Letters from sixteen

Number two in C minor

Poems inspired by Rachmaninoff's "Piano concerto No.2 op.18." A very melodramatic and passionate song.
TW: CSA

Midnight to midnight
I can't quite remember when it got bad again, and I couldn't tell you when it got worse, all I know is that it did.
It's embarrassing to admit that I've gotten further away from what I thought I'd have forever, but I am seeing that story being written more every day.
I felt as if I was being crushed by these addictions, but I am still in the same self I was when I started.
I went home drunk yesterday, it's hard to remember anything from that dark hour let alone the day, but by midnight I was sober.
By midnight my body had peeled away the poison I put in it.
I woke up with things to do, important things at that, so I reminded myself of the seeds I had planted in order to have some more control over this struggle of mine.
I reminded myself that it's not in my room for a reason, because it shouldn't be.
I pushed myself to live through those hard moments without a buffer.
I arrived home and I felt a sense of pride knowing I had done what I'd done sober.
It was background noise, but it wasn't the melody.
I'll admit today I would have to contort myself and my honesty in strange ways to get what I wanted, I always do, but I didn't.
I remember walking around my block trying to decide if maybe today it would be okay to relive that warm feeling.
I came close to it on that short walk a dozen times, but I didn't.
I dragged myself home and forgot about it for just a little while.
I went to bed sober and when I was awake, I realized I had made it midnight to midnight.
I was ecstatic because it must have been weeks since I'd done that.
I have minimal intentions for my sobriety, I don't intend to be sober much at all, I know myself better than that, but I deserve times without the buffer.

Peaches
I was oddly at peace while in that grey waiting room, I stared but at nothing in particular, I looked at the sunflower painting and talked to the receptionist, soon a woman who's name I can't remember took me into another room with gray walls.
There were no photos on the wall, the only decorations being a camera and a box of tissues.
She began asking me about myself and my day so far. She told me where I was in case I had forgotten.
"Do you know what brings you here?"
Within minutes I was reliving those moments I thought I would not survive.
I couldn't look her in the eyes when I told her about what he did to me.
She told me she'd ask for specifics but I was surprised each time she asked me to clarify what I meant by being forced onto my knees or what parts of me he touched.
She asked what my room looked like, what position I was in when he hurt me, she asked how my body felt afterwards.
I was so overwhelmed with fear that my body Exhausted itself by the time it was over. I almost fell asleep when she stepped out.
I laid my head on the edge of the chair and waited.
Soon it was all over.
She led me out of the gray room and a man asked if I ever felt sad or scared.
I said I did all the time.
They let me pick a stuffed animal before I left.
There was a large shelf of them.
I chose a bear who I named peaches.
I am unsure how it feels after those moments, but, I am grateful that I am ready and supported in sending him to where he belongs.

Making sense of things
I rode my bike to the police station and soon found myself relaying my worst moments to a woman who's name I can't remember.
I tried to accept what I seem to have failed too, move my understanding slowly rather than pushing myself to do it all at once.
I let every part of myself have room in my life even when it seems like too much.
I write endlessly, I try to let all my thoughts run wild, even if it will never see anyone's eyes but my own.
I keep track of everything I've done and when to avoid being scared of not knowing.
Despite my little dark age I am still trying for days of sun.