I’m going to share an excerpt from a diary entry I wrote back in April of 2007. This was a time where the relationship with my abuser was almost at its worst. He was getting bolder in his actions. He was getting physically and more verbally abusive. All I wanted to do during that time in the interest of escape was to drink, smoke, cut myself and cry. And cut myself I did, the pain reminded me that I was still alive even though I felt dead inside.
This diary excerpt is a scattering of incidents that happened during one of our frequent arguments. He loved to torment me with fighting, yelling at me, degrading me either alone in his room or in front of friends. It didn’t matter to him. He was always right and I was always…always in the wrong. To him I was a failure and he would remind me that I should have been more grateful that he loved me because no one else would. But now I know better, he was a manipulative bastard who toyed with my emotions and sense of self for his own twisted means. That’s two and a half years of my life I will never get back. It was a hard lesson to learn, but I know better now.
“He called me oblivious, a quitter, told me to make some goddamn sense.”
“I’m so hurt because he hates my family and dislikes my sister.”
“He asked me if I have a pair of fucking ears, claiming I don’t hear things the right way.”
“He said I have no brain, asked me if I was mentally challenged.”
“He said to me….’fuck you’.”
In response to our frequent fights which he always started, I would write poetry to express my sorrow, guilt and shame. I also heavily contemplated suicide during those days. One said poem stands out from the rest in regards to this time, it was titled, The Emptiness, which perfectly summed up how I felt internally. Every time I read this poem, I can’t help but imagine a landscape in black and white, desolate and barren, just like my soul.
The mourning comes again
When the night lifts its sully veils
Revealing only a paleness; in the air
I sense a discoloration
Which a prism can never capture
But, it seems to me a blur
In every shade of gray
With shadows populating my vision
Like a thicket of phantom trees
And so I crumble
Along with the bones of the past
To which I vanish; alone
With the memories