(dad hanged himself, and i have to guilt-trip for a minute, so, ha?)
anti-anxiety meds, and a psychiatrist who can totally see why anxiety could be what's left, not depression, so i am over the moon! very fun, intelligent woman, and able to see people for who we are. that's a sweet, sweet spot! people are all so different, i never know when i'll find someone i trust as a psychiatrist or therapist.
so, yeah, this is gonna rock the breakdown.
but i'm writing about fatso because i know i was too ashamed to talk about the beatings much, and the rapes, just what he said to me about being ugly...when we were making out, that he loved me and couldn't bear to have this between us, but then somewhere down the road "you're ugly" and then kissing all my friends and gloating, gloating, gloating
and they didn't realize how horribly he abused them behind their backs
and all i know, it could be that they're hiding things from me too because who wants to say "hey, he called you fart breath" or "you're frigid, he says"? i wanted them to get away from him but it was constantly spun as jealousy...but who enjoys being told week after week about how her friends performed, underperformed, or over performed sexually that week?
he didn't harm them physically. i tried to get someone to understand i really needed help
but i guess i was already programmed to be afraid of violence
and he had visited many daytime abuses upon my body, battered and bruised
until he was satisfied
i was utterly broken, really, truly
but i had josh, i always
josh, and he couldn't follow me there
but what's special about this rendition?
fatso is the root of all (my) self-evil
dad may have given him a hand, clif may have given him a hand--
clif and that zonbie at gally gave me lessons in self-harm, banging their heads bloody and hands the same on any surface that looked like a wall, and even mirrors and wood, and glass--
but the heart of the ugliness of the fear of the sweats and the shakes
takes me right back to MSSD under the night sky dodging security sweeping above the library, the hole sucking the life right out of the room, the glass, the eyes he'd make me stare into before
and i didn't want
anything else then, truly, those eyes
and i knew those nights i would give anything to have a magic carpet
but i just slipped into slack detachment, not even feeling
nothing but reeling, reeling, a crushing heartbreak, nothing but physics
i knew those nights
i would never consider it love