a tug of the tether.

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“No”

“I’m tired”

“I’m sleepy”

“Not right now”

He turned away,

“I’m not mad”

His lips pressed together,

I brought my mouth to his.

 

Wiping my tears,

Slapping the steering wheel.

“You’re better than this.”

Eyes in the rearview mirror,

No longer mine

But wholeheartedly his.

 

One step back,

One dark look,

A tug of the tether,

I took two steps forward.

 

What does a child with history of sexual assault, emotional abuse and trauma look like as an adult? Was that a thing so far in the past that it can be silently swallowed by the ocean or does that fall create waves that turn into tsunamis? Where do the tsunamis go to crash?

Years of silence makes her excellent at shutting her mouth. Years of guilt makes her doubt her instincts and assume she’s wrong. Blaming herself becomes a game she plays better than anyone she knows.

In a consistent cycle of questioning whether she’s good, she finds herself attaching to people that have a darkness behind their smile. Good people with bad pasts. Good hearts that the world has tried to crush. She believes wholeheartedly in good intentions.

She puts herself in a cycle again, and again, and again.

She takes a step back, he tells her about his past. She wants to be there for him. She says ‘not tonight,’ but she doesn’t want to see him sad. She wants to be there for him. She’s uncomfortable at times but usually happy. She creates excuses for his behavior. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’ll begin to learn to change. He has a good heart. She needs to be there for him.

The highs turn to lows and lows to turn to highs. Disgusted by some behavior, she can’t help but return. She finds herself hooked. Manipulated but hooked. Much like when she was seven, what’s happening could be worse. Much like she was eight, guilt entraps her. Much like when she was fourteen, it’s become too late to speak up.

Suffocated and trapped.

She can’t tell her best friends in the fear that it would cause a stain on their image of him. They don’t understand his past like she does. They don’t understand his heart like she does. She is sure he doesn’t know what he is doing to her and everyone else would see it black and white. They aren’t allowed to hate him when she loves him so very much.

She’s no longer an adult but rather in second grade, afraid to say what she’s going through, afraid to ask if it’s wrong. She tries to talk to him but words don’t leave her mouth. Unaware of how events from decades past affect her, she convinces herself she’s hypersensitive, over-dramatic and yet she needs to run away but doesn’t understand how. She needs to end it. She needs to end it. She needs to end it.

She can’t drown any longer.

This blog is mainly filled with non-fic prose pieces but this was my attempt at showing you fiction writing, my true passion. The writing above was a look into my imaginative brain. Hope you enjoyed my attempt at putting the struggles of those in abusive relationships into words. This is a topic dear to my heart and those around you could be affected without you ever realizing. If you’re going through something similar, don’t be afraid to reach out to me. I’m always here to talk.

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