Alley Kid Eleven

I can feel the phet beginning to clear away as the light of a new day comes in. It washes away the dark and takes it from the outside and puts it on the inside, like a dirty puddle in my mind.silhouette of man/male on wall, cast by orange light /sunset.

The lightness from the phet inside my head gets replaced by darkness. I can feel it; a weight behind my eyes. Suffocating me. Dying on the inside once more. Often, I wish I could close my eyes and never open them again. I don’t want to die; I just want to make it all stop. Something to fill the gaping hole inside.

Karla is in the bathroom while I get dressed in the bedroom. I wonder what I’m doing. Why I’m doing it. I have no desire to be with Karla, but then I have no desire to be with anyone.

I have to leave before someone in her house wakes. She lives with her parents. I don’t want them to catch me. I don’t want them to know my face; to familiarise themselves with who is sleeping with their daughter.

Part of me wishes she would leave me alone. She wants more than I can give. More than I am capable of. She wants the world and I am nothing more than a waste of her time. Yet I cant end it. Part of me craves the fact that she wants me. What if I was to leave fully and it was a mistake?

Karla comes back out of the bathroom and I tell her I have to go.

“Can I see you tomorrow?” She asks. I don’t really know. I give a non-committal nod. I’m not sure what I’ll be doing tomorrow. I just want to go home.

I say my goodbyes, but I don’t end it with a kiss. She waits for one. I feel it. But she’s just like everyone else, waiting for what she wants and not seeing what it is I want. Not that I know. Everything feels pointless.

I get back to our flat and Joanne says nothing as I get in and it’s after 6am. She doesn’t care either. A quick stop off at the fuelling station on my way home for cigarettes and she’s happy. Of course when I walk through the door it’s as though she didn’t notice I was gone. The place is spotless. She and Angela are sat smoking and chatting. The overflowing ash tray sits on the table. I throw her a new pack as I pop my head around the door before going to my own bedroom to gain my happiness again.

Its almost an instant lift as I take the phet. Like pressing a button inside my mind and everything feels great again. The adrenaline up along my spine clears away the darkness and I feel normal once more. Normal enough that I go and join Joanne and Angela. Normal enough that I can sit and talk and I don’t really care what we talk about. Usually men with Joanne. She laughs and jokes.

Between the chaos, the days just go passed. It feels as though we have sat there the entire time. I haven’t seen Maz, but that is not unusual either. She takes days of rest, days away from this life where she sleeps. I don’t blame her. Sometimes I wish I could do the same. To close my eyes and sleep the days away.

Five days I have been going on the phet. I can smell it on my skin. My body sweats it out. We just have a little left now. The money is all gone. Woody came around and gave us what we needed. He went away pleased with almost three hundred pounds in his pocket. I have cigarettes and phet, I don’t need anything else. Will is still at his mother’s. Colin is with us and he doesn’t seem to mind that we have been awake the entire time. Mark has been a few times to take his brother out. Part of me gets on edge when I see him. Maybe today will be the day the police catch him here. I haven’t seen Phil or Becci. I wonder what he thinks of his car.

Joanne and I sit in the lounge. It’s morning. That itself always feel strange to me. When I have been awake all night and we watch the new day come in, it feels as though I’m outside of the world. Like I am watching people on the inside get up and do normal everyday things. They missed the new day come in. How strange for them. They went to bed and when they wake, it’s all different.

“We have a bit of money left,” Joanne says. “Shall we get some more phet?”

My mind screams yes, I want to. I don’t want to feel the darkness. But I know I need to rest. Five days, my jeans are loose. I can feel my bones. Maybe another day and it could fix everything. Fight away the dark. Not listen to my father tell me I am fat.

I sit on the sofa and turn on the television. The week’s daytime television is just beginning. I can hear my cat, Sooty. I haven’t seen him for a few days. He’s crying in the hallway. Joanne is on the sofa opposite putting on her shoes. l go to get the cat while she goes out for more phet. But I turn to stand and he is there. Behind her.

I lose control in that moment. He’s right there. I see his face. Just as I did when I was a child. The bad man. The man of my nightmares. The one who came to my room every night. I scream and back myself away as fast as I can. Joanne stands up. She is screaming at me, but I’m not looking at her. I’m looking at him. His eyes, his smiles. The darkness that is there, it holds his intent. No one can help me. He’s blocking the door and I can’t get away.

