I can’t sleep
A sound outside the room
I wake up
Darkness all around
I checked for the monsters under my bed but not the ones in my head
I see his shadowy figure standing in that doorway
The lock. That door was locked. But it didn’t stop him.
Hand over my mouth.
Blackness. Nausea. Pleasure. Fear. Breaking. Breaking. Breaking.
I feel hands running up and down my body and when it’s not enough viscious punishment cruel spiked words a rebuke a slap
It’s hell to go to sleep
When most people close their eyes they dream something harmless like accidentally kissing a frog and oh no tongue warts are permanent. They wake up think “oh that was strange” and go to their daily life.
I wake up feeling sick to my stomach. Shamed. Disgusting. Ugly.
I can still feel shivers of nausea shaking my body from the urge to throw up everything I have ever eaten, to purge this feeling of being… dirty.
I’m there but not there. Reflections of what happened flash like lightning into my mind over and over again throughout the day. I get angry at men who remind me of him. I lash out sharply at anyone who gets close enough to touch me because I don’t know much but I know the world can be a cruel savage place and I’d rather not open my heart at the moment.
I remember the first nightmare. I remember waking in the middle of the night, fear in my eyes, paralyzed by shock. I remember it so vividly. I had to check every night. Spend hours convincing myself I was not being raped just so I could get 4 hours of constantly interrupted sleep. I remember prayer after prayer asking for the nightmares to leave. These nightmares I didn’t understand. Nightmares worse than death. Death in the physical body is a form of ending, of release. Death in the soul, in the heart, is an ending where you are still alive but life is too painful to be considered living.
Night after night alone. Music scriptures mindfulness exercise….
No one understands the horrors behind my eyes. The pain that makes life somehow death. The darkness in my heart constantly tearing me apart. The loneliness.
Being around happy people who do not have my struggles is exhausting. I tell the same lies put on a smiling face and keep my secrets while inside I die. They won’t look. They won’t see. And meanwhile I am even more alone and afraid because I am trapped. No matter how hard I fight every day to pull out of this hell when the sun falls the past is my present and my past is enough to make the best, happiest person die of a broken heart.
That’s how it feels sometimes. Deep depression. I feel pain in my heart and sadness deep in my center that does not leave. The sadness so deep in my heart I wonder if my heart wishes to stop beating. I wonder if my heart will physically break. Maybe one night will be too much and it won’t be my choice anymore.
Seeing the sun every morning is a gift to me because when the sun falls and I’m asleep I’m in a hell suffering night after night but during the day, I am awake to try to fight. No matter how exhausted the monsters left me the night before I have the chance to live just a little when the sun shines.
It’s painful to see happiness as I live this death-life. Because when the sun falls, I fall. When the sun rises bright as fresh blood, drinking in my wounds from the night before, and I rise with it just as stained.