Letters from sixteen

Verbose

A collection of ramblings.
TW: CSA/Addiction

Addiction
Even though I knew addiction was something I had more potential for than not I figured I'd be just fine.
It's not like I didn't see it coming.
In a way I did.
I remember this first time I got drunk I drank the next morning before school.
Each first time I took all I had.
I knew I was not above it.
I guess I didn't see it for all it would be, but I wasn't entirely unaware.
There was no denial, I knew what I was.
I didn't realize how disgusting it would become.
There's not a pretty way to write about vomiting on your carpet then taking drugs off that same floor days later.
There's no pretty way to write about becoming a liar because you're chasing something that isn't worth it anymore.
There's no pretty way to write about running after a high that will never be found again, I'm watching myself deteriorate.
I know it doesn't get better when I keep walking down this path, but where else would I go?
I feel like I've numbed myself out, I'm not the person I once was.
I used to be emotional and passionate and happy, I was a mess, but things weren't grey like they are now.
In the beginning it's fun but at some point it's just what you do.
It's routine at this point.
Although I tell myself I'd go back and do things differently I really wouldn't.
I can't explain why but I'm not willing to give this up.
I wouldn't change a thing, although I feel like I'm watching myself rot.
I am vastly unhappy when I am not intoxicated.
I am full of anxiety and endless grey.
I feel hollow.
The drugs don't work like they used to but it's better then falling apart
I used to forget what I'd taken when.
I couldn't seem to recall if I took it today or yesterday or maybe a few days ago.
I am not above the accidental overdose, so I started a log.
I write how much I take when.
It keeps me safe, it prevents things from getting lost in translation, but it does ache a bit to see it all staring at me.
It reminds me of how bad it's gotten.
I used to think I'd be sober for the rest of my life.
Reading those old poems hurts.
I've gotten worse and things are looking pretty bleak.
This is never the beginning of a happy ending.
I remember when looking over my log I told myself maybe I wasn't that bad.
It appears my math was wrong.
This aches.
It's never enough, is it?
I am chasing after happiness I can't seem to find aside from the very thing that is sucking me dry.
I know taking more won't help, I am training my mind to bury itself, yet I find myself looking for the answers in more.

Sexual abuse
I write about my story endlessly because for me it's not over.
I am still heart broken, scared, and dissociated.
I used to look up to him so much.
I remember I used to say I wanted to marry him.
I idolized him, he knew that.
I remember how confused I was the first time.
Still I am quite confused.
I live in fear.
I don't sleep much and I don't sleep soundly.
Every night I feel like I'm waiting, waiting and wondering, will it happen again tonight?
I dream of him most nights.
I've woken up begging him to stop.
I learned at a young age how to disconnect.
I watched myself from the corner of my bedroom.
I became a ghost.
I often wonder if people think I liked it.
When I talk about the man I love, do they think I wanted it?
Why do these things come out in the same sentence?
I don't see myself ever coming out.
I know what I am.
I don't want them to think he made me this way.
I'd love to share a bed with a lovely man but I don't think I could without wondering what he'd do to me.
I can't be touched, I hate the thought of it.
I don't think I'll ever move past this.
I was becoming a person, I wasn't supposed to know what that was.
I don't blame myself for not trying harder because I know I am, but I wish other people saw it.
I don't think about the abuse and live in it.
It's ended but it's not over.

Hollow
For a number of reasons I have grown to be hollow.
It's often easier than feeling what comes with the world around me.
My life is filled with reds, yellows, and blues, scattered across a canvas, but oftentimes things turn when the paint settles in.
This sense of being empty is both comforting and devastating.
Lucky to be less affected by the darkest parts and unlucky by being less affected by the light.
When you've been cut off from sensation, happiness is one of the things you lose.
This sense of being unbothered is freeing, yet it aches.
I can feel a hole in my chest. I can feel a sense of emptiness in my bones.
I feel as if in a way I choose this, of course I didn't know how things would turn out, but I knew better.
The pills, powders and warm feeling down your throat will fill you with such intensity.
You're not happy, you're ecstatic, you're not sad, you're morose.
It truly heightens the sensations of the human experience.
I have a very elementary understanding of the science of it,
The brain will regulate itself, what goes up must come down.
You will be left more numb than you could ever see yourself being.
I've realized I've sucked myself dry and still go looking for more.
I still feel like I'm waiting.
I remember I used to sit at the edge of my bed wondering if he'd hurt me tonight.
I remember this not by the ways my hands felt on my knees but from the perspective of an outsider.
I was so scared but there was no way out.
I learned to play dead.