it was just a bad dream, right?
yea it was, it never really happened.
liar, you liked it and you know it
no didn’t want it
liar, you liked it didn’t you?
no… yes…. I don’t know
liar, you didn’t stop him
no… but I wanted to
liar, then why didn’t you?
I…. I don’t know…
liar, because you liked it
because you wanted it
because you asked for it
because he kept coming back
because he was the only one
because you wanted it
because you didn’t say no
and now your crying about it
and now you…
but the nightmare never stops
it haunts you forever
it follows you forever
in new relationships
you’ll eventually have to explain
why you broke down during sex
and he’ll think it’s his fault
but its all your fault
because you lied
to yourself all these years
and you never told a soul
you did this to yourself
you only have yourself to blame
the nightmare never leaves you alone
At writing workshop a friend shared a poem she wrote about her rape and it triggered me. I tried, like I always do, to stay strong and hide the tears but they were too strong. My throat was raw and my heart hurt. But I couldn’t get any words out. I never could. The only thing I could say is that I felt numb and I didn’t like it and I was confused. It’s the only thing I could say. Why is that the only thing I can say?
Writing about things has always been easier than saying things. I usually write about it and “feel better” then ignore it until it pops in my head again. That’s not healthy I know. But what will saying it do? Will it help? That I’m not really sure of but I feel like I have to say it out loud. I feel like if I say it then it will be easier to get over it. I know it will be a part of me forever. But I don’t want to cry everytime someone reads a poem about rape.
Writing this collection of poems really got me sensitive to everything. I’m crying now more that I ever had in my life. I’m crying at random too. Like last night. She said it might trigger but I thought I would be ok since I’m writing about my own rape. Then I cry in fear because my boyfriend didn’t text me. And now I’m fighting tears for who knows what reason. I don’t even know.
I’m not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing. All this crying. I don’t know if it’s anxiety or if it’s old feelings resurfacing. Maybe it’s a little bit of both. I wish I could talk about it instead of write about it. Therapy seems so far away. Way too far away. Ten days is too long. I wish I could just go whenever I felt like it. I need to talk to someone. I need to figure some things out.
*Trigger Warning: Rape*
I was sexually abused for years when I was a child by my cousin. I didn’t stop it. I wanted to stop it. I was confused. I felt numb when he touched me. It was all a blur and it feels like a dream. Then I was molested by a guy from high school. I was scared to call him a friend but I did. He kept grabbing me and making me touch him. I just wanted him to stop. Then I was raped in my sleep by someone I thought I could trust. After I told him I was raped and molested. I guess he thought he could have his fun too.
I write about the things that happened to me. But I don’t talk about them. I should probably talk about them. I desperately want to talk about it but I can’t bring myself to say the words. I don’t even know why I want to say it out loud.
One day I will say these words out loud. One day it won’t feel like a nightmare. One day it won’t pop into my head when I don’t want it to. Right? Or will it continue to haunt me forever? Will I ever rid myself of these memories? Why should I even say it out loud? Do I really have to? Can’t I just keep it buried in the back of my mind forever? Can’t I just pretend to be okay? Can’t I just forget it ever happened like him?
Did he even forget? Does he even feel sorry? Would deny it now? I’m scared to find out. What if it was just a nightmare. What if it never actually happened. What if I lied? What if I asked for it?
She didn’t care what other people thought of her. She wasn’t afraid to speak her mind and say what she wanted. She was a bit lonely. She wished her parents didn’t work so much. She wished they didn’t move so much. She barely had time to make friends. She forgot how to make friends after the 5th elementary school she started in. She started to get bullied by then.
She lost her innocence. It was stolen from her. Along with her strength. The world seemed smaller then. He was always around the corner waiting for them to be alone. So they can do it again. And she just let him. She felt weak when she didn’t stop him. She felt numb with him. Too scared to stop him. She could only watch them. Escaped from her own body. She locked herself in her own mind. Then the confusion set in.
New emotions she’s unfamiliar with. It doesn’t feel right but it’s the only thing she knows. So it had to be right. Right? No one told her otherwise. She could never tell anyone anyway. She doesn’t think they’ll believe her anyway. Why didn’t she feel anything? Wasn’t she supposed to like this? Enjoy this? No one told her otherwise. She just felt empty. She never stopped it. So she had to be enjoying it?
She learned quickly that she was just a plaything. Nothing more. And she wasn’t the only one. But they enjoyed it more. What was wrong with her? Was she broken? Probably. But she continued to be his plaything. She tried to enjoy it. She kept saying she did. But she really didn’t. She wanted him to stop. But she didn’t want him to. She was confused. She didn’t know what she really wanted. Why?
They got caught in the act. She thought this was her chance to stop this once and for all. But mom went to talk to him first. She was left alone. The last this she wanted to be. She tried to think of what to say. She tried to tell mom that she didn’t want this to happen. She wanted to stop it. She didn’t ask him to do anything. It was all a blur to her. Why didn’t mom believe her?
It’s been years since he touched her. But the memories still haunt her. She tried to put this behind her. It never happened. It would never happen. Don’t tell anyone. They won’t believe you anyway. Just let it go. Don’t think about it. Just let it go. But the nightmares continued. Followed her for the rest of her life. It became a constant companion. The only friend that believed her.