i can’t even find words for the way i feel
happy might just have to suffice
i just want to give up. i don’t want to do things any more. just let me lay here until i die.
when we laugh
I ache until I’m with him
Why sometimes are these thoughts so hard to shake
All those small moments
social interactions are so exhausting
-When he chases me through the house, up the stairs, breathless, heart beating fast, screaming.
-When he kisses me passionately in the dark, his hands methodically caressing all the right parts of my body (I know how to turn you on)
-When he barks an order at me, that devious smile, pulls down my pants and bends me over. Stinging, intense pain followed by a hot rush of blood, again and again.
-When he holds me, tangled up, tight and secure. My head buried in his thick chest hair, our breath and hearts in rhythm
do you know that i’m a miserable, sad excuse for a person?
i don’t do anything right. i get by on elaborate illusions, but behind the curtain and the special effects is the same depleted hot-air balloon salesman you always find. just exactly what you would expect to be the root and cause of such absurdity and disappointment.
tonight i’m fighting desperately needed sleep and avoiding responsibility and instead eating an entire cadbury fruit and nut bar, washing it down with the last of the grape juice, feeling like a fat piece of shit despite the continuous inexplicable weight loss because i’m putting food in my body and no matter what feels like failure. 120lbs. size 4. damn near what i was before the baby, before my spirit was slowly crushed by that sad shadow i gave into. and now that i’ve dragged myself very nearly out of the blast zone, all i have left to hate is myself and my revolting chocolate-eating mouth.
i’m thinking of all the people i keep just out of reach. and why is it so hard for me to pick up the phone?
it’s easier to keep up a charade from a distance.
and why i’m spending so much time sitting in the dry soul-sucking heat of vehicles, crying and feeling so deflated.
all the things i hate about myself. i’m ugly. i’m fat. i’m lettting another 24 hours slip by with nothing accomplished, nothing gained. and i’m seemingly unable to do anything about it.
i say, staring out the window at rows of storage units in the snow at dusk, “i’m making a conscious effort”. at what? nothing that matters. to be more patient. to be less judgmental, more understanding, more thoughtful, affectionate, quiet, assertive, proactive, adventurous.
he wants to “get me out of my box”. he pushes my limits. he challenges me. he meets my demons head on, shakes their hands and smiles and refuses to be the first one to shrink back or turn around or blink. he speaks openly and clearly about the things i try to pretend don’t exist and sees mythin lips, my muddy brown eyes, my ski slope nose, my skinny frame and extra skin and small tits and flat ass and dingy hair- and somehow there’s still sincerity and comfort in his voice when he tells me that i’m beautiful.
i still hate to hear it. i wish sometimes he would stop looking at me because he really looks. he sees. he understands. he tells me things i’m not sure i even know and it’s all so effortless. it’s overwhelming. and when i’m fighting back tears in the face of all his truth, in the flood lights he sometimes holds on me just a little too long, in the echoes of the words he repeats maybe just once more than i needed to hear, he notices. he notices me.
"let me fight it in silence"
"i don’t want to let you fight it in silence because i love you"
but he does want me to fight. just not alone, not in silence. this struggle is one i can share. this burden i can unload and redistribute and carry on balanced and prepared and supported and stronger.
i am nothing.
acceptance is developing. it is slow. but it is developing.
i like to be surprised
like the night he came home drunk and licked my asshole before he fucked me like a hungry animal