I can’t breathe. I clutch my chest. It is tight. Joanne grabs my arms. She shakes me. Asks me what’s wrong. I pull away from her. I have to get away. I look at the door he has gone. I can’t hear sooty. Maybe he killed him. I remember the cat. The one in the woods. Just the same. Its black and it can’t get away and the man killed him.

I move back from Joanne. I can’t get the air in. I’m going to pass out. I know it. I can’t breathe. “I’m calling an ambulance,” she says as I clutch my throat to try and get air. I shake my head and tell her no. They can’t come. They’ll know about the phet.

“What’s wrong?” She yells at me.

I’m shouting. She can’t understand. I can’t get the words out enough for her to get them. I gasp for breath. I shout. “He’s there, and point at the hallway. No one is there.

I get to the window and open it. Joanne yells at me again. “What are you doing?”

“He’s here,” I shout. I can’t shout hard enough to make him go away. I can’t make Joanne understand that he is there. I can see him. In the shadows out in the hallway.

“I’m going to call the ambulance,” she says to me again as I try and hold myself up. The room is spinning. I need air, but I can’t get it. My throat is closing. I can’t breathe deeply enough. Joanne gets the phone and I take it off her.

“No,” I say. I smash it down onto the table so she can’t call. She can’t call anyone. I watch for him at the door. The bad man. I can see him.

“I’m going to get Maz,” she yells at me. She is crying. “Stay here.”

Joanne leaves, but I can see him there. His eyes in the darkness. The silhouette of him. Like in the dark when I was little. The way he stood at the end of my bed before he got me. When I was little and couldn’t fight him off. When he did what he wanted and no one came.

I’m crying and screaming and yelling at him to leave. He doesn’t move. I open the window more and get my foot out of it. I don’t care that it’s the top floor. I need to get out, I won’t fall. It’s a big ledge. I’m half out the window. I can hear him. He’s making sounds like before. Like a growl.

I hear all the noises in the kitchen. I don’t know what it is. I get more out of the window ready to jump. No one can get me if I jump. It’s better than him. Better than his nails and his teeth and the things he’ll do to me.

Maz runs into the room. She doesn’t come very close. She shouts my name, but I can’t come in. But he’s gone. I can’t see him now. Maybe he is hiding. Maz walks slow to me. She puts her hands out. She is crying too. “Please don’t move,” she says to me. Joanne is with her. She stays behind.

Maz moves forwards. She grabs my hand and pulls me in. She wraps her arms around me. I can’t breathe still. She sits me down, she doesn’t let go. She lies down with me and wraps herself around me.

“He was there,” I try and tell her, but my words don’t come out.

“Don’t try to talk,” she tells me. She runs her fingers through my hair. I close my eyes and let go. “You’ve overdosed.”

Shadows

The hot sting of a scratch, the grip of a hand. The smile, the laughter from a torturous face.  I lay in bed asleep, these things invaded my dreams until my mind woke up and told me to open my eyes. He’s here. He has you, you fell asleep again and he got you. I jumped up in bed, yelled at him to let me go. Fought with him, anything I could to get him off me. I shouted for help, as always even though I knew none would come, and then I realised he wasn’t there. shadow-man

I searched my arm like crazy. I could feel the impression on my skin where he had held me. I could feel where my arm burnt as he clawed down my skin. I could feel his breath. I could hear his laughter in my ears. My room was just as I had left it when I closed my eyes. The door was shut tight. The lights were on; he was not and had not been there.

Yet today he felt so real.

I can’t reach.

Some days, like today feel as though I have just come out of a hole and the whole world moved on and I didn’t recall it happening. It feels like it’s been weeks, not just days since I have posted here, or written anything at all. I thank all those so much that did reply to my two forgiveness posts. I will reply to you, because the support I feel I get is so huge. I wish I could show each of you.

My nights have been long this last week and filled with nightmares, more than I am used to. One night I even woke screaming and I was sure that I was a child and I was in my room and the man, I named in my books as the bad man was there. He was so real to me, although his face and identity still remains hidden.

Perhaps some part of my mind wants to show me something. I have never had nights as bad as these all night and every night. I wake and I am little in my mind. He’s there and it’s taking me a few minutes to realise, no he isn’t and I am safe.

Safe.

I wish I knew what that actually felt like. I can tell myself I am safe, that I am an adult and he can’t get me.  I feel like I am going crazy.

