abuse

I tried to drink it away.

I tried to drink it away.

I can’t stop thinking about that line.

It’s a haunting reminder of a past and the person that goes with it. Who I am, who I was, and everything in between. But the way the words linger, I can’t stop hearing over and over.

If I could drink it away, I would. Every last drop. Every thing to keep this memory from forming a nostalgic image in my romanticized past. Everything through rose colored glasses. Everything blurry, messy, vile and perfect.

All I have are memories. The late nights in crowded rooms. The cigarettes I’ve smoked. The countless men I have kissed, just to wish it away. The countless times I tried to drink it away. Nothing worked. Even sitting here going over lines in my head, I can’t keep it away.

I rub my hands together in nervous energy. Running the fingers down the palms of my hands. Thinking of a million things. People I have longed to forget. Everything just keeps coming back. If I say everything out loud it just puts words into the atmosphere. It makes the names disappear but the faces remain. When all I want is to do it take this pain away.

I drink to forget. I drink to let go. I hold the bottle close and wish this away. Years will pass eventually and the nostalgia of you will disappear. Until then, I continue to drink these feelings away. Putting out words in the atmosphere until you disappear completely.

I am going to let you go.
One drink at a time.

 

San Francisco, CA
January 21, 2009
#thisishowIletgo

 

 

 

 

 

 

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It happened to me.

He says he’ll leave me if I cut my hair.
So I wear it longer on the days I see him.
When all I do is hide behind a curtain of hair to hide every scar I am feeling.

He doesn’t like it when I wear that color. It reminds him of her. So he bans me from wearing it in order to please him. I don’t hesitate. I don’t say no. I just do as I am told. To avoid an argument. To avoid the words that he holds still and strongly behind his tongue.

I am afraid to speak at times. The outcome outweighs the lasting effects of anything I could ever say. I don’t know myself at times. I was a smart girl. I was a strong girl. Now I am letting someone else dictate my thoughts and actions.

I don’t know who I am anymore, I tell myself.
I am not me without you, I say out loud.

It’s not the fists I am afraid of. It’s this unseen power a person can hold over you with the mountain of words that follow. How easy it is to say how you feel and mean what you say. How easy it is to cut down a person without giving it a second thought.

I found myself saying that I’d wish he’d hit me. Something to show the world of the vile person he was. Create the villain among the sinners. All they see is my reactions to every one of his actions. All they see is my skin burning red and my tongue lashing out at everyone that defies me. All they see is my anger and his calm demeanor. Because he was always too cool and too good of a person to hurt people. He was always the cool guy in his nice kicks. He couldn’t hurt a fly they’d tell me. How I wish he’d hit me just to prove them wrong. Just to show them that I was right and they were wrong. Then all these feelings would be real not under the surface.

People always say “That would never happen to me”. I hate that. As they see a girl cover her face or hear a story of a girl who just couldn’t take it anymore. They don’t know what it’s like. They don’t know what it’s like to hide from your friends and family. To pretend your okay when your whole world is falling apart. How it feels to cut your arm in places because the words were too big of a burden to keep to yourself. So you punish yourself for being the sad expectation of who he wanted.

I was the dead weight he refused to carry, he’d often said. If I was skin and bones he would love me more. Hold me tighter. I believed him. I was stupid and I believed him.

I used to say “It would never happen to me“. That I would be one of the lucky ones to fight until my hands were red and my throat was raw. They don’t know that sometimes when a man loves too much they just ignore you. Tell you how worthless you are. How every time they see you it makes them sick. They don’t know how sometimes it’s more than physical. That words have a way of leaving bruises and scars on every inch of your skin. But they’ll never see it. They’ll never know.

They’ll never know that the reason you stopped dating is that you hear his voice in the back of your mind. That nobody will want you after he has had you. That nobody will ever love you as much as he had loved you.

Nobody.

It would never happen to me, they’d say.

But it happened to me.

Tracy, CA. 2015
#ThisishowIletgo

I can see your aura.

A psychic came up to me in the mall today. Which sounds weird just saying it right off the bat, but this isn’t the first time. I always wonder when stuff like that happens, if they could read everything in your mind. What you’re feeling, who you’re thinking of, and everything else in between. It caught me off guard. When I was busy thinking of people I thought were long forgotten in my mind. I know it’s a hustle, I know it’s some mind game, then I start thinking, “what if?“.

What if she knows something I don’t know? What if everything isn’t just some bogus hustle and she really sees me.

