Out of the Blue and Into the Red
So most of what I blog is just diary-esque ramblings. Alot of it is cathartic for me so its not always for others to *get* so much as for me to get it out!
This is what all has been spewing in my head. A horrible series of tragic events that stained my Life forever. Some of the stains are tainted while others are still a beautiful reminder of what I survived. Hmmmm...here you go....
*Prose to pack the visceral impact of a fist in the face...or where ever else a fist can go?
She calls and men crawl. Would it mean something if there were legions of Beautiful boys who have slavered blood from the fresh kisses carved into their chests? For Her?!
The landscapes of my life are littered with damaged Souls. And damage is a kind of Love. Because whats more seductive than destruction...whether it be ones own or someone elses?
Love is a corpse that doesnt know its dead yet.
Excuse me for being romantic. The same thing happens when I read the Book of Revelations.
I crawl into a tub and wash with the patchouli soap. Yuck. Spending a grateful 5 minutes scrubbing the feel of your fingers off my skin.
One is the primary number from which all others grow. One is the first day of the week. One is the Loneliest number. I am One.
That day was 7. Sunday. Seven deadly sins. Seven virtues, seven vices. On the 7th day my God rested.
The therapist told me that my anger is normal and should be voiced. She would have told me more, im sure, but my visits were stopped after my second *unpleasant venting*. Hah.
I know what the odds are for a Girl like Me.
We wait to be rescued, but for whatever reason, nobody ever comes. We figured out that if no One protects us then we must not be worth protecting so we became prey. Our wounded gazes attract sly predators and we sell our souls for clearance sale prices.
We binge, purge, sleep around. We drink too much, and get too high. Anything to blot out the past. We accept and endure beatings and humiliations because our fathers, uncles, lovers...all said they loved us too..right before they broke bones and tore tissue.
My stomach churns...afraid of what comes next. I rest my head on my hands. Pushing thru memories while making vows. To not shower after the assault. To call 911 as soon as he's finished. And IF im still coherent i'll tell them cops every detail. I'll talk forever as they swab for samples because I know that the punishment would spring from the details I provide.
I felt myself growing smaller and smaller. A desperate wail reverberating in my brain...blood runs in rivulets down my legs.I thought I was in shock. The world is tilted and the scenery jumbled...sharp edged...and carnival bright. The last thing he said was "you were such a pretty girl". I will not take the blame for his perversion. If I could stay sane I would send him to prison for life...or until I turned 21 atleast. They promised me 6 years of safety. I got 3.
Its been years now but its still hard to believe im done being hunted.
This is what all has been spewing in my head. A horrible series of tragic events that stained my Life forever. Some of the stains are tainted while others are still a beautiful reminder of what I survived. Hmmmm...here you go....
*Prose to pack the visceral impact of a fist in the face...or where ever else a fist can go?
She calls and men crawl. Would it mean something if there were legions of Beautiful boys who have slavered blood from the fresh kisses carved into their chests? For Her?!
The landscapes of my life are littered with damaged Souls. And damage is a kind of Love. Because whats more seductive than destruction...whether it be ones own or someone elses?
Love is a corpse that doesnt know its dead yet.
Excuse me for being romantic. The same thing happens when I read the Book of Revelations.
I crawl into a tub and wash with the patchouli soap. Yuck. Spending a grateful 5 minutes scrubbing the feel of your fingers off my skin.
One is the primary number from which all others grow. One is the first day of the week. One is the Loneliest number. I am One.
That day was 7. Sunday. Seven deadly sins. Seven virtues, seven vices. On the 7th day my God rested.
The therapist told me that my anger is normal and should be voiced. She would have told me more, im sure, but my visits were stopped after my second *unpleasant venting*. Hah.
I know what the odds are for a Girl like Me.
We wait to be rescued, but for whatever reason, nobody ever comes. We figured out that if no One protects us then we must not be worth protecting so we became prey. Our wounded gazes attract sly predators and we sell our souls for clearance sale prices.
We binge, purge, sleep around. We drink too much, and get too high. Anything to blot out the past. We accept and endure beatings and humiliations because our fathers, uncles, lovers...all said they loved us too..right before they broke bones and tore tissue.
My stomach churns...afraid of what comes next. I rest my head on my hands. Pushing thru memories while making vows. To not shower after the assault. To call 911 as soon as he's finished. And IF im still coherent i'll tell them cops every detail. I'll talk forever as they swab for samples because I know that the punishment would spring from the details I provide.
I felt myself growing smaller and smaller. A desperate wail reverberating in my brain...blood runs in rivulets down my legs.I thought I was in shock. The world is tilted and the scenery jumbled...sharp edged...and carnival bright. The last thing he said was "you were such a pretty girl". I will not take the blame for his perversion. If I could stay sane I would send him to prison for life...or until I turned 21 atleast. They promised me 6 years of safety. I got 3.
Its been years now but its still hard to believe im done being hunted.