“Amour”

Amour. Supposed to be a term of endearment- the french word for ‘Love’. But when I read it, it doesn’t feel like one. I get sick to my stomach, my breath starts to come in quick gasps, and my eyes well up with tears. And why? Why, because of Him, of course.

He used to call me that, all the time. “Mi Amore”, “Amour”, and other such phrases. Even while he was manipulating me, he’d still call me it.

I feel so weak and stupid, having a panic attack over a word. I feel dumb, and awful, and helpless all over again, and it makes me want to cry. I hate this, I hate Him. And times like this make me hate myself. On a logical level, I know my feelings are a perfectly natural response to what He did to me, but on a not so logical level- the part of me that is still 'trained’ says I deserve this, that I AM dumb and awful. It takes glee in my suffering, and I feel awful, and helpless, and- fuck.

Fuck this.

Fuck Him.

He doesn’t deserve a moment of my thoughts, or a single tear. But He gets it anyway, the fucking bastard. Even now, years later, he’s still getting exactly what he fucking wanted, and I hate him for it.

I hate this.

I hate Him.

But I refuse to hate me. I refuse to travel back down the dark road of depression. He’s not worth it. I won’t let Him win.

Fuck Him- but not literally, He doesn’t deserve sex. I’m going to bed, and in the morning, I’m going to have fun to spite His memory.

To Everyone From My Freshman Year

Dear Teachers and Classmates,

When I started Freshman year, I was excited, eager to learn. Yes, I’d always had trouble with my health, but in years prior, I had overcome it, and I expected that year to be no different.

And then I got Whooping Cough. I couldn’t go to school, due to district policy- but at the same time, due to district policy, I couldn’t stay out of school, either. So I compromised- on the days when I was feeling least shitty, I came into school, thus putting my classmates at risk. I stayed after school to get the hours I needed, spent my lunches playing catch up- and then, much too late, after a month, I found out that I’d been needing a teacher to sign off on my make-up hours.

All this time, I was struggling with my school work and heightened depression. Not because I was a bad student- I loved learning- but because I had missed so many lessons that I didn’t know the material. And all the while, my health wasn’t improving- it was deteriorating, in fact, due to the stress, and I wanted to cry from the unfairness of it. I think I visited the doctors office more that semester than I had in my entire life up until then combined.

Still, I stubbornly held onto the belief that I could make up enough hours that I could still pass the year, despite the math showing that no, no I couldn’t. I held onto that belief- until you told me that I had already failed.

Not all of you- but my world history teacher. You mocked me, and told me that I’d failed already- and something in me broke. I gave up, figuring- if I’ve already failed, why even bother trying? The school had decided I’d failed- I’d gotten an email saying that I was being kicked out of AMAT, and would have to change to the other high school in the district. I was starting to consider suicide again- I could hardly breath most of the time, I couldn’t sleep because of the coughing, vomiting, sneezing, migranes, or whatever else my body decided to throw at me, and even my friends were getting fed up with me- I remember one friend telling me that “I can’t just miss school because I have a headache”, and I DID end up crying that time, because she was my friend, she KNEW me, and even she thought I was exaggerating my illness, that I wanted to stay home from school.

For the second time in my life, I stopped eating. I didn’t have any appetite, and what little I did eat didn’t stay down long- I’d start coughing, which would make me puke, and then, due to district policy, I’d be sent home AGAIN.

My parents ended up pulling me out at the end of the semester, and I’m home schooled now. We found out later that there WAS a way I could have been able to continue my public schooling from home, but when we’d asked if there was, we were LIED to. So teachers, classmates, this letter is to all of you.

To my teachers- you’re supposed to LOOK OUT for us students, and help us learn. You’re not supposed to GIVE UP on us, tell us that there’s no way we can succeed. When a student is struggling, you’re supposed to help them. When a student is being bullied, you’re supposed to put a stop to it. You DIDN’T. Some of you even made it worse.

To my classmates- Shame on you. You saw a girl who was always out sick, who was always coughing, and you decided she was a TARGET. You devoted your time to making me miserable, more miserable than I already was, just because you could. Did it make you feel ~powerful~, picking on someone weaker? It shouldn’t have. It just meant you were cowards.

To the school nurses- thank you. That year, you were my truest allies in that school. You never had a mean word to say- I’d come in, you’d sign me in, check my temperature, and let me curl up on a cot to try to get some sleep while you called my parents, who generally couldn’t get there for at least an hour. I think you were technically supposed to send me back to class until they got there, but you never did- half the time, you’d send an aid to grab my stuff for me so that I didn’t have to navigate the stairs while coughing and dizzy.

Sincerely,

The girl you gave up on

New Years Resolutions

For one, I actually made resolutions this New Years- and I’m already making progress.