“Your energy is very strong…I see good things coming your way but something is holding you back”, She tells me. Hands me a card and then walks away.

I’ve written about psychics before but something about today made me think back to the first time. I remember it so vividly to the clothes I was wearing and the deep cigarette smoke of a crowded Vegas casino. I was in Planet Hollywood and a lady looked at me and said “You look like you need someone to talk to..” I wanted to cry right then and there because she was right. I sat and listened to her talk about my life at it’s current state. The people who have hurt me. What I was doing to myself. How I needed to stop being in love with people who would never love me back. How my Aura was bright but I lived in a state of complete darkness.

I don’t talk about my problems. I talk about my dreams, my ambitions but to talk about what’s hurting me, I don’t talk to anyone.

At that point in my life I was keeping a variety of secrets and dealing with my own personal demons and self destruction. I’ve had people tell me “If you need someone to talk to, I am here”. Which I am grateful for, but I am stuck in a memory of my problems aren’t half as bad as everyone else’s. This isn’t a pity party. It’s easier to hear everyone else and fade softly into the background. But here I am, seven years later and someone tells me: “Your energy is strong, good things are coming your way but something is holding you back”.

I know what’s holding me back. I am holding me back. I am holding back everything I can to not let people in. I am holding back my life in order to let others feel happy. I know this all too well.

He used to say he could see my aura.

“I am looking at your aura”, he’d say
“No you can’t. If so what color is it?”, I’d reply.

He would fidget and laugh, then never answer. Always changing the song and tapping his fingers to the beat. Songs that I never understand until long after he had gone.

“I can see your aura”, he’d say. Over and Over, again.

Many times I wondered what that meant. Just another ploy to make me believe he cared. That he was the only person that could see me. The only person that saw straight through me. He always gave off this impression that he knew me best. That he knew better than what I was putting out into the world. Telling me that I wasn’t living up to my full potential. Words that have remain triggers to my self-esteem, after I swore that I was letting go of everything that belonged to him.

Seven years later, my heart stops when someone says “Your energy is very strong..”. Because I don’t doubt that my energy is strong. I don’t doubt that I need someone to talk to. I just can’t help wonder how these people find me. Is it through the cosmic energy I put out into the world? Is it my big dopey sad eyes that go looking for them? I know it’s all bullshit. I know it’s all some hustle for money. Still I nod, smile, and take their card. Tracing the number on the card, over and over, until my friend returns. They always find me, just when I am ready to let go.

Sometimes I wish I could tell you about this, where in some universe we were still friends. Still able to talk about things as if nothing had happened. But then I remember that you’d always turn this around like this was my fault. That I asked for this to happen. Always my fault and it would end in an argument where I was the one apologizing. This is where I should be angry, this is where it still hurts. I can’t help but think that you never saw my aura, even though you said you did. You lied to me when I thought you were being true. I am tired of letting this sadness hold me back.

It’s at that moment, I completely forget you. Completely let you go. I fold the card in half and stuff it in my pocket.

I can see your aura“, you would say, but could you see me?

This is how I let you go. This is how I let go.

 

 

 

Daly City, CA.
June. 2016

 

 

 

 

Some place good.

People have a funny way of disappearing. Coming in and out of your life as seasons change. I met you in the summer, and you lasted through fall and winter. By spring we couldn’t run away fast enough. We were so limited in our time together, and some days I feel like you couldn’t leave fast enough. You disappeared and expecting this all to go away. That leaving was easier than the need to stay. The winds of spring blew you away and the only thing I have left to show for it, are these scars of the coldest winter.

You weren’t suppose to leave, I was. I was suppose to tell you everything I felt and walk away from everything. You were suppose to have your heart frozen to stone and unable to sleep for weeks on end. You were suppose to replay my words until they become a recurring dream to you. To feel these words long after I have left. Haunting you like fog and disappearing through the clouds. You were suppose to be left with the corpse of who I used to be. But you left. You left and didn’t hesitate to look back. Here I am haunted by every word, as your face comes across every person I meet. You didn’t love me. As much as you implied it, you never once said those words. You seemed warm like fall but you were cold like winter. Never said a single word, unless it was to hurt me. I realize that now. After all these years I realized that what we had wasn’t love. And as much as I thought I loved you, in the end I knew deep down I didn’t. And it tore me apart. Because I wanted desperately to be with someone, to have that comfort in someone, but I knew it wasn’t you. I just wish it took me sooner to realize than later.

