leftunspoken's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- I forgot to clench my teeth I haven't written. I know. I don't know how to type screaming. And we're not talking psycho shower scene screaming. We're talking more along the lines of ~~ if my life doesn't get any easier, less painful, less complicated, and if people don't begin to treat me better I'm going to begin to scream and shatter things and never ever stop. Briefly: Past people, who are shockingly present now and somewhat new and improved, but tied to ugly things still and complicated and occupied my Friday, Sunday, and Monday with joy, and blurry adventure, and bad memories of someone else entirely (which leaves me wondering if it is my fault for seeing comparisons where they are underserved, or if it is every alarm bell my head and heart possess trying to set me on run.) What sensors are turned off in my fucked-up little head, that I can feel it, that sick-icky panic, 60% of me saying this is a bad idea, but the rest of me blinks and stays quiet and wonders because it feels nice too and maybe it's not a bad idea, maybe I'm just defensive and judgmental and mistrustful because he vaguely reminds me of one of the psychos who hurt me. And I hate this. And I hate being damaged. It's so unfair. I don't complain about these things. I don't. I've lived most of 30 years smiling sweetly, and staying gentle and good, and not becoming bitter or royally screwed up. But it's not enough. I want to take being hurt as a little girl, and being raped, and being beaten, and being choked for sadistic amusement, and being choked in anger and threatened with death, and being forced to do things that haunt me to this day to escape danger (and all, all of this by people who said they loved me), and I want to throw them all on the ground and stomp on them until they are a sticky black mess then I want to set them on fire. Because you see what you get when you do that? You see? You get me. Pathetic, useless, stupid, incapable of self-preservation and self-esteem. You know the worst part is I always think I've gotten it. Learned the trick. Think I've reached a time when I've unlearned all the bad things I thought were true about who I am and what my purpose is. I see young girls doing stupid, stupid things, and I think "Me once, but not now, now I'm wiser." But the part I never face, the part that lingers, the part that always makes me do it again...the doubt. It never goes away. I can overcome everything but the doubt. Because I know the things I've done. I know the mouths of monsters that I have walked into so willingly before. I know I have offered my everything with knees bent and throat exposed. And how do I know I'm not doing it again? How do I tell when it is the wise and careful me that is choosing a path, a person, or when it is the broken doll with bleeding wrists who is crawling so eagerly into dangerous laps. This started so trivial and ended so serious. And I'm fine. I'm really fine. I just don't know which way to go. Or which me is choosing my destination. Oh, and I guess that wasn't brief. Amazing isn't it, when you accidentally say everything you are thinking. 2:58 p.m. - December 08, 2004 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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