Pretty Vacant in Book Title.

It happened again, this time with less grace. The trauma event itself was more real to me than it has been in a long time. I got lost. I was beaten & raped while lying in my bathtub. It was all in my head this time. It played back moment by moment, each pain & fear as new to me as the first time it happened in real life. I guess that’s what they mean when they say traumatized. The thought that makes me want to die, tho, is wondering when it will end. It would go on and on and on. I would be hysterical, then numb, then terrified he would kill me and not soon enough. And the cycle continues. He didn’t miss a single day. He didn’t miss a single day. He didn’t miss a single day. He was always there again with the pain. I always knew it was coming. I always dreaded each day’s waking, back into my same life of perpetual shame and fear. I always hated myself. He also hated me and explained to me thoroughly why I deserved the abuses and would never be a person, no matter what happened, I’d never be worth anything. He told me I was nothing and no one loved me and they all let him do those things to me because I was So Bad and stupid, weak, useless, lazy, dirty, just shit really. He called me Sack of Shit like an endearment and described me physically as shit in a pile. I didn’t listen or meet expectations. I talked too much and screamed too loudly. I always begged him. He always held his hand over my mouth. I never once tried to lash out or fight back. It never occurred to me that I had any options. I was doomed. I was born to be abused. I can see clearly now how true that is- look at the things I let happen to me still. I am stupid, weak, useless, too lazy to help myself, dirty and just shit in a flesh sack, really.

I don’t want any goddamned positive affirmations from strangers. And those are the only people. I’d rather trust my own experiences and prepare for the inevitable. Its a self fulfilling cycle in hell. It may not sound like much of a life to those on the outside, but at least it isn’t heaven. If you fuck the holy too hard, they’ll bleed just like me. We aren’t so different after all. We could join the same softball team and they’d never suspect that I was a sack of shit. You can’t really tell until you get up too close to me. Everyone runs the other way when they realize how badly I stink of filth and chaos. My secret is safe, I guess, until I meet some people with no sense of smell. I’m not even sure that’s a thing. I’m probably better off not finding out. It’s depressing, either way.

Last updated February 28, 2016