Month: February 2016

Fuckboys

It’s my fervent belief that there is a thin line between fuckboys and rapists. The aggression, the lack of respect for women. It only takes one moment for those guys to take your rejection and turn it into violence.

Just a few weeks ago a woman was shot by a man she rejected at a bar. What kind of shitty behavior is that?

Assault

Many many many years ago I was at a grocery store with my mother. It was a small place so I was allowed to wander around by myself. It was then that I met a man who said he was going to give me a surprise. He told me to hold out my hands and close my eyes. He put his flaccid dick in my hand. I was just a child, shocked and scared. So I ran back to my mother and hid behind her until we left.

To this day I’ve told 2 people. I wish I knew how to defend myself then. I wish I could have hurt him and somehow gotten him arrested and put away, but I ran. I feel guilty till today for being so foolhardy, for letting someone trick me and molest me. I should have done something more, because who knows who else he’s done this to.

I still go to that market. Hoping I’ll see him. Hoping I can fucking hurl something heavy at him and scream and yell at him for being a sick piece of shit.

ghost

I can see you, but I can’t touch you. The smiles, the laughter, things we use to share. While you spend your days in light I spend them in shadow.  Unable to express to you the way I feel, because you’ve already forgotten about me. I am a social media ghost.

Sometimes you see me. Momentarily in your lives as a glimmer. Then you turn back to your lives and once again I’m gone.

You called me, needing me
So I snuck out, stealing my parents car
Driving out to you
Your tear stained face
Your hand gripping mine
I wished that I could have done more
But you just wanted me to be there
To be present
We drove to the beach that night
Watching the sunrise

Where were you when I needed you?

Real friends

A long time ago my best friend stopped talking to me. It hurt, even more so because I was secretly in love with her. She said that my sadness was not a good thing in her life and that she had to distance herself from my negativity.

For so many years I let that event judge my future interactions with other people. I convinced myself that I had to be happy and that revealing the true nature of my depression was going to drive people away.

Then one day someone said, if she was a real friend a true friend she would have stuck around and helped me. Instead of thinking about herself and just about her mental health, she would have understood that we could have helped eachother.

To this day I don’t know what to think. She abandoned me and by doing that made me feel insecure about every relationship I’ve ever had. So now when I feel sad I bottle things up, I cry alone in the dark, when I have money I go see a therapist or sometimes I just drink and do drugs to numb it down.

Sometimes I practice the same speech I’ve had in my head for years. Telling her off for being so selfish, professing my love to her, and making her feel guilty for the damage she inflicted. But I don’t think she ever thinks of me. So why bother?

Alone

There are times where I wish I had someone to talk to. But all my friends seem to be having these great happy lives and I don’t want to be a party pooper. So I sit defeated, depressed and repressed unable to let go of how I feel out loud. I wish I had the money to go to therapy, but I dont. So I write. Hoping someone out there will lend a kind word or just show that they’re listening.

Are you out there? Do you know how it feels?

I think I had a break down yesterday. All of life’s regrest, the pressure, sadness it all swept over me drowning me in tears. Every moment I opened my eyes I was reminded that I was not where I wanted to be. So I gulped down 3 Tylenol pm and half a bottle of wine and attempted to drown myself in sleep. It’s something no one in my family has seen. I think I terrified them.

Anxiety

Writing keeps me level

Right now I need to be level. My heartbeat is high. My anxiety feels like a pot of water ready to boil over. When this feeling hits the only way I can let go is by hurting myself. So I cut, I punch, I bang my head against things. In the past I’ve broken a hairbrush against my head, leaving a big bump that I would touch for days afterwords. The pain being like a memory to let go. Cutting myself helped too. The sting during and after made it easier to breath, as though the tiny cuts in my arm were a tracheotomy.

Can someone convulse with stress? Is that possible. Am I overrescting. Why is it I can’t kill myself like my father. I wonder if he ever felt this way.