I have many people to apologise to, so many since my last posts on here that I still haven’t got myself to talk to properly. I’m finding it hard to talk. People want to chat about the ordinary things and all I can think is why does any of it matter? But then who am I to ask that?

My self harm hasn’t stopped, twice today. I can’t dig in deep enough to cut away what it is I’m trying to remove. I don’t even know what it is that I am trying to reach. I can’t get clean. Not in the germ dirty sense, but somewhere inside I feel something. I can’t wash it away, I can’t cut it away. It’s driving me insane.

Talking here, or talking to anyone, I just want to tell myself to shut up. None of it matters.

 

Alley Kid Part Eight

Phil arrives but he doesn’t come in. He sits outside in his car and sounds his horn. I tell Colin to hurry up and get his shoes on

“You don’t have to do this,” says Maz, again. I don’t know why she is worried. I’m not, iI’s a fool-proof plan.

“I’ll be fine, I promise.” I tell her and then I kiss her and she puts her arms around me.

“You better come to mine when you get back so I know you’re okay.”

I swear I will, and I shout Colin one more time to get a move on. Phil isn’t one to be made to wait. I stand by the door and wait for Colin and he runs out passed me, to the car. Joanne comes too. Becci is sat in the back of the car. She doesn’t look at me or Joanne. Colin climbs in and over her. Joanne goes around the other side.

“Move up you stupid cow,” Phil says to Becci, and none of us look at her.

 I feel her embarrassment inside. I don’t want to see it reflected on her face. I have already noticed the tears in her eyes as she tries not to look at any of us.

We get in and before I have a chance to put my seatbelt on, Phil puts his foot down, and the car slides as he wheel-spins it. He laughs at the look on Becci’s face as he glances in the rear view mirror.

“Cheer up you miserable git, or get out.”

She doesn’t smile, nor does she look at him. He slams his foot down and stops the car, and stares at her, waiting for her to make a decision.

She sits forward, and I open my door, and get out of my seat so that she can climb out of the back of his two-door car. She puts her hands on the back of the front seat to steady herself and Phil swings and lands his fist in her face.

 “Sit down,” he says. He looks up at me, “I can’t believe you were going to let her get out of the car.”

I shrug; there isn’t much I can say to him, he’s in that kind of mood. It’s easier to be quiet. I get back in the car, put my seatbelt on, and we set off again. Phil, wheel-spins the car once more, but no one says nor does anything. He doesn’t stop, and we drive towards the main industrial estate where the store is with the television. All the time, my mind thinks about Maz’s words about the money and what I could do with it. It would be nothing for me to just sell sex that way. What did it actually matter? They were just strangers, and it was nothing. I wondered if Joanne would mind. I was pretty sure she wouldn’t if it got us some money.

We pull up outside the store, and the television we need is in the window. Phil gives me some paperwork and I read it.

“It has my name on it,” I say to him, “I thought I was using someone else’s details.”

“I couldn’t get them, but my uncle said we could do it this way, it’s all the same. Your credit’s clear right?”

I want to say no and get out of the car and go home. It doesn’t feel right now, but I can’t spend more days with no phet. I already feel the dread and darkness within. I know I won’t survive until Tuesday when my social security comes in. I don’t have a choice.

I get out of the car and we all go into the store. I stare at the television like it’s going to come out and bite me. I don’t know if I have it in me to ask and say that I like that one. I tell myself it’s five hundred pounds and think about what I can do with that.

A sales assistant notices us, comes over, and I smile at him.

“Can I help you?” He says. I stammer my words. My mind isn’t working, and I feel hot.

“We’re looking at this television,” says Phil to the assistant. “It says a year on credit.”

The assistant nods. “Yes,” he says.

“We’ll take it,” says Phil, without hesitation.

“Do you have an ID?”

My hands are shaking as I tell him yes and try to unfold the papers to give to him. Utility bills with my name on them.

“Do you have anything else? Passport?”

“Driving licence?” I offer.

He nods yes. I pull it from my wallet and give it to him. He tells us to wait a moment and then he’ll be back.

I try not to stare at him from across the store as he loads my details in his computer, and calls someone for a credit check. I know my credit is clean. I’ve never used it. It doesn’t take long for him to come back, but already Colin is growing bored.

“Take him outside,” says Phil to Becci.

“It’s freezing out there,” she says, but he doesn’t care.

He stares at her and waits. She sighs and takes Colin’s hand and leads him outside.

