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**Untitled** Pt. 2
Posted July 27th 2011 at 05:02 PM by Random_Girl_26
I can’t organise it, it’s a mess. There’s just so much. I don’t know where to start.
I want to go back to those times and tell myself what I know now. I want to talk to the girl who called the kids help line, said sorry, hung up, and then screamed in agony for a few hours because of all the pills she’d taken. I want to tell her that she didn’t need to hurt herself; she needed to care for herself. She didn’t need to apologise; she needed to talk about what was going on, tell the guy on the phone, that she was trying to kill herself and that she needed help. I want to talk to the girl who screamed for her cousin to get off of her, to not touch her, to not rape her. I want to tell her that it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t a secret game that she had to keep from people; it was rape. I want to be there so I can stop it from happening, pull him away or go get help. I want to talk to the girl who removed the blade from a pencil sharpener and cut her wrist for so many reasons. I want to tell her that there are other ways to deal with things, talking to people, writing about it, etc. There were so many reasons I cut myself, to feel something, the distract from the emotional pain, to give myself the physical scars to prove that the emotional ones are real, to make a mark that people might see, one that they would immediately understand as a call for help, to kill myself and make it all stop. It then became an addiction which I had to get rid of, and I did. But when I stopped cutting, the memories came rushing through. It was happening all over again; I felt everything, from my emotions at the time, to how I was being touched at the time. I wanted to make it stop. I would scream and kick, kick him away, but he wasn’t really there, so it kept playing in my mind. I kicked him and turned away, but my pants still ended up at the bottom of the bed. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t really, they’re just memories, it is not happening all over again, but it was so real, I could smell him, feel his body on mine.
I needed someone to care. But that didn’t happen.
Go to school, forget that anything else exists. Tell yourself for 6 hours that you can stay at school forever, in that place where no one touches you unless you say it’s okay (which you never do, not even for hugs, because all touching was bad touching, you were scared). You can stay in the place where no one tell you you’re useless, worthless, a burden, because you’re good at school, you do your work, help other students and don’t upset the teachers. Even if you get the answer wrong, you won’t get hit, because that’s not what happens at school, that’s what happens at home. But you can’t tell anyone, you don’t really know why, you just know that you can’t. So for those 6 hours, you forget, denial is a happy, happy place.
3 o’clock comes. You dread it. Just close your eyes and hope it lasts forever, hope it is still 5 minutes to 3, hope that they are late picking you up from school. You just stay in your seat until everyone else has left and hope that the teacher doesn’t notice and closes the classroom leaving you inside it, where it’s safe. 3 o’clock comes, and you have to go. If you’re late getting to the car, you’re in trouble, but she might be late, up to half an hour late, so you might be waiting a while. Get in the car, don’t slam the door, be quiet unless she asks you a question. Go home, go straight to your room and don’t leave for any reason unless she starts yelling for you to come out. Just don’t leave. Stay there; pretend she’s not out there, like you’re not really here. When she’s yelling at you or hitting you, go somewhere else in your mind, talk to yourself, count to 100, and just don’t listen to what she is saying because you know it’s only going to hurt you.
Dad will be home in a few hours. You can tell him what Mum has done to you, as long as she’s not listening, but what’s the point? He won’t do anything. You can see it in his face that he feels your pain, but he still doesn’t do anything. WHY? Am I not worth it? Don’t you love me enough to make her stop hurting me? This makes me start to believe that maybe it is my fault. That’s why he won’t help me, because I deserve it.
I want to go back to those times and tell myself what I know now. I want to talk to the girl who called the kids help line, said sorry, hung up, and then screamed in agony for a few hours because of all the pills she’d taken. I want to tell her that she didn’t need to hurt herself; she needed to care for herself. She didn’t need to apologise; she needed to talk about what was going on, tell the guy on the phone, that she was trying to kill herself and that she needed help. I want to talk to the girl who screamed for her cousin to get off of her, to not touch her, to not rape her. I want to tell her that it wasn’t her fault, it wasn’t a secret game that she had to keep from people; it was rape. I want to be there so I can stop it from happening, pull him away or go get help. I want to talk to the girl who removed the blade from a pencil sharpener and cut her wrist for so many reasons. I want to tell her that there are other ways to deal with things, talking to people, writing about it, etc. There were so many reasons I cut myself, to feel something, the distract from the emotional pain, to give myself the physical scars to prove that the emotional ones are real, to make a mark that people might see, one that they would immediately understand as a call for help, to kill myself and make it all stop. It then became an addiction which I had to get rid of, and I did. But when I stopped cutting, the memories came rushing through. It was happening all over again; I felt everything, from my emotions at the time, to how I was being touched at the time. I wanted to make it stop. I would scream and kick, kick him away, but he wasn’t really there, so it kept playing in my mind. I kicked him and turned away, but my pants still ended up at the bottom of the bed. I tried to tell myself that it wasn’t really, they’re just memories, it is not happening all over again, but it was so real, I could smell him, feel his body on mine.
I needed someone to care. But that didn’t happen.
Go to school, forget that anything else exists. Tell yourself for 6 hours that you can stay at school forever, in that place where no one touches you unless you say it’s okay (which you never do, not even for hugs, because all touching was bad touching, you were scared). You can stay in the place where no one tell you you’re useless, worthless, a burden, because you’re good at school, you do your work, help other students and don’t upset the teachers. Even if you get the answer wrong, you won’t get hit, because that’s not what happens at school, that’s what happens at home. But you can’t tell anyone, you don’t really know why, you just know that you can’t. So for those 6 hours, you forget, denial is a happy, happy place.
3 o’clock comes. You dread it. Just close your eyes and hope it lasts forever, hope it is still 5 minutes to 3, hope that they are late picking you up from school. You just stay in your seat until everyone else has left and hope that the teacher doesn’t notice and closes the classroom leaving you inside it, where it’s safe. 3 o’clock comes, and you have to go. If you’re late getting to the car, you’re in trouble, but she might be late, up to half an hour late, so you might be waiting a while. Get in the car, don’t slam the door, be quiet unless she asks you a question. Go home, go straight to your room and don’t leave for any reason unless she starts yelling for you to come out. Just don’t leave. Stay there; pretend she’s not out there, like you’re not really here. When she’s yelling at you or hitting you, go somewhere else in your mind, talk to yourself, count to 100, and just don’t listen to what she is saying because you know it’s only going to hurt you.
Dad will be home in a few hours. You can tell him what Mum has done to you, as long as she’s not listening, but what’s the point? He won’t do anything. You can see it in his face that he feels your pain, but he still doesn’t do anything. WHY? Am I not worth it? Don’t you love me enough to make her stop hurting me? This makes me start to believe that maybe it is my fault. That’s why he won’t help me, because I deserve it.
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