I'm Lying to You
How are you?
I’m fine.
It’s a lie, even to you.
I hide behind this mask of mine.
If the spirit is fire,
passion and drive
Around mine was built a bier
There’s nothing there alive.
I struggle to breathe
A band of steel compresses
as I struggle and seethe.
The truth of my plight coalesces.
Ashes fill my mouth,
darkness surrounds and envelopes.
It’s all going south
in my head a plan develops.
It’s not good or pretty
or even really an option.
It’s far too gritty,
a horrible thought concoction.
Steel glints in my mind.
I shove the thought away,
it must go far behind
for I am very easy prey.
Fear, doubt, and terror
are my constant companions
I pray it’s all an error
But I’m left alone in this canyon.
What doesn’t kill you will make you stronger
Lies, lies, lies
I can’t hold up the mask any longer
From my knees I wish to rise.
Bowed, bent, broken,
That’s what I’ve become,
Nothing more than a token.
Panic within beats like a drum.
Surely it can’t get worse,
focus on the positive.
Fate and destiny are perverse,
So my heart has been closeted.
Locked away,
Protected and put to sleep,
No stray hurt allowed this day.
And yet I weep.
Is there no end?
Is my pain enough yet?
I would like to ascend
from this pain and reset.
Please?
I wrote the above about 3 weeks ago.
I'm not okay. I'm not fine. I say I am because to say otherwise makes people sad and that just pushes me once more toward that sea of salt tears I seem to be sailing these days.
I'm bottling 'everything' up. I'm pretty sure I'm losing my mind in several directions.
I haven't been sleeping. Stress makes that nearly impossible. Nightmares also aren't helping. And now I have even less desire to sleep ...
Last Tuesday I laid down for a nap. This alone is odd since I almost never nap. Lynn was nice and came over to give me a massage since I've been more sore lately. I went out deep. Incredibly deep sleep. At some point I shifted to my side. I woke up with him having sex with me.
I know all the procedures of what I 'should' have done. I followed none because the little girl in the back of my head freaked right the hell out and scrambled my ass into the shower. During the shower I had the most split personality conversation I've ever had with myself.
He fucking raped me.
Can't call the cops because I can't afford to live on my own.
He touched me while I was sleeping.
I'll be paying for his damn car while he's in jail.
Nobody will believe you .. .again.
That was rape, you know it was.
You're married.
Still rape.
What did I do to deserve this again?
Shut up, move on, and forget it.
So I'm living with the man who raped me. He swears up and down it was an accident. He thought I was asleep. He thought I wanted it but didn't want to say anything because I didn't want to admit it. I 'was' having incredibly wonderful sexy dreams. And apparently it happened the night before as well.
I have tried so damn hard to forget. He's here every day, looking for a job. He's getting unemployment. He's not touched me, other than holding my feet for sit-ups, since. He offers to help out with running errands for me while I'm at work, with getting things for me, with helping to cut fabric.
I know he feels guilty. It's written on every move he makes, every line of his face.
I can't get it out of my head.
I'm extremely low on loving, affectionate touch. Lynn is willing to hug me or hold me when I cry. I'm obviously not. I hold back when my friends hug me, no matter how much I love them. Because to let go means to start crying, every time at this point.
I let go a little this past weekend, because Austin is 100% safe for me. We know our lines and he doesn't push over them. He was very sweet and simply held me while I cried some of it out.
But it builds up so much, so fast at home. I wake up a ball of emotion and everything just piles on top.
So ... you really want to help me? Don't ask how I am. It's so damn hard to lie all the time. Give me reasons to stick around. Projects are hard as hell for me to work on sometimes because "Holy gods above and below don't wanna get out of bed" but it's something. It's a reason to move. It's somebody counting on me to get something done. It's something to do besides sit in my own head and go over and over how miserable I am.
I told a friend last week that I couldn't talk because to talk about it makes it real and I can't deal with it being real. I don't want to deal with it being real but my capacity for pretending it didn't happen is no longer available.