“Great news,” says the assistant. “I just need your bank details and we can arrange delivery.”

“Can’t we take it with us?” Asks Phil right away.

The assistant eyes us oddly as though he doesn’t get that often.

“Of course, if you want to,” he says. “This way.”

We follow him and Joanne is silent as she comes with us. Part of me wishes to hold her hand, not because she offers me comfort, but because I need something. My insides have done nothing but turn over, and I fear in a moment I could vomit from the nerves and the anticipation of my next fix. I wish Maz was with me.

It doesn’t take long to fill everything in. The assistant offers me a print out and tells me to read it. I stare at the words. None of them make any sense. They are nothing more than black marks on the paper. I sign anyway. It doesn’t matter. I pull my bank book from my pocket and pass it over him. He copies down the details and asks me to sign for payment.

It’s as easy as that, and I wonder why I was worried.

“If you want to bring your car around back,” he says to us, “then we can load the television, and you can be on your way.”

I thank him and shake his hand, then I follow Phil. He’s already stood up and left. I can’t keep from smiling at how easy it is. Soon the money will be mine, and then everything will be right again.

“What about paying it off?” I asked Phil when I catch him up. “He took my bank details.”

“Don’t worry,” Phil reassures me. My Uncle will write you a letter to show you lost your job; they have insurance to cover these things.”

 I calm a little at his words. I never knew that. I have never taken anything out on credit before.

We drive around back and two warehouse workers bring the television, and load it into the boot of the car. It’s massive. I wonder how all of us, plus it, will fit inside, but I don’t say anything.

Once it’s in, one of them gives me more paperwork to sign to say I received it, and they go back inside, leaving us to squash up. We have to have the rear seats wedged forward, and Colin sits on my knee in the front of the car.

“I’ll drop you at a cafe around the corner,” Phil says. “Then I’ll take the television to my uncle and meet you back there.” He hands me a twenty pound note to buy some food.

It’s nice at the cafe. I feel happy as I order myself a decent dinner and tell Colin he can get what he wants. Joanne orders a burger, but Colin’s delight makes him loud, and he can’t choose. I order him a milkshake and burger too.

I watch the smile on his face. Maz is right; I’ll call Lorraine in the week. I’m sure nothing can break my mood as we sit and wait for Becci and Phil to come back with my money.

 

 

Blog Flash Day 3 – Colour

When I was little I used to think that when I was big and all grown up maybe I’d be able to touch the sky, maybe I could touch the colours of a rainbow and they’d feel funny, blue would be cold and red would be hot, yellow would be like touching the warmth of sunshine and green would tickle like soft blades of grass. When I was small I touched colour with my mind.

Blog Flash 2012. Day One.

#BlogFlash2012: 30 Days, 30 Prompts, 30 PostsI’m always up for a good challenge when it comes to writing. I thrive on them and so does my words. 30 posts, 30 days 30 prompts. I can do this.

#BlogFlash2012

Day 1 – Thinking.

So today I am thinking, Telling Teddy has just been released a few days ago, it’s doing okay. Dear Teddy is doing great also. It’s Camp Nano.  I don’t miss
NanoWriMo challenges,  I think I am a challenge junkie, it’s what keeps me going and keeps me sane, it did as a child. Perhaps it is because I have a goal, something to focus my very active mind on other than the stuff that weighs me down and makes me want to drown. Do I re-write The Adventures of Stupid Boy (Dear Teddy three) for Camp Nano?

Day 1. Thinking.

How Far We’ve Come.

How Far We’ve Come.

It’s been a long road, I’m still travelling it. Along the way, there have been many ups and many downs. I’ve crossed many hurdles and I am sure there are even more to come, but sometimes it is nice to just celebrate the highs. That’s the purpose of this post.

July 4th. I sat and watched my son graduate from his class in culinary school. He has special needs. If someone had asked me when he was little, the little boy that wouldn’t even talk, I would have not thought it was possible for him.

He made me proud.

This is a short story I had written not so long ago based on a memory of mine, though I am sure he doesn’t really recall the first time he spoke. I am sure I will remember it forever.

 

*  *  *

The snow is falling outside. It started just a little while ago. I see it out of the window as I stare into the darkness and watch it coat the ground, leaving a blanket of untouched whiteness. It’s falling fast, thick and heavy. We don’t get to see snow so often; if we do it doesn’t tend to stay. The sea air sees to that. I press my face against the glass and look out along our street. It’s quiet and peaceful; everyone is sleeping. Everyone but me.

