No like actually... Trigger warning. This is my truth, I lived this for four years and I was finally ready to write it. This isn't just something pulled from my emotions loosely based from personal experiences. There are metaphors and whatnot like usual though.
I finally left this situation four ish months ago and since I've struggled a lot it's been extremely difficult but this is a huge step for me as I've never told anyone the truth and I'd rather tell no one close to me so I will place it here. I am okay now and I am free, for good.
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I remember the ex who told me if our skin was close enough to connect, our house would be full of violence.
I remember the ex who told me he got off on seeing me starve. I needed to anyways, is what he said.
I remember the ex who told me I was the reason he'd take his last breath. I was that horrible to be around, according to him.
I remember the ex who lectured me on every little thing and screamed till I obeyed.
I remember you the most, the ex that did it all so much worse; without ever threatening me, you just acted.
I remember when we met you knew how naive and young I was; you saw an opportunity and grabbed onto my quickly ending youth, claiming it for yourself.
You created some twisted, sick story and made me recite it a hundred thousand times until I too believed it. Even when you'd leave, I'd spin the story, growing sick in your web. I was suffocating.
The air depleted the more you'd spin and spin, cocooning me into your manipulative web, a place I was trapped in. There was no way out back then.
You'd switch out with your anger "personality" when you wanted to get the pass to say it was okay to be abusive to me, screaming at me, telling me how you would bash my face in, and you'd love to see the blood pool from my skull.
You don't remember that, do you…? I do...
There were days you'd push me to show off your prized possession like I was a doll to be kept; when I gave in, you were quick to leave, showing it off to everyone you could and bragging about how much of a slut I was, saying that I practically begged for it.
You still pretend you're sorry, but you never were a person like you is never sorry, never guilty about what they've done. You wipe your hands clean, but your crimes plague my mind.
Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, almost number nineteen too. You stole my youth and my last ounce of innocence. You corrupted my mind and ensured I'd never love or think right again. I'm sick in the head all because of you.
You convinced me you were all I needed, convinced me that we were love, convinced me that I'd be enough for you, some day just not quite yet, but I've learned now.
I don't know when the knife became sharp enough to cut the web cocoon you kept me suffocated in so I could finally break free, but I did, and for the first time I could breathe.
My head was dizzy, and my body felt out of place with wounds covering my body, seeping blood nonstop, bruises, fresh and old, covering every inch of my skin, and scars showing through in the most inconspicuous places.
I remember everything you did; you don't, or you act like you don't. Hands wiped clean, and I'm still plagued by every single crime you ever committed upon me, but I finally tell my story and not the one you trained me to speak.
ns 15.158.61.18da2
