Trauma

Having Loved the Villian

 It was the hardest thing I ever had to do; take responsibility for myself, and my actions. I decided that the best way to do it was to sever it completely. A clean break, and yet it was more like removing a leech, or a tick. Pulling it out, slowly, knowing its teeth were stuck into you, sucking your very life from you. Root systems -grown together- being unearthed and hacked to shreds. Somehow, the roots were mine, but he placed them there.

I was convinced that what I was doing was in my best interest, and yet, I somehow knew that wasn’t true. I don’t know what he is, but I’m certain he was villainous; toxic to me, and likely to others. He was there, whispering in my ear when he knew I was too weak to form thoughts of my own. He placed them there, carefully, for me, marking his territory. His words, the ones carefully calculated, offered me comfort, or at least until they wore off. I would rebel, and receive scoldings that lasted hours. Succinct arguments and verbal masterpieces, slapped me in the face, clawed down my chest, and did everything I told him terrified me. Trust had no home here; trust was a nomad, setting up camp where convenient, and choosing when to rear its head.

Damaged, already porous and ready to absorb, I was a sponge. You deemed me willing. Sure, sweet words, and gentle touch helped me trust you, but after that had withered, I stayed. You saw your advantage in my willingness to appease, and you drank me, fully drunk on my need to please. Sure, I was sedated… I was unable to see past self-hatred, but I still don’t know if that was me or you. I was isolated, floating in an abyss of manipulation. You weren’t the only party, either. Your parents share that blame.

The three of you, taking turns, sat me down and, under the guise of worry, stated your concerns. I was to supply my own means for recording the information provided, and was expected to recite it back. I was to listen and never argue. I made the mistake of standing up to your senior — once. I was ignored, abused, and removed. I said exactly what he told me, in context of him. Adults defended him, and you.

You begged for me, desperation lined your cheeks. Filthily undressing my self-respect, you broke down an entry. You had, then, taken advantage of me in every way you could. I told you things that had previously never touched my tongue. My mind, reeling from pain already, shut down. Three times I’ve tried to drain myself — create void; once before you, and twice after.

Meeting with you, to provide you with closure, I walked into a trap. I was attacked with the things you knew scared me most:

I was insignificant; a game to you. I was someone to help pass the time. I was weak. I was your play thing. You thought it was funny when you infiltrated me, and reveled in my tears after. My pain was pleasurable to you.

These people leave nightmares behind. Memories so painful that they isolate you, just like the person that inspired them. The only way to heal, in the wake of these people, is to lend words to their terrifying presence. Speak nightmares, and breathe heartache. Soon, life settles, and happiness comes back. One learns to love, and be loved; I know I have.

-vwells

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