My breath fogs up the cool glass and I wipe it away. Will has never seen snow. Not real snow like this. I wonder if it would be wrong to wake him. Perhaps it would be wrong to chance him missing this.  All children should see snow at least once in their lives. It’s like magic.

I find my boots and coat and put them on. I grab Will’s too. He isn’t sleeping either when I poke my head around his open door.

“Do you want to come and see some snow?” I ask him.

He doesn’t answer me. I show him his coat and  boots as I kneel down beside his bed.

“It’s falling real fast,” I say. “Do you want to come and see it?”

He doesn’t say a word to me, but he takes my offered hand and lets me pull him into sitting position. I put his boots on his feet and tuck his Spiderman pyjamas inside. No need to get dressed. I put his coat on and zip it all the way up to his chin.  I add a hat and pull it down over his ears. I smile at him, but his mouth doesn’t even twitch.

His small hand rests in mine. He lets me lead him down the stairs to the door of our apartment. We go out of our door, across the hall and outside into the cold night. The air is fresh. For a moment I stop and take it in. The snow is soft under my boots as I step out. Will takes one step and then he stops.

“Its real snow Will,” I say. “Do you like it?”

I hope he does. All four year olds like snow.

Will doesn’t say. He doesn’t speak. Not even a murmur. I know he’s in there somewhere as I watch him for any reaction. Maybe the snow would make him utter his first word.

“Snow,” I say in hope, but no.

He says nothing again.

I bend and scoop some  off the ground. I offer it out to him. Will looks at it. His  mouth doesn’t move, not even his expression changes. I keep my sigh inside so that he doesn’t see it.

I reach for his hand and turn it over. Placing the snow in the palm of his hand, I push his small pudgy fingers closed around it. I watch his face as he touches the snow for the first time. I hold my breath a little, waiting for just a spark. A little one. One to say that he feels it.

“Its snow Will, you like snow?”

He stares up at me with innocent blue eyes. Eyes that match mine in colour only. My innocence was never there, but I’m trying. Trying to ensure that Will keeps it and my tainted life doesn’t ruin his.

“I wish you would talk,” I say to him as my hand closes over his. “Do you want to make a snowman?” I ask. “Like in your story book? We can give him a hat and a scarf and then he won’t be cold.”

I’ve never made a snowman myself, but I have seen it done. I put my hand on the snow and push it down to leave a trace that we were there. Will doesn’t make a move. His hand is still out holding the snow that I gave him. His hand has gone red from the cold and guilt bites at me.

What was I thinking? I open his fingers and push the snow away. His hand is so cold. I hold it between mine and try to rub it to give him some warmth again.

“I’m sorry,” I say as I breathe onto his icy fingers. “Let’s go back inside and get warm. “

I glance back at the snow. My chest feels heavy. I hoped it might work. Something new. Something he had never seen before. Perhaps it would break him from his shell and bring out the little boy I knew was in there.

I take Will’s hand and go to lead him back into the building, but he doesn’t move. He stands still; his feet firm. He isn’t going to come.

“Come on, it’s cold,” I say, but he doesn’t respond.

He lets go of my hand and walks toward the road. It’s clear, but I jump down anyway and try and get in front of him without startling him. If I startle him, he will scream. We were one notice away from eviction. I glance at the window of the woman that lives below us and pray that she is sleeping.

“Will,” I say. “Come on mate.”

He stops at the kerb and turns to look at me. He takes off his hat and holds it out to me.

“Talk to me,” I say to him. “I don’t understand what you want. You don’t want to wear your hat?”

He pushes it at me, against my chest. The only sound coming from his mouth is the usual frustrated murmur as I try and decipher what he wants. I don’t know what it is.

He goes silent and lets go of his hat. He bends down to the snow and scoops up a handful. He gives it to me.

“You want to make a snowman?” I ask him, I don’t really know.

I’m guessing in desperation so I don’t set him off.  All I have is what I feel. Maybe I will get it wrong or maybe I will get it right. I don’t know.

I take the snow and squeeze it together into a ball. I roll it on the ground. Will doesn’t move nor does he help as he watches. The ball gets bigger as I roll it. I make it big enough for a snowman’s belly.

I do the same again with another to make the head. Just a little smaller. I lift it onto the snowman belly. I glance at Will. He is just watching me.

