Does it exist? Is there hope, or potential, or even the slightest, most remote possibility that this part of me can ever be healed? Shit, healed is a stretch. I’d be elated with functional.
This part of life shouldn’t hurt. The part where someone who is safe and loving…loves you.
You shouldn’t be afraid. You shouldn’t have to be so drunk that the next morning, you question if it even happened.
I trust him, I love him. He isn’t the one who hurt me.
He wasn’t the one who held me down and got me drunk for years, who made me realize that my “no’s” didn’t mean a damn thing. He isn’t the one who got high, got me alone, and thought that I was now his property. That he could pin me down and do whatever he wanted to me. Even though I tried to fight him off of me physically.
And he isn’t the one who basically raised me, who I thought I was safe with, only to continuously fuck me up and destroy the most fragile part of me.
No, he isn’t any of those people.
maybe it’s just me.
He isn’t Brian. Or Vinny. Or the one who lives next door. Yeah, I’m calling you out. Not that you’d ever know it, but I’ve ever said your names before.
I’m no stranger to this shit show. I’d take any abuse gleefully over this. Over my past…over my fucking present.
Why can’t I just be normal? Why can’t I be like…a fucking happily married, normal person, who can just allow herself to feel safe when the person they’re with is actually just that? Safe….. ? Probably.
I feel broken. I feel so fucking used and broken and messed up. My mind is everywhere other than where it should be. On my best nights, alcohol has done it’s job and it doesn’t matter where my mind is.
But on the worst nights, I’m reliving any of those past fucked up experiences.
I hate them. All 3 of them.
They all took a part of me, some worse than others, and fucking left me there to die.
Why can’t this part of me just ever feel okay again…
I just want to be able to be with my husband…someone who actually does love me…without dealing with the crippling fear of it all.
I don’t even know what I’m afraid of, or why it fucks me up so badly.
But it does.
Whenever the potential of sexual contact is even a slight possibility for that night….you can guarantee that my “2 or 3” drinks is going to become more like “5 or 6”.
And I just don’t want it to be like this! I hate it. I’m suffering.
I’m fucking broken. And I hate myself for it every single fucking time.
If there are ever nights that I want to die, it’s the ones like these. Ones where I’m not drunk enough, so I avoid him instead, too fucking afraid of something that isn’t something to fear. Missing out on love, missing out on connection…missing out on so much of what I need emotionally. Just to feel close to him.
Did I mention that we were at his house earlier tonight? The one who made the list? The one who raised me, and then took it upon himself to destroy the already insanely fucked up part of me that I was working to rebuild?
I just want this part of it to be better.
If nothing else about my life changes…it needs to be this.
It’s haunting, and it’s keeping me drinking way too much…and I can’t get past it.
Not to mention, my husband doesn’t deserve to have this much of a fucked up wife.
I just need this part of me to not be so fucking broken anymore.