Creative Writing · Dark · Depression · Emotional Abuse · Free Write · Melancholy · Poetry · Psychological Abuse · Reflection · Sadness · Self-harm · Writing

Beauty and the Beast

Tw:suicide, self-harm

It was New Year’s day and I sat curled up in the oversized arm chair thinking, “I deserve so much better than this.”

That’s when I knew it was the end. That it was over and there was no going back.


Reasoning these actions:


That I should not have to be up all night rocking back and forth. Wondering where you are and who you are doing. Fearing the possibilities of what the next horrible thing you will do, without a care  or second thought for me. Driving myself insane trying to decipher truth from your lies….deciding it would be better to die than to live through another day with your sickness.


This is the point I got to. I looked at the hole you punched in the wall. The mess of your clothes on the closet floor. Empty bottles all around our big and lonely apartment. Where did I go wrong?


A million answers and I can not find the only belt I own. I know the guns are no longer at home.


Swollen eyes. Gashes on my legs. I am shaking on the floor again and looking for a way. I watched my world crumbling around me as a natural disaster.  Too incredible and unbelievable to look away.  I could not conceive how you left me in such a state.


You are every broken piece in me.


And I decided a while back that was never going to change. You still rattle about inside of me but I keep you in a cage. You are the moster I run from. The beast I try to hide. 

Creative Writing · Dark · Depression · Emotional Abuse · Healing · Hope · Personal · Prose · Psychological Abuse · Reflection · Survivor · Writing

Two Years

I have been single more or less for two years today. The actual date is a bit ambiguous but officially i was moved into my tiny apartment and living alone. Two years ago I was a broken shell of a person. I could not stand being in my own skin. I would look in the mirror and see a person I did not recognize. A person I hated. I felt like the foulest, most disgusting thing on the planet.

I misplaced my rose colored glasses.


I think back to the true horror my life was then. I think about the last time I saw my grandfather alive and well, holding a letter in his hands. I do not remember if we hugged goodbye. I have pushed that guilt deep inside me, ashamed and saddened.


I remember putting my Stevie in the car, the back seat packed full, my sweet little kitty on top of everything, mewing at me through the window. I looked around me, attempting in vain to make sense of it all or even just a piece of it. I knew that day was the end something. I locked that door. I had every intention of going back to clean and to get my washer and dryer but I couldn’t make myself. I was incredibly exhausted mentally and physically; spiritually I was dead and I knew I had disappointed all of those around me.


A few days into my single and solo living I realized how quiet it was. Not just quiet, but calm and I liked it. I liked it a lot. It was the first time in many years I did not have the compulsive and never ending  thoughts of “Where is S? What is he doing? How drunk is he? What and who am I going to come home to?”


I knew within those first days things were over between us, even though he had promised over and over again that it wasn’t and that he loved me and still wanted to be with me. He played this part well. A month later I saw him and told him it was over. He Said he didn’t want it to be…even though he was loving someone else and moved away from me.


The cognitive dissonance ran deeply. I got to a point where I was pretty certain this person I had loved and sacrificed for years for was not real. The life I was living was a different world, so unrecognizable to my current state that I could not believe it happened. I remember I went to lunch with my best friend. I arrived first and sat in the booth waiting. When he sat down, with all sincerity I said, “I need to ask you a serious question.” I asked, “Is S a real person? Did everything really happen? Or have I been living in a hallucination that other people went along with?”


He took it well. This is a hallmark of true friendship. I was assured that indeed all of it was real. I believed him, mostly. It didn’t help that S used to actually tell me he wasn’t real. He said that he was my Tyler Durden. He would say, “What if you made me up to indulge in your bad side?” I told him that was silly the first few times but then the idea started to make sense. The longer I walked down the road of his psychopathy the more I believed that idea, or at least that I kept him around for my self indulgence and anarchic tendencies. He was that anti establishment part of me. The one that would not settle or conform. I liked it. I craved it.


My only addiction I have ever had was him. It was always him. And just like any addiction I had to detox and go through treatment. I had to learn to live without my drug.


I am still learning but somehow hitting the two year mark has given me new perspective. There should be chips for those of us that survive abusive and toxic relationships. Hell, there should be a god damn party for all of us. We will all get crowns and a pony.


The hardest part of recovery is the loneliness, guilt and shame. I know I am not alone when I say it is humiliating to admit that you were used, abused, lied to, cheated on and stolen from the person you loved most in the world. And the crazy thing is that everyone around you is telling you the other party is the asshole and that you did nothing wrong. But after living in a world so warped that you took responsibility for EVERYTHING, it’s quite difficult to let that consistency go. Even though that routine was self destructive and poison, you can not shake this feeling of still wanting it. Its confusing and embarrassing and you blame yourself for loving this person and staying with them for so long.


On the outside looking in at another’s life we can much easier judge. We say “I would NEVER do that or allow this…” and so on. But the truth is that you can never really know how difficult leaving an abusive relationship is unless you have experienced it yourself. It is also an experience I would never wish upon anyone else. It is too terrible and soul crushing for even the worst of my enemies.