You were like all the seasons. Changing leaves to adapt to the ever changing weather. You only like someone for the moment when it’s convenient for you. Until you fly away and find someone new. I was a fool that believed in summer love that would last through fall, winter, and spring. I was stupid to believe that you would stay, when all you do is change color to who ever you want to adapt too. But this time I leave you in the summer. In the blistering sun and the swelling heat. Leave you begging for the fall and holding on for the winter. I can change just like you do. Only I change for myself and not anyone else. Thats something you haven’t grown accustom to yet.

You can watch the leaves fall. Changing colors from green to gold to brown to rust. Watch the winter rains swallow up the valleys and leave you gasping for more. I am not coming back, just so you know. I am not coming back. My summer skin has healed, now all I am left with is gold.

7/2/2011

What’s wrong baby?

Why are you single?
Why haven’t you dated anyone?
Why aren’t you dating?

So on and so forth.

If I had a nickel for every time I have been asked the above questions. People make it sound so easy. Falling down, dusting yourself off and then trying again. I know everyone means well. At the risk of sounding crazy, I just let people assume what they want to believe. Its easier for people to believe what they want about me, then having to tell them how I really feel. Because how I feel people seldom understand. I feel scared, I feel crazy, and most times I feel completely broken.

Broken in the sense that my past has broken me into a different person. Instead of shaping me into a better version of myself. I find it harder to trust people, because the past has a funny way of coming back to haunt me. When people have hurt you, it takes a while to come back from. I watch how easy it is for my peers to jump from relationship to relationship. Meanwhile, I watch myself still haunted by the past, with it’s broken words and promises. Hurt does that to you. It breaks and bleeds everything you touch. It claws at your insides, until the raw emotion eats at your soul. I was never like this before. I loved this illusion that love gave you. I loved the sappy love songs, the cliche films that remind you what love should look and feel like. I loved this idea of love and the beautiful orchestrated soundtrack it came with. Now I feel like a completely different person. This illusion of love has broken up my insides and rebuilt itself a different person.

How do you tell a stranger you feel broken? How do you describe it in a way that doesn’t scare off the other person? That pieces of you are slowly going back together again, but the pieces have left you shattered and cynical about love. When people ask you the same questions, how do answer truthfully without sounding tragic?

I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how to tell a complete stranger that someone broke me down completely. With words that are still tattooed on the inside of my heart and creep out onto my skin. The past is the past, but how can you be honest with someone, when you can’t be honest with yourself. Some days it hurts like hell and I want to claw every piece of flesh on my body. I want to scream out every obscenity until it doesn’t hurt anymore. Because thats what hurt feels like. Even after six years, the words don’t feel so vividly anymore, but they still haunt me. They’re faint insignificant words that still linger after the smoke has cleared. I know that not every one is like that. I know people won’t hurt me as bad as my past was. Still, it hurts and I can’t pretend that it doesn’t.

I feel as if these fingers continue to point at me, and I haven’t a clue what to say when people ask me why I don’t put myself out there. You might as well just state “What’s wrong with you?“. I don’t know how to answer those questions without being honest. Then at the same time, I have this need to keep guarded about my feelings. Trusting people is hard. Especially when your heart has been through a lot. I don’t know how to start a conversation with a stranger and not feel completely broken. People want the truth. People want you to be open and honest.  I know that. Deep down, I know that. I want to be open. I want to say everything I have in my heart. I want a level of trust to return, where I can feel open to be honest. It’s hard for me to be open. It’s hard for me to say how I feel, and instead I change the subject completely.

I am not asking for anyone to pick up my pieces. I just want people to understand that its not easy. It just takes some time to feel like myself again. If it takes me a day, a month, or a year, I know I will feel like myself again. Some days are easier than others. I am not sure if this answers anyones questions or judgments about me, but here it is. These are my cards on the table. Take it or leave it.

12/7/2015

Closer.

Don’t come any closer.

Don’t treat me like the others. I know all the things you only tell girls in the dark. I know every single one of your deep dark secrets and everything you want us to believe. You’ll deny it. Tell me, I am the crazy one. I know you never mean it. Everything you say is just actions from your reactions. You never mean all the nasty things you say. A sorry from you are just words wasting space in my memory. “I’m sorry” sounds like a tragic song that has no ending. I want to believe you, believe me I do, because deep down you mean it. Its what you tell all the other girls. All the other girls that believe you when you cry and mean every word you say.

Don’t say another word.

