His message had an apology. It wasn’t truly for what it said. He was at the end of his freedom. Court dates coming for various things, he wanted her to pull her case off of it. She was the first to speak up about him. The first to ever say something about what he did. The first to go through a rape kit, to have to miss school for days going from prosecutors to lawyers to a juvenile detective. She was the first who wanted help. Everyone else ended up being set ups, never going more then the cops coming in before anything went down, except for Marie. Samantha was valuable in the case; she was the living proof of what he did.

           Her scars marked as evidence, her two years in intensive therapy showed how post traumatic stress disorder truly affected her. The past three years of her life showed how much he had taken from her. She dropped all her friends, sat in her room for days. She was on various anti-depressants and anxiety medications. Cops were at her house so often for suicide attempts that they would pull her over on the street just to make sure she was doing okay.

           This was not him trying to make good, this was him trying to ruin her as he did once before. This was him hurting her. Sitting up, she wiped the makeup running down her face. She looked at her phone again, it was morning now. Five a.m., had she really stayed up all night crying? She never even realized how long it was. Samantha was not even tired, she just felt drained emotionally. Getting off her couch, she walked toward the bathroom, wiped her makeup off and ran to her room. She lay in her bed, looking up at her purple twinkle lights that rested over her bed. She needed to sleep, yet sleep would not come. Melatonin? It did not work. She was just up, like it was nothing.

           The day was a blur; she spent it with her nephew. Of course she felt happy, but she knew she wasn’t. She smiled for the sake of the little boy in front of her, the one who climbed on her lap and cuddled her. When he left though, she was left with her thoughts again.

           Back in her room, she opened his message again. This time she did not cry. She had out cried herself already. Now she just felt numb. She did not want to feel emotion anymore. Did not want him to be able to hurt her again. She did not want to put herself out there with anyone so she could end up hurt. Instead, she shut herself off. Accepted the message request; now instead of replying he could be tortured with a little line on the bottom that said ‘Message request accepted at 10:21 pm’. He could wonder if she would ever reply with harsh words or to be stupid enough to trust a monster. She  refused from that point on to let any guy or rapist control her heart. She would never be heart broken again, she would never be hurt. Instead she just would not feel a thing anymore.

           Finally, she felt safe again.

           She did not need a guy to make her feel safe.

           She felt safe by shutting herself away from the world and the feelings that came along with it.

�XF+�r

[writingbliss]

Change is Good

​Plop, plop, plop. The rain. It was falling gently against the window of the class room. Like a song along with the many sounds that were going on. The rush of fingers typing, the students whispering to each other quickly, with a sense of urgency. One week to go then it’s out forever. The girl had never been one so quaint to deal with changes. To put it the right way, the girl was petrified of change, of losing people she grew to trust and know. Change was another way of saying goodbye and that once they parted ways; they were never to see each other. At least that’s how it usually went for her. ​The girl’s hand rested against the side of her jaw in a clenched fist as if to hold her up. Her mind wondering off into the oblivious world of her own. The one where no one ever left her for good and she had never been hurt. Although, with the given stress of leaving, her world was turning upside down and reliving old pains. ​June 31, 2007, 54th Street and Gilbert (the corner house). ​“Grandpa?” The girl whispered, crawling onto his lap. It was a summer storm. Beautiful and full of sun but still, the thunder that erupted from the sky tended to scare her. “Grandpa? Why is thunder so loud?” The elven year old asked the man. He thought for a moment, running his fingers through her curly hair before planting a kiss to her head. ​“Thunder booms as if to say, ‘Here I am! And the storm’s almost over. Soon you can go outside and play’ You see, Samantha, thunder is a really nice guy during the summer days. He sees it’s sunny out and knows that all the kids want to go outside and play… so he roars to them like a clock.” He explained tickling her stomach. “See, he’ll go off for a little while and then,” He turned her slowly to look out the window. The sun was brighter than ever. The grass was already drying from the heat. “When he stops, it’s beautiful out.” ​A laugh went through the girl’s body. She got up and grabbed his hand. They played outside for the day, had ice cream. That was before everything went wrong that night. He had gotten sick during their sleepover, like very sick from diabetes. His sugars were way too off. And the next thing she knew, by morning he was gone. ​“Samantha?” A voice called. “Samantha?” closer. “Sam!” barked a voice. The girl jumped, smoothing out her chestnut brown hair. It was Mr. Drewstein. Her science teacher. “The bell has rung. Did you finish your online lab?” Shuffling through scattered belongings on the desk, she handed him a packet and nodded before flinging her items into her arms and getting up. ​“I- I’ll see you on Thursday, Mr. Drewstein.” She called out before rushing to her next class. Yes, finals started the next day. Half days for the last week and then... Gone. Was she ready to leave high school yet? ​The rest of the day was a blur. The rest of high school was a blur. The stress, the fear. Everything was consuming her. Graduation came and he wasn’t here. Almost eight years since he left. The girl rested on her bed after her last day, only hours from then was she due to graduate. She rolled to her side, looking at a photo on her nightstand. Her and her grandfather. She was a lot younger then, maybe fourteen years. There he was though, sitting in a t-shirt with the words printed out ‘Change is Good’. “Change is good.” She whispered, closing her eyes, remembering how he always used to tell her that and how he used to be able to get her to change her mind and try something new in a heartbeat. ​Then she remembered the real reasons why she worked so hard in high school, got jobs, tried in life and why she wanted to graduate and leave. She wanted to make him proud and give him a reason to gloat to all the other angels up in heaven. This day wasn’t really for her, although it was, she wasn’t doing it for her. She was doing it for her grandfather. “All for you, poppy.” She whispered toward the ceiling. ​There were a lot of things Samantha had learned in life from feeling hurt and it was that change is good. It’s scary, totally scary but at the end of the day, change is what makes life so exciting. It’s what makes life, life. Change can mean goodbye, but it could also mean hello. The biggest life lesson her grandfather ever taught her before he left was never fear change, embrace it because it can only lead you onto something bigger and better. ​Samantha got up and changed that day, she went to her graduation and never smiled bigger toward the heavens as she took her diploma. She did it. She graduated with her heart open to change not only for her grandfather but what she learned was she did it for herself also to get over the fear of pain and getting left behind; also the fear of change.

[writingbliss]

Something Happy....

Finally able to smile, the girl felt like she could actually be part of the world. She could stand tall and love herself and all around her. She was no longer living in a figment of her past. This girl was new, happy and free. Free from the past that held her captive. With her newly found outlook on life, this girl was able to face the world. Able to succeed and get back to following her dreams .