Sunday, August 17, 2014

squabbling with scrabble

so, heh, true story.

i told therapist lady about a third of what happened with floyd and it's not so bad to live. i'm still dealing ugh a few really bad anniversaries this summer and right now it's all the break-ups with joe last august. all the violence and me just sighing and trying to pry his hands off, then remarking occasionally that loving him was really the reason i had to be so rational and detached: if anything got to me he'd use it for more violence and oppression. not my bag.

never been my bag. since i was young i've been observant and knew from a single-digit age that girls look like fodder and that girls wear pants, and that my pants only get paid for with a sassy mouth. employing it is, she has said, which is what i've been saying is true, and everyone's been assuring me is a stack of lies i need for manipulation--

--why all this rape and beating has been going down. and that since it's what i've chosen, to face the onslaught and stand strong...all that's left is figuring out ways to stand strong no matter how many people turn against me and break my heart.

and she understood why i found the whole thing with floyd funny, why i think it's hilarious, why it really did go down the way i say it did. being new to me again and kinda freaked out and scared and still tachy from being raped and all--and being told by my therapist that i couldn't choose the healthier option because it wasn't good for him...

she knows he's not seeing it how my past led up to it and that it's still okay that i did what i did.

so everything's calming down. he's not on my mind at all, until just now, as i was processing the last month of sessions. i'm glad we're untangled enough for her to put together all the pieces.

she's saying everything i thought was true and people were trying to threaten and push and beat and rape me out of my convictions about. so it's okay--

--and we have to go back to fatso. i hate calling him that but the years i spent cutting--some of the cuts were his name, to forget it for weeks on end, to see it in my mind as a slur of sljnkied coils. what he did to me was torture and make me eat and eat and eat myself fat. so what do i have to sling back? his reason when he started abusing me back when we were teens...he was sad that he'd been picked on: "fat!"

and that isn't really the reason you beat and yank and push and lob heavy objects at and steal from and make fun of and rape and enjoy raping, enjoy it with a drooling smile, your "first love."

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