I could recite your lines, word for word. These never ending monologues of right and wrong, saint and savior. Every single thing you tell girls in the dark. It would only be fair if I told everyone how you felt. Told them all your secrets and spilled out all your lies. All those things you only tell girls in the dark. Hurting you would show that maybe for once you could feel something other than nothing.  Something other than the hatred that you bring out of everyone.

Don’t touch me.

You crave the warmth of a body to lay beside you. It doesn’t matter who it is. Someone to fill the void of being alone with your thoughts and your cold black heart. You can never be alone. It paralyzes you to think of spending all these waking days alone. Keeping us under lock and key and heavy retainer. Break in case of emergency. Have I said too much? Or should I just keep going.

Telling all these secrets to people that think they know you. They’ll be next and what follows is someone after. There’s always someone else. Brighter, better, and stronger. Always someone else. A line of pretty girls that you only like in the dark. I won’t be one of them. Not tonight, not ever.

2/11/2007

 

Goodnight, Bad Morning.

Goodnight, another bad morning. 

There was something peaceful about watching you sleep. Knowing that for once you would have nothing to say. Keeping everything inside, when in turn you would die to tell everyone. Inside where no one not even I would hear. Moments like these don’t last forever. Eventually that moment between night and day, we are bound to wake up from. At this point I didn’t care about anything. Not this time, not at this moment. Not the feelings, not the honesty about these reactions. I don’t think I ever slept for fear of waking up and knowing you’d be gone. Gone to reality. Gone to someone else. Gone to the person you were in the daylight.

For those moments when you slept, I loved you so much that my body ached. I loved you so much that it hurt my head. I knew this couldn’t last forever. Doing all these wrongs, never made a right. The morning would wake us and back to the carriages that were already turned into pumpkins. Back to the terrible reality that awaits us. Back to the doors to our souls we close so tightly behind our hearts. But when the night skies fight with the daylight thats when I loved you best. Thats when I felt everything and in turn said nothing. Maybe I was always dreaming. Waking up never felt as good as this moment. I could love you forever if I wanted to. I just don’t think I can. I don’t ever want to wake up.

Doing all these bad things, never made me feel good. Wanting you now, never changed who you were when we woke up. Even good nights have bad mornings. Even you will wake up to be as rotten as the rest. But that moment where the night fights with the daylight, is when I always loved you best. When my body ached from my head to my toes. When no matter how many times I cried out to you, you stayed right where you were. The only times I could have you is when the night would fight with the light. I know I have to wake up from this. I know I have to wake up to who you really are. We are the most terrible people in the most perfect lighting. But at this moment, this current state, even terrible people can sometimes be beautiful too.

What a beautiful state we’re in. 

3/16/2007

I am not her.

I remind people of someone they’d like to forget. Mothers, sisters, lovers, daughters. I remind people of someone so vile they lose a sense of human decency. I become a punching bag of the ghosts of women past. Someone they can point a finger at and blame all their problems on. I am an easy target, for all I do is take all these emotions and harbor them inside. Its the memories that keep this illusion of who I am alive in your memory. Who you think I am and who I am is completely different to you and me. You could care less who I really am. All that matters is who you believe I am. All I do is just keep reminding you of liars, sinners, and deceitful people.

The memories of the past are what haunt you. Clouding your judgement and making this image of who you think I am. Everything I do is wrong in your world. Reminding you of people from your past that you long to forget. I remind you of every hurt emotion and the pain that follows. You scream, fight, and laugh in my face. You point your judgmental fingers at me and cut me down to the size you believe fit for me. You should have stayed alone, you should have stayed away from me. But you didn’t. There was always something about me that made me different from the rest. Then again there was always something about me that reminded you of pieces of everyone you tried to forget. If you could hurt me, you would. If you could take everything away from me, you would.

If you want me to hate you, I will. I will bandage all these bruises and hide all these scars, and never forgive you. It was only a matter of time before I began to hate you. Hate you for everything you stood for. Hate you for the lies, the sorrow and the grief. But like you, there was something about you that I couldn’t stay away. So I stayed with the belief that I was being punished for everything any female had ever done wrong to you. If you cut me, I will bleed. If you hurt me, I won’t forget. Its your memories that haunt you with these illusions of who you think I am. But I am not her. I am not them, I just wish you would see that.

