Candlelit midnights

Scattered

A collection from a very scattered time in my life.

All consuming
The rape and the way you chose to forget about it are all you think about, what happened and how you can forget about it plague your mind.
It used to rent out a room in your mind, but now it's a vine that has spread all over the apartment, climbing over each photograph and piece of furniture.
You try to tiptoe around the vines, but it's hard not to step on them, sometimes you don't even try to avoid them.
In most moments, even the ones that should be really beautiful, you think about it, you try to unravel the yarn looking for some answers, but you always look away at just the wrong time.
You don't want to think about it anymore, but you do, say in and day out, it's always on your mind.
You don't really see an end to that, you've accepted this as the way you are, but that doesn't mean you don't wish you weren't this way.
The rape lives vividly in your mind.
You often feel the same sensations being played out again, you feel his hands on you again and again and again.
Part of you is still that scared child, wondering if it would happen tonight, and so confused about how it happened in the first place.
You want to learn to live with it, but sometimes you just can't.
You don't understand, and you know you won't.
You hate him, you hate him so much, you hope you'll never have to see him again, you dread the day in which you might.
You hate wondering if you were the only one, part of you feels guilty for what he did.
Part of you feels guilty that he can't come to Christmas anymore, but you know you took apart a picture that wasn't right.
You wonder how you could feel that way while you relive it in this very moment.
You want people to know but you also hate the faces they make when they hear those words come out of your mouth.
You don't want to be viewed as damaged, you hate wondering if they think you enjoyed it.
But seasons will change, and you will see the spring flowers soon enough.

Learning to live with it
I tried to live without it for a little while, I tried to dig out the tree by its roots.
I sat under the shade casted by the branches and dug through night and day.
I really thought I'd be able to let it go, but at some point I realized I wouldn't, and at some point I did it again, again and again and again, the days add up quickly.
I didn't realize how many days I could cross off my calendar until I hung it back on my wall.
I have a tendency to be consumed by this, it ate me up and swallowed me whole.
It's an awful feeling really, it aches when you watch every thought and moment be interrupted by it.
You wake up and you scramble to find it. You spend the day waiting for the moments when you can do it. Your nights are filled with it, they are late and drawn out by it.
You won't let this go, you'll cup your hands and keep it protected like a butterfly feather that could blow away in the wind.
You can't live without it, at least, it's been established that you won't let yourself stop.
It could fall apart at any moment, you hate that feeling, knowing it's a house of cards that can't stand the weight of a feather.

My own little world
You've spent the majority of your life in your own little world, you viewed yourself as different from other people in a way that ached.
You had to keep a secret because he'd hurt you if you didn't, you had to keep a secret because they wouldn't love you if you were the way you are, you had to keep a secret because she wouldn't look at you the same.
It was a lonely life, you grew to have a very black and white view of things, but it didn't stay that way.
At several different points in time you said the thing you swore you never would.
It was messy, calling your mother on the bedroom floor and all, but it was well worth it.
The cats are out of the bag, all of them.
There's nothing nobody knows about you anymore.
You can't tell your story to everyone, you won't, but now you can know all your writings will be read by eyes other than your own.
It's a relief in a way you cannot explain, being seen, even if it's ugly, even if what happened to you was awful, even if you thought you'd never learn to live with it, even if it never stays the same, you are not in the dark anymore.
You still live in your own little world, maybe you always will, but you don't live in that world alone.

Sunny
Life is good.
For many months you ached, you were in the worst point of your life, my little dark age, but things are different now.
Things aren't just good because you aren't falling apart, but you feel yourself growing closer to the sun every day.
You write happy poems now, you were never able to do that like you do now.
She loves you, this lovely girl sees you and your mess, and she loves you.
What he did to you still hurts, you still feel it happening in your body, but you don't always feel that way, and it isn't Debilitating.
You lost your creativity for a minute there, you could only write poems about your struggles, and you needed that, but now you can spend time making art.
Life is full of fun, cafes and time in nature, hangouts and movies, thrift shops and projects.
Things are good.

Slipping through my fingers
It has become very clear to you that you cannot string yourself together like you used to.
Things that used to be second nature are now a tall order, even things you really love are an uphill battle.
It's not that you don't want to, because you really do, but things don't sit quite like they used to.
You aren't quite sure why it slipped through the cracks, but you know you can't be filled like you used to be.
For most of your life your passion spilled in many directions, and now you're not always sure where to find it.