  • Reconnect with old friends
  • Get in shape
  • Write a chapter of fanfic a week
  • Participate in Nano WriMo
  • Take a positive attitude
  • Add more information to my Darklings website
  • Keep my room clean
  • Find a reason to laugh every day
  • Finish one of my fanfics

Emotions

Sometimes, the oddest things will start me crying, or raging, or laughing like an idiot. And no matter how much my ribs may hurt from laughing, or my throat from shouting, or my eyes from crying- it’s exhilarating. It’s exhilarating, because it means I’m still alive, and that I’m not numb. It means that I feel safe enough to feel, and that I feel safe enough to -show- what I feel.

For a long time, I masked myself. Not a literal mask- a metaphorical one. I hid how I felt from everyone, pretended to always be happy- and sometimes, I even fooled myself. I was good at hiding, but hiding was bad for me.

And then I started to make friends in CO- Kel, Phil, Dalvar- and slowly but surely, they peeled away those layers of masks without me ever realizing that they were doing so. They saw the pieces of me that I had guarded so carefully- held close to my chest, and told no one. Over time, I let my guard down, let them see the real me- the me that would cry and rage against the world, but would laugh in actual joy, rather than fake laughter. They saw me at my most vulnerable- when I was hurting, and breaking, and falling apart- and they didn’t shun me for being ‘weak’. They proved to me that my fears were, to put it bluntly, -stupid-. And I was so grateful.

And when that final wall went down- when I stopped hiding from anyone- it was like the destruction of a dam. It’s been an emotional roller coaster- up, down, and sideways. (And I’m pretty sure inside out, too. No, I don’t know how that’s possible, but I swear it is.) I’ve been learning to feel again- and sometimes it can be overwhelming.

A recent example- a car ride a couple of weeks back, during which, something- I can’t recall what- was suddenly inconceivably, unbearably hilarious. I started giggling, and laughing, and even when I wanted to stop, I couldn’t. And it felt wonderful.

Another example, I found myself suddenly crying for no reason. Other similar incidents have occurred, but- at the end, I’ve always felt so much better. Possibly tired, but relieved, and relaxed. It’s like puking- it sucks at the time, but you feel SO much better afterwords.

Everytime- it’s a reminder that I’m still alive, still here. I’m not broken- just bent.

I’m okayish, now. Been recovering from that scare I had. I think I trust myself enough to let myself use razors again now.

I feel so weak, though. I’m jumpy, and shakey, and my heart hurts. I knew what he did to me was wrong, but- I’ve been in denial a long time. And every time I think I’ve finally accepted it fully, something new slams me. It makes me feel sick to my heart. I knew it was bad- but I didn’t know how bad.

It hurts. It hurts so much. I -loved- him. I gave him all I was- and he chewed me up, and spit me out.

I always say that storms pass, eventually. I tell myself and other’s that it’ll be okay. And it will- it has to be. I will keep going, because no other option will occur to me. In my better moments, I can think of suicide- but in my better moments, I’m not at the point where I want to.

I can feel myself retreating again. I shouldn’t- I know that. But I can’t cope. I’ve been helping my best friends sort out their relationship, been acting as their counselor- both for individual issues and relationship issues- comforting a teen whose best friend died in a plane crash, being a stable force for another of my friends, and I just.

Can’t.

Do it anymore.

Every night, it seems, there’s another problem to sort out, another issue. I want to cry every time Skype starts ringing, knowing that it’s about to start all over  AGAIN. I can feel my masks sliding back into place, and I’m scared. It’s so easy to let  them slide back- but I know how hard it is to remove them.

And the scariest part is, I’m not sure I want to. I feel safe, behind my masks. I’m not a burden to people. If they can’t see my weakness, they can’t target it. But- it’s a step backwards, a major one. It means I no longer feel safe around my friends- and this time, it’s the only ones who saw past the mask before.

If there’s no one left who can see behind the mask… Does what lies behind still exist?

sktagg23:
“ Reblogging this in honor of Robin Williams. Please, if you are battling depression or suicidal thoughts, I desperately urge you to talk to someone. I will listen, and so will the people at this number.
”
Reblogging this. Because it should...

sktagg23:

Reblogging this in honor of Robin Williams. Please, if you are battling depression or suicidal thoughts, I desperately urge you to talk to someone. I will listen, and so will the people at this number.

Reblogging this. Because it should be.

(via brainbent)

Flashbacks

Last night, I had my first flashback. The flash back itself wasn’t long- only a few seconds- but afterwords, I felt so disgusted with myself that I spent hours curled up in my bed and wanting to puke.

I just… Holy shit. That was the most unpleasant experience ever. It’s day now, but I’m still very shaken.

I guess I had thought that, because the abuse wasn’t physical, there wouldn’t be flashbacks- that I wouldn’t have them. Stupid of me.