Memoirs Of A Real Girl

monsters

4:23am August 8th 2021

My monsters have names
And one day ill spit on their graves.

     Ive been thinking a lot about why I am the way I am and how I want to be and how I should be. Those are drastically different things.  Im Fucked but not as fucked as i should be but way more than id like to be. A cruel joke really.

     Ive been hit and strangled and dragged by boys who claimed to love me. Forced to do sexual acts i didnt want to do. Raped.  Not a single person ive been with left me with out a scar whether physical or mental. All left me blaiming myself for pushing them to far. Thinking I'd be nothing with out them. Thinking their pain was more important than mine and how dare I sit here "completely fine" while they are crying somewhere alone.

   Years later id come out about the abuse from their hands amd be told i was lying.
How could i come out after so long and accuse these honorable men of these Haines acts. I was called a liar and even when they said they believed me they still hung out with the monster who took those fragile peices of me that i had shared with them and soiled them. They were beautiful once but now their nothing but rot. They still laugh and sing with my demons claiming they believe me.

    One particular time I had sat down two of my close friends associated with the man who still haunts my dreams and cried to them. I had told them of every time he had painted my porcelain skin with shades of deep reds and dark blues in places no one would ever see. I had opened up to them about ever time my no's fell apon deaf ears and everytime I had taken a blade to my skin only to be told jumping infront of a train would be more effective. Every night I had spent hiding from his loud booming voice as it echoed through the empty house. Seekings asylum from the cruel words used as knifes and daggers to keep me in line. I had gotten so use to covering my bruises I had forgotten what it was like wearing short sleaves or skirts. What it felt like to feel beautiful. You know what they did when I told them this about their friend? They defended him.

That night I had spent screaming and pleading for them to believe me and to leave the monster in his closet.
"Thats my abuser your consoling" i say as they comfort the rat as he cried to them over the phone. I was told to shut up because if he hears me he'll hang up.
And hang up he did.
But not by his neck as I dreamt he would.

   The last abuser who claimed to love me was on the opposite side of the abuse spectrum. He had a sweet face and a gentle tone that twisted and morphed into this hideous disfigured mass of paranoia and sleepless nights. It had started with him telling me about the game he had once played but stopped playing years ago. He was convinced the other players never actually let him out. As the months went on he would twist his paranoia to me.
"If I find out your one of them i swear to god Ill fucking kill you" he would spit through gritted teeth and buldging eyes.
This threat would be common. Thrown in with various reasons he would end my life.
He kept me up for nights on end switching from threatening me to himself to my family and friends while banging in head on the wall and breaking my stuff. If I didnt listen to him and receed into myself shutting down completely, scared to say anything because it that point anything was the wrong thing, he would grab my wrists or really any part of me in reach and drag me around to make me look at him. Wouldnt let go until I kicked him in thr face one time. That was a nightly thing for months. He stole my keys amd crashed my car the night I planned to go to my friends house. Someone i wasnt allowed to see. I wasnt allowed to see anyone actually. It was a head on collision and my engine was in the pasanger seat and some how the fucker still came home to yell at me and blame me for not making him take his meds or go to therapy. That was the last time i saw him and everyone blamed me for his psychotic break.

How i wish he died in that wreck.
How I wish he hung from his neck.
How I wish this one jumped infront of the train
And that one slit his wrists and layed down to bleed

I wish they all were dead so I could go to their graves and write in red ink Exsactly what they where all over their stupid head stones. Monsters And Rapists.
Each and every last one of them.

I should have trust issues like no other.
I should have intimacy issues and be scared of the world but im not. Maybe thats my issue. I dont learn.
I want to be better and not drag around these demons with me because the real things are still walking this earth.
Every once in awhile i spot someone who looks like them and the air tastes sour and my blood runs cold, but only for moment. Sometimes when someones a little to loud or touches me somewhere that once laid a bruise that never seemed to fade, i go back to that place and i see his face but only for a moment. See what i mean? Fucked up just not as bad as i should be.

           I just want to be okay again.