11/11/03

sometimes i wake up in the middle of the night with my hands on my stomach, my body shaking, tears running down my face. and i’m silent, lying alone in the dark, but i don’t remember the dreams. i’m scared that one night, i will.

i can’t even say the word out loud. last night and today were the closest i came to being able to recognize what happened, to say, here. this. this is the truth, every little broken bit, every ugly detail. but i couldn’t; i still can’t. i don’t want to know that it was real.

it still aches. even with god, with prayer, with words. it still aches. and nothing i’m doing changes that. there was something, and now there isn’t, and no matter what i do. i can’t change that.

every time someone says ‘i understand’, i want to scream.

no. no. you don’t fucking understand, and you couldn’t. you have no fucking idea. i am reminded every time i wake up in the morning and look in the mirror. i try so hard not to think about it and i try so hard to forget, and it’s never going to work, because this is my body. i have to live with it.

and because deep down. i can’t believe it wasn’t my fault. and i don’t know what i did wrong. and because i still don’t understand how he walked away, knowing.

he never believed i could hurt like he did, but i know. he will never hurt like this.

i hold myself, rock myself, until the tears are over. i curl my body into a ball. i fall asleep again, whispering apology after apology to someone i’ve never met. someone who, to the rest of the world, might as well have never existed.

something. someone.