I remind you of a person from your past. People you wished didn’t exist so everything would stop hurting for once. I remind you of the sinners dressed up like saints. The girl that said she loved you but became a woman that said she can’t.  But I can’t pretend that these cuts don’t hurt, when I see them bleeding. That when you drag me through the mud, it doesn’t scrape my knees. I remind people of someone they would like to forget. But I hope you remember that I am not her.

I am not her.

4/17/2008

Girl on Fire.

If you cut my wings, I’ll only bleed. I will stay close to the ground in the ashes of the fire, that you burn before me. You will break my heart but I will not be broken. You cannot break me. I will not be weak for your affection nor attention. I will not be defeated. I’ll bleed in the aftermath of the fire but I will not burn. I refuse to burn for your amusement. I’ll bleed through your battles but will win the war. I have been down this road too many times before. The rivers will bleed in the bloods of my sorrow but my strength will see me through.

So bright, she can burn your eyes, Better look the other way

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Do not mistake my kindness for weakness. I will cry, I will break, but I refuse to burn. It’s the ashes of the fires that will see me through. You cannot hurt me for I will rise above this. Your words are your fists to plummet me to the ground, but you will not come up victorious. You use your words to break me but I will not be broken. I will break to bleed but you will not cut my wings. You cannot hurt my wounded soul with the words of your grief and sorrow. You will not hurt me no more. I may be black and blue but you will not defeat me. I will not be defeated.

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I will watch the flames you throw at me burn, but I am untouchable. For the flames turn to ashes that I will rise above. Through the ashes I will see this through. I am not afraid of you. I dust the ashes from my skin and watch myself overcome these wounds. My cuts they bleed and scab but soon they heal. I am on the mend from this bloody mess that you put me through. You cannot clip my wings. You cannot hurt this wounded vessel that once burned for you. Black and blue and bleeding through. Fighting fire with fire will only burn you. You will not hurt me anymore. I bind you in your misery and misfortune, you will not touch me. I refuse to let you hurt me. It’s my wings that I use to fly far from you. From this mess, this hurt, this pain. I will not burn. I will bleed, I will scab, but I will not burn. Not for you. Not for anyone. If you cut my wings, I’ll only bleed but you cannot defeat me.

I will not be defeated.

She’s just a girl, and she’s on fire

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Skin and bones.

If I was who you wanted me to be, would you still love me?
If I had been exactly who you wanted me to be, would you still want me?
If I had listened to every word you said, would you still hear me?

I wonder about the silliest of things. Like how a person could disappear and leave their ghost behind. Still haunting when their corpse has long been buried. I am suppose to move on and forget, but I can’t help but reflect and remember. If I had been a fraction of those expectations, would you still give me a chance?

I changed my ways to accommodate your wishes. I changed every aspect of myself to make yourself better and still you wanted more. I wasn’t the change you expected. I wasn’t who you expected me to be. Yet, I can’t help but wonder if I had been exactly what you wanted me to be, would you still want me. I would have bled myself dry, if it meant that this would work. I would have stopped the madness hurting inside, if it meant you would stay just one more day.

How you flocked to the girls with their skin stretched over their bones. How you loved the illusion of this skeleton of a body and fixated on the ideas of that perfection. The countless nights, I counted meals and accounted for every last calorie. Would that be enough? How the extra calories could be slept away or purged until the obsession starts all over again. The illusion of being perfect and the risk of losing it all. I couldn’t control the monster of madness inside. I couldn’t control the obsession of hurting, all for being exactly what you wanted me to be. I begged, I pleaded, I cried, and still you stood so tall. Ordering your demands and I couldn’t help but want to do everything, just to make you stay. It was never enough. Your words flew out like venomous rage, still here to haunt me. I was never your perception of perfection. No matter what I did, I was never enough. You liked me, but you loved her. You cut me down but raved about everyone else’s perfections. I purged every last bit of my insides and you stood tall counting on my imperfections. It wasn’t enough that scratching the surface never deepen the cut. How foolish to believe that if I had been every word of what you wanted, I would have you.

Skin heals, cuts fade and eventually all the bricks you threw at me, will rebuild the little foundation of life I see. You disappeared and buried every last bit of who we used to be. You didn’t count on your ghost being left behind to haunt the remains of a memory. I loved you and all you ever did was bring me down. Took my sadness and devoured it into madness. Maybe we are all just a little mad, but some worse off than others.

You liked me but you loved her. How I always thought otherwise. If I were skin and bones would you love me in the end? If I purged ever last bit of you out of me, would I finally let go of you? If you hadn’t met her, would you still want the same from me?

Would you?

7/12/2007