“Do you want to make his face?” I ask. “Shall we give him stones for eyes?”

I dig in the yard of the neighbours. I know they have gravel and stones for decorations. They won’t miss a few. Not while we have the snow. I make the snowman’s face and give him a smile.

“Do you want me to give him your hat?”

I wait a second for a reaction before placing it on the bald snowman’s head. Will looks up at him. I pause.

A smile? Please. I wish.

Will turns and walks away; his face blank.

“Will?”

He walks into the building and up the flight of stairs. I stay where I am and watch where he just vacated. I don’t know what to do. Did I upset him? Did I fail as his father once more? I look at the snowman. He smiles at me in the dark.

“I tried,” I say to him and then I shrug, defeated.

I go inside after Will.

Will has gone to his room and taken off his coat. His boots are lined up perfect. His coat is neat and straight. His bed covers look like no one has moved except for the small form of a child. He is lying still; his eyes are open and he stares at the ceiling.

I clutch the door frame and watch him in the dark. Holding onto my failure. He doesn’t even know I am there.

“I’m sorry,” I say to him. “I wish it could be better for you. You deserve it.” I sigh. “You don’t deserve me.”

The night becomes day and I wake. I’m sitting on the floor at his doorway. Will is awake too. He gets out of bed and steps over me to go to the bathroom. I hear him use the toilet and then the sink. Three pumps on the soap like he was taught. He washes his hands. Two exact minutes as he brushes his teeth. He leaves the bathroom and walks over me once more into his room and gets dressed in the right order. Socks, underpants, t-shirt, pants and sweater.

“Do you want some breakfast?” I ask him from where I still sit.

He doesn’t answer me.

He passes me again and goes into the kitchen. The fridge opens and I hear him scream;  so loud, it pulls my heart through my chest.  I am on my feet running to him without thinking about it.

He is stood with milk around his feet. The carton is on the floor.

“It’s okay,” I say to him as I try to clean it up, but he keeps screaming.

“Please don’t,” I beg him.

Soon she will bang on the door like we committed a great offence. Then she will complain. Just one more is needed. We don’t have room for any more strikes against us.

I pick him up and wrap my arms around him. I don’t bother to get his coat from his room. I just need to get us out of the apartment. I grab mine. It’s big enough for both of us and I race down the stairs. He calms down a little, but not much. The store is just around the corner. It isn’t far.

The snow is deep. It seeps into my jeans over my boots as soon as I step out, but it’s okay. We’re just going for milk. He wraps his legs around my waist and his arms around my neck.

“Hat,” Will says, as we reach the snowman at the kerb.

I stop. I’m frozen in time.

His voice resonates around my head. I try and catch up with what he said.

I’m not sure I heard him.

“Hat?” I ask him, but he says nothing.

“It’s okay,” I say as I wrap my arms around him as tight as I can.

He said hat.

JD Stockholm  2012©

I Am A Supporter.

I am a supporter.

I often think that supporters don’t get the credit they deserve. I think in many ways they suffer too. Some days worse than the survivor they support.  I do not envy my partner. I wouldn’t want to have to deal with me on a day to day basis. I couldn’t do it.

She has a voice. She wrote this and said I could share it.

All I can say to her is thank you.

I am a supporter.

I am also a partner, a friend, a shoulder and a confidant.

My partner is an abuse survivor and in the same way that supporter fills many shoes, the term abuse has many meanings.

Mental, Emotional, Physical and Sexual Abuse are all wrapped up in one horrific package called childhood; a loose term for what my partner’s actual learning years were until he was a teen. He lived it; breathed it. Abuse was normal in his eyes. For a countless number of children, the abuses they endured have been implanted into their minds. How they think, deduce, and make decisions. The way they understand their feelings and how well they manage them have been determined by their abuse.

Abuse is very much like a map and a child will follow whichever road the abuse leads him or her as well as fall back on the road traveled, which has become familiar. Actions that feel almost right to an abuse survivor can be very difficult for those of us who have not been abused, to see or even understand. We look at situations from a different angle that does not necessarily exist to a survivor.

These are some of the things I learned through my partner as we got to know one another and conflicts came into our relationship.

I am always in search of what it means to be a supporter.

I have wondered about people such as myself who have found themselves intertwined with the life of a survivor. My partner was reticent. Perhaps due to the personal information he had that I did not.  Abuse creates many fears and one of them is allowing oneself to be close to another person. Closeness implies trust, trust implies faith and faith implies that the relationship that begins as a seed will continue to grow as it progresses.

