People at work ask how I’m doing. Regulars ask how my day’s going. The regular I really like who is interesting and easy to talk to and smiling all the time and nice to everybody asked me how things are today. I almost cried in front of her, but the customer service mode is strong in me, and I said, “Oh… ya know. Things are hard sometimes.” And I don’t think my voice cracked, but I don’t know if it did.
I don’t know if I have words for what happened last night, but I guess I’ll give it a shot.
Slapped, slapped, slapped, choked, SLAPPED, slapped, slapped, slapped back and it was over. She went from screaming to hysterical. She went from wanting me to die to wanting to kill me. She went from thinking there’s a human being with love and compassion somewhere in here to knowing I’m empty.
And it’s over. And I might get arrested. And I might go to jail. And I might go to prison (unrelated but related). And I might lose my job. And I lost everyone. Every. Single. Person. Anyone who has ever loved me is gone now.
How about I be more melodramatic.
FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK
I scared the shit out of a couple of the girls at work when I got there. Calmly unscrewed a broom handle. Calmly emptied a box. Smiled at whatever mundane crap she was talking about. Violently slammed the broom handle into the box over and over and over and over then yelled FUCK loud enough for all the customers and everyone to hear.
She said she’d give me my phone back tomorrow, but I suspect she was lying. I don’t know why they’ve been so adamant about keeping the phone when things go bad again, but they always insist. I factory reset it before I gave it to her this time. Not really sure why. Just kind of an impotent fuck you I guess.
I want to call my sister and tell her how sorry I am, but I honestly don’t even know how sorry I am. I’m still pretty fucking angry. My throat still fucking kills every time I swallow. My glasses are still broken.
They know that laughing at me is the number one no contest fucking perfect way to make me feel ashamed and angry. And they did that. I shook it off the first few times. Ignored it. Tried to lay back down so they would leave me alone. They didn’t leave me alone. Next thing I know, I’m pushing her off of me. I tried to stand up, she pushed me back down. I tried to stand up, she pushed me back down. Then her hands were around my throat and she was screaming in my face and shaking me by the throat and squeezing and screaming and I was wondering if I was gonna pass out and I was 80% hoping she would just kill me in front of everyone. But she didn’t. She slapped me some more instead. She can slap fucking hard. Legitimately surprised she didn’t knock a tooth out with the one that knocked me onto the couch.
And I made my way to the door, where the gf had taken my keys and told me she’s not giving them back until I give her the phone. I stood by the door. She came back and kept screaming about how she wants me to die and she hopes there’s a hell so I can burn in it. And she slapped me again. And she slapped me again. This time, on reflex, I slapped her back. And with that instant of “decision”, everything went from really really bad to completely fucked. Completely and utterly fucked. For good this time, I think. Still wouldn’t give me keys, and I still wouldn’t give them my phone. So I left. I sat outside on the driveway next to the car and heard a lot of screaming inside. The only words I understood were the gf saying, “NO I’M DONE WITH HIM”. Then she came out and threw my keys at me. I said, “I still have no fucking idea what happened,” and she said, “You raped your sister, that’s what happened,” then slammed the door and locked it.
I didn’t rape my sister. When I was ten, I sexually molested her (not the one who choked me and told me she hopes I die and burn in hell), because the house we grew up in was disgusting and loaded with sexual abuse, and after resisting my mom’s shit and my dad’s shit and my older sisters’ shit for five or more years, I told her I wanted to look. I pushed her against the side of the pool, held my breath, and looked. She wasn’t scared. She didn’t even seem bothered. When I came back up, she looked me in the eyes and said, “Are you done?” and that was that. Over 20 years ago. I was ten.
What fucking ten year old after seeing his uncle rape his two year old sister when he was five and being held down and forced to watch his dad jerk off on his three year old sister ten minutes later wouldn’t have done something like that? What fucking ten year old wouldn’t have done something much much worse than that? Like, say, the seven year old who has already helped his grandmother (my mother) rape his mother in her sleep.
I want to die. I want this all to go away. I want to be able to feel things without getting angry. I want to be able to love someone without violating their boundaries. I want to understand things people are saying to me instead of having them laugh at me and call me names and choke me and slap me and scream in my face because I asked what they meant.
I want to die.
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