have you ever altered your belief system or added to what you know aka learned something, only to be ‘tested’ on it within the days that follow that shift?
yeah well, here i am, again.
today a statement was levelled at me about taking a shower and it sent me down a pts(d) wormhole that i am still trying to manoeuvre.
taking a fucking shower ffs.
whilst said in jest; & the details i won’t expand on here, i was time warped back to a small body that dodged leering glances, although i didn’t know what they were at the time. i just knew they made my stomach sore.
back to a time where the bathroom door wasn’t locked & would be randomly slid slightly open with the cunt on the other side, salivating, grinning & saying ‘oh, yooouuur in here … ‘ & the lingering moments sitting there in utter vulnerability … utter frozen-ness, waiting for him to finish so i could finish.
back to a time where the bedroom door would open slightly at night & a dark figure would stand there … the light from the hallway obscuring their face … but breathing loud enough to make it known to the pretend sleeper, that they were watching. leaving with a slight chuckle under their breath, this cunt left his presence in the room; left his scent on his property.
back to time where the cunt would block the exist from a room with the gigantic frame of his body & as i tried to slide past, the cunt would reach for my chest or my groin, laughing lightly the whole time.
back to a time where the cunt would make seedy remarks about my growth; jokes about genitalia or a smelly mick, as he called it … the laughter drawing me in to an unholy, unconsenting union of a perceived shared experience.
back to a time where my clothing became looser so i could barricade my body from prying hands, leering eyes.
back to a time when … my body was not my own.
where i was a pawn in a sick little game played by fucked up persons. where power was an aphrodisiac. where the scent of their putrid hormones filled the air.
back to a time where my body was open season & no amount of crying, sobbing, ignoring, battling, explaining or excusing, could deter the advances of a sick cunt hell bent on getting off on the fear the rose like smoke, from his prey.
my senses feel assaulted.
my chest feels grief.
my stomach feels the old panic.
this is my moment. another learning moment.
while i’m not here anymore, but i am soooo here. that is pts(d).
i am tired of being thrown back to a place i have been running from all my life.
i’m tired of trying to explain this whole situation to anyone who would want to touch me on the shoulder, or move my shoes from the door step, or knock on the bathroom door while I’m showering, or borrow my jacket, or eat my leftover dinner, or come in for cuddles, or pass me the pen …
i’m tired of explaining my space, my body, my story, my wishes, my reasons.
why can’t they just let me be?
dont worry. i won’t be here forever.