Sincerely October

Be not afraid

TW: SA
A chapter written at the end of an era, an empowering chapter.

Welcome home
It doesn't hurt quite like it used to, I am not the person I once was, even in the dimmest moments I know I have survived the worst and will survive this too.
It used to ache all over. I wore my bruises, you can only hide them for so long. Things do not feel like that, not anymore.
At times I can talk about it without my voice shaking.
An awful collection of memories it may be, they passed me by and I made it through.
He did not kill me. The rape did not kill me. The drugs didn't kill me.
I went missing for a while there, I was haunted by my past, and it still aches sometimes, but I'm here again.
Welcome home Elliot, I've missed you, I'm happy to see you again, I thought the day would never come.
I used to hate the way I was, but I am nothing to be ashamed of, I never was something to be ashamed of.
I thought the drugs would kill me, I accepted my fate, but I am not destined to choke on my vomit.
I was not born to get high, I was not born to ache, I was not born to be treated like a rag doll.
I can make something of myself, I can be someone I am proud to be.
What he did to me never defined me, the drugs don't have to define me, not anymore.
Welcome home Elliot, how does it feel to be back?
It feels like I am finally breathing, the tides did not kill me, and the sting of the salt water isn't there anymore.
I will make this life better for people like me, I will make this life better for me.
It's overflowing, I feel a sunlight in my chest I never thought I'd have.
Welcome home, how lovely it is to see you again.

Twenty one pilots
I find myself listening to music I used to play when I was aching with a sense that that chapter of my life is over.
I survived the terrors of a man who knew better but didn't care, I lived through all that lingered, and now I feel as if the dark days are over.
I wanted to stop hurting for so long, I wanted a heart where my bundle of pain was, even if I told myself otherwise.
With all I have lived through, the levels of hell I have made my way out of, I can be anyone I want to be.
I don't have to be a victim or an addict or an ache or an early grave, I can be what I want to be.
I think you elliot would be proud, he would be elated to see the man he became.

Internal summer
Things do not hurt quite like they used to.
For a while there I did not believe I had it in me, I didn't think I could live with what happened, I didn't care about being alive, not really.
Will I wake up tomorrow? Maybe not, fine by me.
I don't want to die anymore, not even a little bit.
I never thought such days would come.
I do not ache like I used to, in fact sometimes I don't ache at all.
Things used to always be so cold, even when the sun was shining I found myself falling asleep shivering. I thought this winter would never end, but seasons change.
Things are sunny unlike they've ever been, there is not an ache where a childhood should have been.
I needed to be sick for a little while, really.
I had spent my whole life covering the tracks of people who knew better, I needed my bruised ankles to feel the wind blowing at the river before I could heal.
The hurting was part of the healing, I needed to cry and shake and yell for a little while, these things were always there, they never had a place to go, and when they did they did just that.
I was consumed by my pain for so long, I felt that it was all I was.
I was angry and scared and confused.
It all needed to see the light, all of it.
But I am more than these aches, I always was, even when I didn't feel that way.
I don't hold anger quite like I used to.
I had every right to be angry, I did.
But being angry at him didn't take back what he did, being angry at them didn't take back what they didn't do.
Being scared felt justified but being scared will not stop the breeze from blowing the leaves into a frenzied pattern.
The truth is he didn't care that I was scared, people like that don't care if you're scared, you can scream as loud as you want, sometimes no one will hear you, even if their door is down the hall, sometimes people don't notice, that's just how it is, it doesn't mean they don't love you.
I asked to wear a swimsuit in the bathtub, I cried when someone had to show me how to wash my hair in the shower, I spit in any hand that covered my mouth.
These messages seem so clear to me.
I'm scared. Please help me.
But they weren't clear to my mother or father or anyone.
That doesn't mean they don't love me. It never did. They always loved me.
I hold more power than I thought I did, not just now, but then too.
I held power when I survived, when I was a happy child despite my difficulties, when I drew in my backyard and when I didn't let him take away my childhood.
I held power when I spoke up about what happened, when I cried and screamed and shook, when I asked for help.
I hold power when I make art, when I tell my story, in every day I spend sober, and in every moment I feel a sun within me.

The beach, a letter of goodbye
Soon after my addiction began planting its roots I found myself listening to the waves crashing and sea water covering my ankles.
I was high much of the vacation, I was awake until morning in a room dimly lit by the bathroom light, it was the beginning of a distinctly alienating era.
I would spend the majority of the following years chasing highs I would rarely find, utterly consumed with the relief drugs brought me.
I was alone, I didn't feel like myself and I felt as if I was walking further and further away from the people who loved me.
I didn't like who I was becoming. If I'm not a thief then why do I steal? If I am not an addict why can't I stop? If I am not a liar then why do I craft stories to satisfy?
I was either getting high or waiting until I could.
It seems that I valued drugs more than anything, even if they were ripping me into pieces.
Addiction is isolating because you lose so much in the process, things don't matter quite like they used to, people walk out because they have to, soon it's you and whatever you can get your hands on.
It was time to let go, and how beautifully the angels came.
I found myself at the beach, thirty days sober, with a different understanding.
Drugs are not the answer, they never were, and they never will be.
So I sat in the sand, I listened to the waves crash on the shore and read my letter goodbye.

The human condition
I am amazed at the beauty of human beings, how lucky I am to be living and breathing.
It seems that all my favorite songs are made by people I've never met, their melodies smile back at me before I've ever seen their face, their voice telling me stories of how it is or how it could be.
Watching him rock himself every evening, watching her embody excitement, it is lovely the way we hold ourselves.
Seeing someone's face in the sunlight, seeing someone become elated inside and out, the way our faces paint themselves, how happy I am to see you smile.
Knowing that every book I've ever read is made of the same letters, that every one of my poems contains a story at least a dozen other people know well.
Having the sense that it is all connected in some way, I mosaic myself as parts of people I've met, as do you.
To be able to grow, to have a chance when I didn't think I would, to know how to heal.
To know how to do things differently this time, gaining wisdom from those I've met, loved, and the past.
To watch the clouds today and watch the seasons change tomorrow.

4:13 AM, rambles on sexual assault
In the moments of darkness I find myself afraid.
I was taught to know what comes at this time of night, I was taught many things no child should learn.
Close your eyes, turn your head the other way, play dead until he's gone.
He was an unwelcome visitor for years, so much so that I find myself with the same fear I had when I was young.
That sense of fear lives in my bones, those words are carved behind my eyelids.
I know today is not like yesterday, I am not where I was before, but those memories linger like a bad taste in my mouth.
Am I too much for you? Is this too heavy? Where can I put it down?
When I lay my head down on the pillow my heart starts racing because I know what comes next.
It's over now, I used to be angry when people told me that, but I know it's true.
Sometimes I feel it playing out on my skin again. It hurts like it used to.
I often dream of it happening again. Maybe it's him, maybe it's someone who would never lay a finger on me.
I wish I could be a child for a short while. I wish I could have a life to look back on that wasn't colored by my aches.