Sincerely October

A different age

Mostly a chapter to release some of my negative thoughts and such. "A different age" is a song by current joys that I often listen to when I am struggling. It reminds me of when I was in withdrawals and I still listen to it when I'm feeling low.

I'm not yours
He had me in the palm of his hand. What do I need to be? What must I do? How can I survive this night?
I knew what he had done to me. The memories of the rape were buried but never forgotten, the grave was fresh and distinct compared to the flowers that surrounded it. Still I told him I loved him, that I admired him, that I wanted to be like him.
I want to be everything that he is not, but I do not fault myself for trying to survive.
My body was not yours for taking.
I am not a doll you can puppeteer, I am my own.

Retell without revisiting
I remember feeling like two opposing forces were taking over me, one raw and shaking while one was entirely empty.
My hands would tremble as tears fell down my face, I could not outrun it anymore.
I felt as if I was being taken apart all at once, that everything was falling into pieces.
I'll fall asleep on the living room floor and wake up yelling, I'll feel myself be torn to bits, everything floats to the surface and it feels like it's going to kill you.
Another moment passes and you become hollow again, no longer chasing after artificial highs you are left without anything to fill you.
I laid on my back and stared at the ceiling, nothing is worth doing, you are more empty then you thought you'd ever be, you have been sucked dry.
The two alternate and leave you feeling like it's over for you, they leave you feeling like this will be the death of you, but slowly you start to reenter your body and your life.
One day you can write a poem about something other than falling apart and getting high, one day you're smiling and you mean it, one day you are happy to be sober.

Distance in between
I start to think that I can figure this out, that there's more to my life than getting high on my bedroom floor, there always was.
When I miss the drugs I feel distance between me and them, that this isn't something I really want, even if I miss it I don't want it.
I start to dream about it a little less, I start to see my friends again, life is more breathable.
I know I want this, I have more faith in this than I ever did, I still wonder if I have it in me, but this is the longest I've gone and it's getting easier.

Rotting
It seems that part of me finds comfort in the gray, in the aching, loneliness and fog.
I want to be better, I want to be happy in a way that means something, but something in me doesn't want to go outside and feel the sun warm my skin.
Self defeating patterns play out again and again and again.
I worry I will never outgrow this, that I will never leave my bedroom.
Sometimes the urges feel like something I need to fulfill to be satisfied, but they only leave me more empty in the end.
I'll listen to songs that remind me of my darkest hours, I'll think myself into holes, I'll relive the ways I used to be.
I always end up back in these places.

Eight years old
The painful moments and narratives I developed replay in my mind endlessly, the stories of what happened are told again and again and again.
I relive the fear, for another moment I am eight years olds and I can't sleep because I'm scared you'll hurt me again.
Someone comes into my bedroom and suddenly I am eight years old and terrified that the man who never asked if I wanted this is here again.
I feel and sense and smell him in the room and suddenly I am eight years old and am laying myself open and walking away from my body.
The stories tell themselves over and over, in my mind they ring loudly until they become the dominating narrative and suddenly I am eight years old and staring at my door waiting for you to come in.
Those days are long over, but a part of me still lives in the bedroom you raped me in. I still wonder why you never loved me enough to listen, I still wonder if you'll come back, I still wonder if this ever ends.

The truth folds in on itself
I don't know what I believe, I look endlessly for what will define things, what explanation will fill me, but I am yet to arrive at any conclusion.
I believe this to be true until I have a change of heart. I don't know who I am. I don't know what I believe.
I am unsure if I can trust the stories my mind feeds me, I have found myself deeply believing in falsehoods that did nothing but leave me empty.
For a while things make sense, I believe I have found the solution, I believe I have found something worth believing in, but have I?
When you take away everything I am unsure about what remains? When I speak only what I know to be true what is left? When the sun sets, what can I hold on to?

Where I find myself
No matter who I become, no matter where I go, no matter how hard I work towards getting better I always find myself back here.
The lights are off, it's too late to be awake, this song reminds me of the worst days of my life and I listen to it again, and I write about the feeling that returns.
I always return to feeling empty, to wondering if I'll ever try hard enough to get better.
A sense of emptiness and gray fill me. I wonder if I have it within me to figure this out again.

Goodbye again
I write my farewell letters nearly everyday. The words are different but the story is the same.
I have to go, I can't live like this anymore, I have to be better, I can't die like this.
Even when it feels like I can't do it, even when it feels like an insurmountable task, even when I miss it more than anything, I have to unlearn this.
Sometimes I wonder if I really have it in me, if I will want it bad enough everyday for the rest of my life, but I know I have to let go.
I miss the drugs almost every day, I dream of them almost every night, but that doesn't mean they are worth missing, that doesn't mean my life is worth losing.
I know if I go back to the way I used to be I will burn it all down, everything I pushed for will be lost in the end, it's likely that I will find myself six feet under the dirt before I find the high I was looking for.
Even if today is gray and gloomy the drugs will only leave me more empty in the end.

Nothing worth missing
With the bitter taste of relapse on my tongue I was filled with regret.
I spent months angry that I had it and let it go. I had something good and I left it.
It seemed worth it, but it never was.
I was only left empty in the end, with less in me than I started with.
I will admit I miss it, I miss my nose burning, I miss the warm feeling, I miss knowing it was all going to be okay now, but it was never worth it.
I always hated that I went back to my old ways, it was like an ache that I could not ease.
You could have been better but you choose not to. This is your fault. You knew better, you always did.
So maybe I do miss it, but it's not worth missing.
I know if I succumb to my urges I will be bruising myself until I choke on my vomit.