Tuesday, September 27, 2011

Exerpt of story I'm working on - Letter to Lily.

I think the major irony in this is that I feel like a whore, not you.

I saw a shooting star last night, the second one I had ever seen in my life. I was out of state, in Gettysburgh in a field in the middle of nowhere. Laying on top of my friend's car, we saw it shoot across the sky. It was falling down to earth, as though it was falling down to us. Its tail lit rainbow and we could see it burn. We were so happy. Everything was going to be okay. Everything.

I am a person of second guesses. I always make sure I mean what I say and think because I don't want to change my mind in the near future. But as I was speaking, I realized... this is what I want. Despite your cruel words and accusations, I have found that I am a strong person not because of our relationship, but because I am me. The relationship has been wearing me down. Knowing you so well, knowing what you are thinking (whilst you call me paranoid) before you even realize it yourself, I know what is to come.

You make me want to vomit. I already can't keep the food down, so I have no appetite. I don't eat unless forced. I can't sleep. I lay awake and stare at the ceiling. I count the seconds... the minutes... the hours. I watch the shadows on the walls change. It isn't what you want that hurts me, but rather your lack of compromise. It's not even realizing that you've put me on the back burner. It's the hypocrisy in claiming that I do not love you. At this point, you've threatened me with a break, but I fear that I want more than that. I'm not your bitch on hold, I am your fiance. But I am also my own person with my own feelings. I never wanted to be your wife, but rather your partner. Though, it's clear to me now that what you wanted was much the opposite. A year ago, you promised me this would never happen again, and yet 12 months later you seem to have taken it many steps further.

Threatening someone into doing something, manipulating them by fear of harm is the exact tactic rapists use, and I find it angled and comical that you've used the same methods of those that you hate. I will admit, when it first began I did not wish to go through with it. I found myself walking for hours when you refused to reply to my texts. Walking... searching... I thought about the lake but it's too polluted even for that purpose. No rope. But - aha! - how easy are knives to find on this campus? Quite easy. In my room even. I texted goodbyes in ways that were slightly subtle... so that they'd KNOW I loved them, but they wouldn't do anything because they could just be misinterpreting things.

Couldn't find the knife, but behold the razors! I found myself a shower stall far away from the rest. Never had I felt this way; without a doubt in my mind, I wanted to die. There was nothing holding me back saying "Maybe we don't want to do this", because we did want to do this, all parts of me. I bent the razor so that the blade bent out. It sliced open my finger, which startled me. I was... enthralled by how the blood wouldn't stop dribbling to the surface of my skin. It had been about a year since I last self injured.

Not wanting to waste anymore time, I held out my wrist. You're supposed to slice downward, aren't you? But where? The first mark to ever graze my wrist formed. But I was... too much a coward to slice the vein. "Just a little cut" I said, "Just a small slice and it's done." I held it to my skin. I pushed a bit more, I rocked the blade but it wouldn't cut my flesh. I was scared.

Enraged by my own cowardice, my leg became the victim. No longer caring about being subtle, hiding what I have the power to do to myself, I massacred it. I carved in letters, I made heaping gapes. It was no longer calculated as all my other sessions had been, but bloody and angry and so sick of it all.

I exited the shower and discarded my make-shift knife. I reentered my dorm. My friend had called me. I tried my best to seem calm. She told me she didn't know what was going on. She tried to distract my mind with stories I can relate to all so well. But then the conversation drifted back to me and finally, I spoke.

I let out close to everything. She was stunned. My close friend, this dear woman, was at a lack for words for the first time since I knew her. She told me she didn't know how I was handling this so well. She said if she were me, she'd be flipping shit. I was numbed by my excursions in the shower, I could think. My voice was calculated. A few times, I started crying during our conversation, but I quickly corrected myself.

It was about ten minutes after the phone conversation that I started bawling. My roommate, by my side with tissues, a water bottle for rehydration and a trash can for vomit, I was sobbing something terrible. For three hours, my panic attack shook the both of us. I don't remember what I said to her, just repeating over and over that I didn't want this to happen. That I didn't want her to do this. That I didn't want to lose her and that I had no choice. My sobs woke the rooms in our hall. Knocks on our door at three AM, people not sure if I was alright. Sending me support. People I hardly know, people who had no knowledge of what was going on, just that I sounded awful.

I was determined to keep you, no matter what it took. No matter what you wanted of me. That's why I gave you permission, because of all your threats. Just as it's still rape if a girl gives her consent under extreme pressure, can it still be cheating if the conditions for me are the same? "It's either this or a break", you said. "I do this because I respect you. I could very well have just gone and done it." At the time, I didn't realize you could laugh at such a line. How hilarious it was. How utterly and sickeningly hilarious that you believe that you respect me. That you believe to love me! It's heart-wrenchingly, unbearably too funny! "You know," you said, "while I do this, you should get therapy." Our friend gaped, cheese fry in hand as I told her. Me? I find more irony in this than she does. How you worship at the feet of this musician and yet use the same lines her lovers used on her. And so often.

My panic attacks shake me, they are relentless. This is hell and yet, I do not wish to die. I wish to live. And that leads me to my final point: the point of loss. I do love you. And I'm so glad you think what you're doing is going to make you happy. You never know, maybe it is. But life is give and take and I am empty. I have given you so much and suffered for it each time. Each day my body grows weaker and this, this is too much too fast too not now. Too uncompromising, too uncaring, too unfidelic and too abusive.

You have lost me. I have waited for you, like a ghost waiting for you to walk through the door, I have vanished with time, I am ready to move on. And while I love you, I will quote what you have quoted and say to you "You just want to get laid", and look, now I'm giving you all the space you'll ever need. There were no other options you'd consider. You didn't even want to hear options, you just wanted me to say yes or be ready for you on the back burner.

But I am not your wife. I do not hang in wait at your every action. I am a person. I am the same as you are, and yet so different. I would never have done to you what you have done to me.

I'll keep your ring as a cross. It will never leave my hand. It will serve as a reminder years later, of how far I've come. I will have the stone reset so I can not lose it. It will be... my favourite object that I own. It will be my tattoo.

I've learned a lot. I've learned about love. I've learned what it's like to give yourself to a person... selflessly. Unconditionally. I've learned to be kind to others; I will never expect anything back from them. But... the most important thing I've learned is that I do love myself. There is this person inside of me who is so beautiful and so strong. She fights, you know. She fights for the good of others and for her right to live. She is taller than she knew. More independent, more wise. More revolutionary.

I wonder if you'll ever read this, though a large part of me doubts it. That's okay though; just writing this I've gotten to know myself a bit more. I'll tell you today, but I doubt you'll listen to my story. In my mind you're either too thrilled to get rid of me or you'll paint yourself as a martyr (which I also find sarcastically amusing).

I hope you'll make a great therapist. You have a way of bringing out sides of arguments that most people can not see. But love, sometimes you're wrong. And if you want to grow, you're going to have to remember that. Become a person who isn't so against second guesses. Become a person who makes sure she isn't hurting others when she doesn't need to.

My heart is broken, I will admit this now and be unashamed of it. It is shattered into billions of pieces. But hearts mend. I am turned off by the aspect of sex now; I'm sure it won't stay this way forever. I'm not going to go looking for love, but when it finds me I will not hide.

Life goes on.

So now I am saying goodbye. And I wish you the best of happiness, and I wish for you to grow.


1 comment:

  1. So how much of this was story and how much of this actually happened? The title's throwing me and I really hope you're okay. :/