Diary Post – February 5 2007

I’m much better off than I was all those years ago, but memories still sting. I feel for my past self. People always wonder what they would do with a time machine, and a part of me wants to go back and save my naive little self from nearly three years of hell. But then that would change my future and I might not be sitting here today writing in this blog, and certainly not this post.

So I’ve been casually reading through my old diary from college, just remarking at how I went from optimistic to despairing in such a short couple of months. I had been dating a very abusive partner at the time and it broke me. He loved to accuse me of having a multitude of “miscommunication’s” with him. His terminology for “not understanding” his method of thought or his wild philosophies. And it pains me to admit it, but I feel as though I have absorbed some of his characteristics without even meaning to. I am working so hard to undo the damage he has sown upon me. The entry below details one such miscommunication we had.

“Paul and I had gotten into an argument about me not “understanding” him. I was extremely distraught over this and I wanted him to know that, but I am afraid to tell him and then have him reiterate that I don’t understand him. This seems to be the biggest issue that happens between us, I am devastated by the whole thing; I’m eating less, I’m depressed, unmotivated, and I keep getting sick. 

I want things to work out between us and I’m doing my absolute best to keep it all working. I’m trying to not be pessimistic, I want to be the one who is positive because Paul isn’t always happy.

I missed my first class this morning because that night I was up extremely late trying to set things right. Paul started arguing with me going on about how I never could understand him and that we were having another miscommunication (whatever that meant). We were in bed and there came a point where Paul kept pushing me away from him, in a literal physical sense. Whenever I tried to settle down into a sleeping position, I would inadvertently have my body touching his because the bed was so small. When I tried to place my hands along his back, he pushed me off and away, almost toppling me out of bed. I was heartbroken. I made my best effort to try and sleep without touching him, which meant that my head was no longer on a pillow and I was practically dangling off the edge of the mattress. 

I can never do anything right, and that’s an honest answer. What am I doing wrong? Am I blind, deaf? I thought I understood him, I really did, but now all of his insistent arguments against me are making me think otherwise.”

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you gaslighting. I realize that now, I didn’t have a word for it back then or even understood what it was. But now I know better.

What came next in the diary were the lyrics to “Weak and Powerless” by A Perfect Circle. I wrote those in there because that was exactly how I was feeling, weak and powerless.

“Little angel go away
Come again some other day
The devil has my ear today
I’ll never hear a word you say…”

Stay tuned for more diary posts and poetry. Leave questions in the comment section and don’t forget to subscribe!

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The Emptiness

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.

APRIL 2007

“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 Emptiness

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

 

Forgotten Under

I recalled a poem I wrote back in 2007 when I was going through one of the worst times of my life. I was living with an abuser and consequentially I was the victim of domestic violence. Now I call myself a survivor. As I reread this poem, I do still consider it beautiful, however its interpretation can vary from opinion to opinion. When I wrote it, I was recounting the loss of myself as I fell deeper into my partner’s twisted ideology. I was drowning and I didn’t think I could be saved. It was my friends and family at the time that rescued me from that storm, and my gratitude is unending. And so, without further ado, Forgotten Under:

As we walk these pattered beaten stones
Did we toss the flower of our hilarity
under trodden foot and venom’d scorn?
A mangled scar-wrought petal; smeared and torn
Cast over an ocean til each shade was lost
Lost…beneath the frothy tongues of night and water
Did it bury deep among the sailor dead?
Stowed between the boarded wood; drowned…drowned
It’s lively hues suckled harshly by those salty tears
Leviathan herself drove us deeper, just to be
Forgotten under…

The Artistic Bullet Wound

As promised, I have gotten to the point of this blog, I plan to share my more upsetting and perhaps embarrassing entries that were originally written in the Burn Book. For some clarification, when I say embarrassing, I don’t mean “Omg I totally have a crush on this guy”, I mean I feel nervous about exposing how my mind works. Even now  I’m freaking out. I don’t enjoy being teased (which is, I guess, what I think is going to happen). Then again, that’s the whole purpose of this, I’m trying to overcome my fears and take criticism and comments alike. It’s my therapy blog. 

Today’s entry comes in no particular order. In fact I was leafing through the book trying to find one that seemed a bit tame, or at least something that I could get behind. I needed a good starter, not something completely overwhelming. There have been some posts that made me grimace. I didn’t think those would have been a good opening number. You should never start the performance off with your best act. 

I remember writing this entry after coming home from the dentist (a different dentist than the one I saw yesterday). I was getting fitted for a night guard because I had been suffering lots of stress and it was causing me to clench my teeth, which is turn gave me terrible headaches. The dentist was an elderly man. I had never been to him before and since my regular doctor was unavailable I decided to see him.

I’m sorry, I had to pause for a moment. I knew what happens next and that little voice in my head was screaming at me to disconnect. For a moment or two I did, completely shut down. Like C3PO switching off in Star Wars (that scene in Obi Wan’s hut with Luke, R2D2 and Princess Leia’s message).

I got into the chair and told him what was bothering me. For awhile things were pretty dentist-office-visit-standard. As he was fitting me for the mouth guard, I was laying almost completely horizontal in the chair. The dentist “casually” brushed his fingers up and down my leg, or gripped me just above the knee with the majority of his hand far to close to my inner thigh area and “caress” my face. 

I wanted so desperately to react, to smack his hands away and scream. But I shut down, as I always do. Every time this had happened in past situations I crawled into myself, found a corner of my mind no one could reach and rode it out. The deeper I went the less I would feel. But all the while I was crying on the inside. I see a little girl in the corner of a dark room clutching a teddy bear. She is crying and pleading over and over “stop….just stop…please. Stop it.” She cries some more. That little girl is me. 

The appointment ended, he told me to come back and see him to get a final fitting. I walked out of the office, got into my car and screamed. I kicked and punched in the inside of that poor car. Just flailing like I was having a seizure. Needless to say, I did NOT go back. That evening I cursed myself for not being strong enough. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to say “NO”. Every goddamn time I switch off. 

Image

That night I contemplated suicide, which was common, hence the artistically drawn bullet hole. 

I’m getting rather agitated, so I think this will have to be the end this post right here for today. I’m already past the point of restless frustration and I want to cry.The rekindled memories and sitting here for over an hour (I kept getting interrupted, like five thousand times). I’m just going to toss in the towel and prep for tomorrow.

Thanks for reading.