Sincerely October

Crimson and clover

A depressing yet healing chapter.

I won't swallow my bruises
The sun is out and the rain has ceased but it hurts right now.
I'm bruised, I feel rotten and I'm spilling paint everywhere I go.
I hate what happened. I hate it so much and I think and talk about it every day.
Is this the right time? Am I being too much? Should I wait until later to talk about this?
I can't cover myself anymore.
They know what happened, they know even if I don't tell them.
I fall asleep and wake up feeling as if it just happened.
"Get the fuck off of me" "Stop it, stop touching me" "Don't do this"
You can't run from the night terrors, you can't cover that up.
In those moments they know, even if I don't tell them they can see it.
I have rape victim written in blue on my forehead, I feel like I do, at least.
He told them I am like a wounded animal during the night terrors.
He told me I was pretending to be startled.
People are sunny, people are stormy, the weather will not affect what is under the trees, showing your bruises may help the aches but they also may make them worse.
I don't want to be vulnerable, don't look at me like I am my pain.
I may behave like a living breathing ache but I am more than the bruises on my knees.
That story has been told to me many times and I won't swallow it anymore.
I won't bother eating it, if I do I won't bother trying to be quiet when I vomit it up in the bathroom.
I'm tired of being quiet. I'm bleeding through my clothes so don't act as if this is some show I am playing for you.
I'm not the crazy one in the family, I am not an actor, you're a person who doesn't want to see things for how they are.
Look at me and tell me honestly how I am suspected to thrive in that house, in that room, in that bed.
Admit that you failed me and stop pretending.
Do you really expect me to sleep soundly when he raped me in that bed?
Do you want me to call you and tell you how much I miss you when you want me to go back to that house, the haunted house that you failed to protect me from?
Do you expect me to tell you how much I love you when you said I am attention seeking, dramatic, and crazy?
I'd love to hear how hard this is for you, how hard it is to have a child with panic attacks who cries before you drop him off at school.
I don't care how hard this is for you, please whine to me about how hard it is for you that your child was raped and you never noticed.
I was not the problem yet I was persistently treated like one.
I may be aching and bleeding but I won't swallow this.
I won't cover my bruises.

A moment not worth hiding from
I am living in a surreal dream, walking through a fog, unsure where it started and where it ends.
The sky is a painting, you are made of plastic, this is a movie written by a child who doesn't know what a plot is.
Things rarely feel real and the memories are slipping through my fingers like sand.
I don't know how long it's been like this, it feels like a long while, but that doesn't matter right now.
I spend much of my life reliving the past or too frightened to be in the present but this moment feels like a peaceful one.
I used to listen to these songs in the fifth grade, I could look out my bedroom window at the stars that were always there, no matter how dark the night.
Since then a lot has changed, but I think he'd be proud of me, even when I feel like I have failed, he would be happy to see me.
I keep my distance from the world around me because I want to be protected. I am better off separate, but this moment isn't something I need to hide from.
I missed the glowing light and late night poetry, I missed listening to songs on repeat, now I am back in those moments.
I am not being hurt, he isn't here.
I'm not at the house it happened in, and the people here really do seem to care.
So I may feel far away but I don't have to be.

Post traumatic bruising
I fell asleep.
I dream myself sitting in a bedroom that looks almost like the one he used to hurt me in with someone I know would never make me feel the way he did.
That same man places his hand on my leg and gives me an all too familiar look.
I woke up screaming at him.
I fell asleep.
I dream myself unpacking boxes when I see his hand begin wandering, his hand with no arm or body.
I stand to run or scream but I fall to the ground.
I can't move, I can't speak in this living room full of empty boxes, I am powerless.
I wake up screaming.
I am lost in my bedroom.
I see hands at the top of my roommate's closet.
Out of the corner of my eye I see my head hanging like a Christmas ornament.
I think about the time he said he would kill me, I wonder why he didn't.

For those who lived through it
I don't know you or what you have been through but in some way our stories run together, there are things I wish someone would have said to me, so now I say them to you, I write a letter to those past selves and maybe you'll read something worthwhile.
I know you're scared.
I know this doesn't make sense to you, you don't have the words for it yet and I'm sorry you knew the aches before you had the language for them.
It's confusing, this is not what love is, this is not what happens to the other kids at school, this is not normal.
You are right, this is not normal.
I know right now you can't tell anyone, that's not your fault, none of this is your fault.
Just know that one day he does leave and stops coming back.
One day you will know it is over.
I know that the way people find out feels like breaking every rule that's been forced upon you. I know you feel a little too visible, but you will not regret it.
You spoke up at the perfect time, not too late or early, believe me, you did what you could when you had the option.
It wasn't your fault.
You were not asking for it.
It's going to feel like you will not make it through but so far we have, and I believe we will.

Stay away
I'm living through a fog, I can't see my hands unless they are bleeding in front of my face.
I'm repeating myself, I'm losing time, and maybe you're hurt because I don't know you like you know me.
There's empty space behind my eyes, I can watch but nothing seeps into the ground.
I don't know how I look to you or her or him but I am a ghost when I look in the mirror.
I am not here like I should be, I'm not gone, but somewhere in the crossover is where I find myself.
I am half alive, I am a blank stare.
I feel myself slipping away,
I can try and grip all that is Elliot but it's slipping through my fingers like sand.
I feel myself turning inwards, the world doesn't ache like it can when you aren't entirely a part of it.
I don't care, it's peaceful, nothing hurts like it used to.
I wish I was here, nothing feels like it used to.
Let me write that down before I forget and forget what I've forgotten.
Don't ask me how my day was, I work here for the paycheck, I clocked out a long time ago, even if the check comes in the mail.
I know being here in the real world and feeling the sun on my skin will be great but for now I'll stay away.