As I write this I consider where I am at. I am about to graduate with my Bachelor’s degree. I have met so many good people in this last two years. I made new friends and worked interesting jobs. I had the opportunity to volunteer and to witness those so much worse off then I could imagine. I stand up straighter. I stand with confidence and pride, so much so that a family member recently commented on it. I have seen incredible beauty and gone on road trips and adventures. I have also experienced one of my greatest heartaches in the passing of my grandfather, something that still breaks my heart on a daily basis. But I have also lived to see my first nephew born who turns one this month.


Life and death.


I could not see all this two years ago. I could barely see an hour into my future. I would think, “Am I going to lose it today? Is this the end?”


I look back at those dark days sad but not destroyed. I am glad to be alive in this moment and in this time. I have to say that you can and will endure those dark moments. The days when you want to forget or even to die will pass. You will surely see the sun once again. You will find joy in different and simple things. And you will feel, oh yes you will feel incredible and beautiful moments much deeper because you have felt such pain and despair.


Hang in there; until morning, until noon, next week or next year. Sometimes you can only hold out for your next breath, but please keep breathing. Your life is worth so much more than you can imagine and the pain you feel just one stroke of the brush. You are a masterpiece in the making. Let yourself become.



In love and solidarity,



JRJ

Anxiety · Creative Writing · Depression · Poetry · Psychological Abuse · Relationships · Self-harm · Suicide · Writing

Blood Painted Skies

Sometimes this life

Being overly complex

I go in circles it seems

Dreaming of a fix


I could not write it down

These words are failing

As the time passes 

Thoughts always invading


I tried to love you

Enough to fill the sea

The value of a mother

And all that you will never be


Was patterned among the shadows

As I scraped my veins

Your inconsistency and madness

That slowly drove me insane


I inscribed you on the inside

I carved it in my thigh

I wanted you to see it…

To see my blood painted through the sky

Creative Writing · Depression · Emotional Abuse · Free Write · Poetry · Psychological Abuse · Self-harm

Broken 

My favorite place to be is not on the bathroom floor and yet, I find myself here more than I’d like.

The cold cement isn’t soothing but it stings my skin right.

The way I remember I’m alive.


The space heater on and burning my shins, the shower in the back hits ceramic splashes.


I have cuts on my thighs and chunks missing from my feet.

Each step I take reminds me.


I remember crawling to your seat.

This movie plays on repeat.


Images pass in my mind, I push the colors down and out.

There are things I am afraid to remember but I sleep all day attempting to forget.

My body aches and I tell them all I am sick.


I’m afraid to see the outside and I want to be unmet.


I ponder about the last two years and fear I will never be enough….


I loved you without restraint and it killed me.

You break me everyday. 

Anxiety · Broken Up · Depression · Emotional Abuse · Personal · Poetry · Psychological Abuse · Relationships · Writing

I Want to Hate You

I have spent months reading about your terribleness, your sickness and finding every reason to revel in my suffering and despise you.

But what I keep going back to is the image of you, late at night crying in my arms.

You grasping at your chest, filled with grief, eyes glossy and missing your father.


Watching you drink and cry at song lyrics. You played them over and over until they were set in me and the tears flow freely.

Your eyes were stars and I was always left gazing.


You are begging me not to leave you, not to give up on you…on us.

My heart breaks everyday for you and then slowly pieced back together with spite and anger.


I do it over and over.


I recall you leaving me in the middle of the night and going to jail.

Selling our belongings for a fix and trinkets always gone missing.


I remember the accusations of betrayal and infidelity and feeling so confused when you are on your knees telling me otherwise.


Oh, how I wanted to believe you.


I want to and I find myself in momentary but ever fluctuating  dissonance.


You told me, you promised I would.


If you truly love someone, you will hate them just as much. You will hate me one day. You really should.  

Depression · Emotional Abuse · Personal · Prose · Psychological Abuse · Relationships · Writing

I Have Too Much To Say

I feel like I have said too much lately but it is because I spent years not saying anything at all. I was too embarrassed to speak about such things. I felt like a fool, an idiot and pathetic.

People tell me I am intelligent, how could the smart girl allow such terrible things in her life?(It must have been my fault).  I fall naturally into deep depression. It’s a constant battle to keep standing and sometimes the pain is so unbearable I literally fall to my knees. I have felt so alone in my suffering, unable to put words to the crazy things that happened.

I have spent countless hours reading about others that experienced psychological abuse. It’s honestly the only thing bringing me comfort right now. While I know those around me care, most can not truly understand what I went through and some, quite frankly, can’t even see why. This is why psychological abuse is so insidious. You don’t wear your bruises on the outside and the world around you asks “Why do you still care? Why are you bothered? Get over it. Fuck them.”

Well intentioned as these comments are, they are not helpful. I am on my journey to heal from this past (nearly) decade and unfortunately I have to bring to surface the ugly truth about all of it. I have driven myself literally to the brink of insanity, having severe mental breakdowns and struggling with suicidal feelings all because I kept this suffering deep inside.

I was happy, smiling Jayla. I had to be strong and keep up appearances. Perhaps if I acted like everything was okay, eventually it would be? That’s was the hope anyway and my intention. If I could be happy for him, he would eventually be happy for himself. If I was sober, he would be sober. If I loved him, he would love me…

None of that came to pass and I destroyed every ounce of confidence, strength and self worth that I barely had to begin with in this process.