There was no reason for my survivor to have any faith that anything would go further than the words that were spoken. A thought or a wish was better left in that place; in his mind. Why should he put himself in a place to be hurt? He had a lifetime of it already. Why ask for more?

Yet, as time passed, the layers began to be peeled away and I found myself in a relationship with an abuse survivor. He was more than a man; he was many pieces to a 30-plus year puzzle and his pieces did not always fit. Some carried over from the past while others were like new discoveries; things he remembered that had long been buried.

The only thing I really understood was that he had been sexually abused by both of his parents. I had never known anyone in my life that was this close to me who had lived this sort of childhood and frankly, I had no idea what to expect. The road was rocky and on it traveled triggers, PTSD, DID, self harm and OCD. Some days were up while others were down and it wasn’t until my partner began to seek therapy that the full understanding  of what it would mean to be in a relationship with him truly was.

Mirror.

Mirror 

Note: I wrote this some weeks ago when I was at a point I didn’t see a way out of, I needed an outlet. I thought I would share. Could be triggering to those suffering self harm issues and possibly disassociation. Read with care.

When I look in the mirror I am shocked. That is not my face. That is not how I look. I want to claw his face away. It’s a lie. I am trapped in his body. I don’t look like that. 

I see what everyone sees. I see why they hurt him;   right there in his eyes. It is what he was made for and what he deserves. I hate when I see the tears in his eyes. He looks stupid when he cries. He doesn’t deserve to let the tears go.

You cannot cry for what you are. It’s his fault; he has no right to cry. He is bad. He is worthless. He doesn’t get to cry about that. 

I see his blood in the mirror but it isn’t right. I need to see it for real so that I can feel it. I can’t feel it in a reflection that is a lie. I need to see it happening. I need to feel it; the sharp burn as the skin gets cut.

I grind my teeth down because it hurts, but then I see him doing the same. He doesn’t get to keep the pain away. He isn’t allowed to.

It is his entire fault. I want to smash the mirror. I want to pull him out and beat him. I want him to go away and never come back. I want him to die.

I hate him.

 
He eats and he isn’t allowed. He doesn’t deserve food. He doesn’t deserve to taste things, but I watch him and he does it like he can’t help himself. He has no control. He should eat nothing. He should feel hunger. He should feel everything. 

He is a lie and everyone sees through it. Everyone knows that he is there to be hurt. But it’s not him that gets hurt, it’s me.

They get it wrong. 

I keep drifting off. Not to sleep; just somewhere. I get lost. Maybe he does it. Just like now. I don’t know where I have gone. I don’t really know. My mind keeps wandering. 

I like to watch the skin bleed. I like to watch when it burns from the kettle or the iron. I feel it when it goes over me like calming music. Every nerve reaches to feel it, but then he is there. He spoils it. 

Everything I do, he spoils. I get happy; I get content and think maybe this time things are right. They feel right, but then it’s him and he ruins everything.

I hate him.

Because of him, it all goes. Something happens and it is supposed to be him that gets hurt. Not me, but it’s me that feels it. Me that hurts.

I see the walls fall on the comfortable place I made. They crash down so loud I can’t hear anything else. It’s always this way. It happens every time. I’m a fool to believe that it is different. Foolish to believe in people. Foolish to believe that maybe this time he won’t ruin it. 

Each time is worse. I curl up inside and wish to be taken away. I just want it over. I ask all the time; just take me away. Make it stop. But I am never answered. I know there is no one listening.

 I can’t cut deep enough. I keep trying and it doesn’t go away. It just bleeds. I don’t want it to bleed. I just want to feel that pain and not this one.

He can’t even give me that. 

I want to smash his face in the mirror. 

About Me.

About Me..

My name is JD Stockholm. I am the soother of Dear Teddy.

This blog is mostly for my journey. To get those thoughts out that linger in my mind until I am driven crazy. Its sharing. Maybe someone reading will realise they are not alone. Maybe when someone comments I will realise that too.

We all walk along different paths, but sometimes, when the road is rocky, the way to go is unclear and you just need that helping hand. Its good to look over the canyon next you and see someone else doing the same.

Give them a little wave. Smile say Hi. And know that why ever you are here reading. If your struggles plague you. You are not alone.

This blog maybe triggering. Please read with caution if you have been a victim of abuse in any kind.

JD