[something i wrote a long while ago]
only you can heal inside.
that's what all the good books say.
those books I've read overandoverandoverandover again.
they all say the same thing. it's up to you. only you can save yourself.
and, i say if there was a God I would spit in his face for subjecting me to this. if there was a Devil, I would sell him my soul to make it end. if there was something higher than ourselves that controlled our
fates, I would tell it to take my fate and shove it up its fucking ass. shove it hard and far, you motherfucker.
just make it end. make it end.
please make this pain end.
march 1982 was when my world as I knew it stopped. it froze. my life froze in time. it was also when I first learned to run away inside my mind. run away so far nobody could find me and nobody could hurt me
and nobody could claim to love me and then leave me all alone. the only person who I ever knew to love me, reallyreally love me, as a child was my daddy.
march 1982 took him away from me. I fucking hate that month, that year. I wish it never existed, that I never existed. then I would not know what it's like to taste the metallic dirty vile of death coursing
through my veins. fucking march 1982, fuck you. fuck god, fuck the devil, and fuck fate too.
the first time I learned to run away from the pain was the day I saw him lying in his casket at the funeral. I was nine. a child. in my innocence I tried to kiss him goodbye and the man at the funeral told me not to touch his face because the bones would fall in. don't touch his chest because they would fall in. but look at his hands, hardly
any scratches. isn't that ironic? what does ironic mean? one day you will understand little girl. but you can kiss his forehead, that will be okay.
I hear screams in the background. they're not mine. too many screams to know who is screaming. I kiss his forehead quickly. I scream but nobody can hear me. I scream on the inside, I push it down, down,
down, down as far as it will go. I kiss my daddy for the last time and I turn and run. I run as fast as I can in the pretty new dress I got just for this occasion. is that what you would call ironic? a pretty
new dress to kiss my father's lifeless forehead for the last time? push it down. don't cry. push it down, push, push. far, swallow it down.
and I ran and I ran and I ran into myself. so far that I never found that girl I once was ever again. innocence gone forever. push it down. run.
I talk to him still. I don't know if he hears me. his love for me was too strong to just die with him. that's what I told myself, tell
myself. doesn't love stretch beyond the flesh? I don't know. all I know is that his love is still alive in me. the only love I ever truly felt. I've never felt love since then. that's not to say that I haven't been loved. because I have been. it's just that I never felt it. I probably never will. because I run from it. I run from it because I don't want to lose it again.
so I am eternally alone. alone but in the world. alone in my heart and in my mind. alone everywhere, all the time. alone with my family, alone with my friends, alone in a room full of people. alone when I
wake, alone through each fucking awful day, alone when I meet the blackness. alone in my pain, alone in my horror.
I don't want to be alone but I will never let anyone inside. I hate it. I fucking hate it. I hate that when I scream nobody can hear me because I only scream on the inside. more than anything, all I ever wanted was to feel as if I wasn't alone. I have tried many times, tried to kill my loneliness with a boy, and it was never right. we
would be together and be close to each other, but no matter how close we were, I still felt alone. they felt that loneliness and it made them want to get closer. when they tried, I either ran or did something to destroy what we felt for each other. I can run fast when I want to run fast, and I've always been good at destroying things.
march 1982 taught me how to do that.
when I want to feel close, I run to the place where my father's grave is. I lie down on the grass next to his grave and I stare at the heavens. sometimes I talk. sometimes I cry. sometimes I just lie
there. sometimes I pound my fists into the ground and I scream on the inside. scream so loud that it feels like my organs will explode. I can feel them vibrate with each scream. and I pound and I scratch the dirt and I scream at the gods and the devils and the so-called fates
and at life and at my inability to live in this world without him, without the first person who taught me what it was like to be loved.
and, I run. I run until I can't run no more. I'm tired of running now. I need rest, I need to crawl into the arms of the one who I can trust to replace the love I felt for him. the one who can let me scream on
the outside, who will place his fingers over my mouth and say it's okay, you don't have to scream anymore. the one who will let me become who I was meant to be before march 1982 stole my innocence, if that innocence can ever be reclaimed.