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!

Why?

Domestic violence victim

That crucifix of yours
Rough covered and sharp
Made with prejudice and a harsh tongue
Unwavering
Rigid
Alone in its thoughtless dust

Then you took my hand
And held it firm to the cross
I walked away riddled in splinters
“That’s love” you would say
You even assured me that our bond was holy
But the pain made me question my faith

When the roses began to wilt
And the thorns grew longer
My quiet heart was trapped
Beating against me as it tried to grow

Until I was bleeding
It was then that I realized
You used my faith against me
Pricked my fingers and called it love
Yet I remained
And now I wonder

Why?

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…