The Diary of Me

not all men

i am the punchline to every joke, the laughter that flows out of others mouths afterwards. i do not know how i am both, it is a very confusing role to play. i want to laugh with them, i want to see my trauma the way they do. unfortunately i do not find it funny.

i still feel the cold metal of the gun pressed against my forehead, the sound of the shots barely missing my being. the laughter, the joy of his taunts. i know he missed on purpose. i wish he didn't.

i still feel the blood from the knife trickle down my body. he made me watch. his maniacal laughter when i cried, he always liked the irony that i was able to slit my own skin but did not like when others did it for me.

i still feel their hands on me. he passed me around to all his friends. i was only four years old the first time, it lasted until nine. i was told it was our little secret.

i feel the cloth binding my hands. i am a child, barely eight years old. i know i am crying. i feel him take his shirt off and stuff it into my mouth. i can taste the axe deodorant that all teenage boys dowsed themselves in. my vision goes dark as i'm thrown into a closet. he follows me. i do not remember what happens next. they were in the other room. they did not come to help me. they told me boys will be boys.

i still feel his hands on my body and the lump in my throat as he choked me in order to stop the screams. i was only thirteen and promised myself i would never be in this situation again. i felt like a failure. nobody believed me.

i was eighteen, new to college and excited to start my future. i felt accomplished. i remember the party. i remember drinking too much. i don't remember much else before i woke up from my slumber, in the early morning, with him mid thrust. he didn't wear a condom.

i was eighteen, a few days later, sitting in the small doctor office going over my urine sample and blood work. the doctor told me i should be thankful all my results came back negative. i assured him i would rather have an STI from a consensual encounter than be negative but pretend i'm still asleep while a man is violating me and his friends watch.

i feel the terror seep in when i am twenty years old and she calls me at four in the morning. she is in a safe house. he tried murdering her. he is on the run. three days later she takes him back and they pretend nothing happened. she goes to the police and tells them she is mentally ill, that she caused the aggression. she helps him fight against the state charges.

i am in a memory back in my childhood room, hearing them fight. i am too young to understand what is going on but i know i cannot forget. i have imagined an invisible keyboard. i am under my blankets typing everything i hear. maybe this is where the trauma starts. i was too young to understand but old enough to know it was important.

i apologize that i do not find the jokes funny. my laughter is pity for myself. my laughter is a way to cover up the tears. i am uncomfortable, i wish to leave the room. i wish to leave this life.

but i will always be reminded that it's not all men. that i have just been dealt a bad card. that nice guys still exist. but how can i believe them when every man that i trusted has failed me?