Keep on walking!
But I cannot run.
I must walk, and face down the demons that block my path lest I give them the chance to stab me in the back.
A sense of nameless, sourceless horror has found in the past. When I was 9, 11, at 16 there is day I remember, I recall most vividly of all. I was standing in front of the kitchen counter. Bright late Spring sun streaming through the windows from my right washed the aging counters white. The old heavy phone perches against the right hand wall with all the half used note pads tucked beneath it. The kitchen spreads out before me with its memories of tense meals and sarcastic words and obsessions played like bad melodrama. An odd sensation begins creeping up my spine. The world grows darker, and I shudder and feel dirtied somehow. There is a color, a deep navy blue with prickles and a pervading nausea at the base of my brain as it crawls up my spine to settle between my shoulder blades. I cannot shake it off. I dread the idea that someday that feeling might not go away, that I would have to live inside that horror moment after moment. After a few minutes the horror fades, but I never forgot how horrible it felt.
I feel like that now. Every day. Every time I think of the man I loved and who he really is. I understand, now, how I grew to avoid sex with him. If I asked for something, said I enjoyed it, somehow he managed to stop providing it, whether sex, or emotion, or joy.
The filth of pornography he gorged on, then came and jacked himself off inside me. The strippers he had squirm in his lap and rub their bodies over his, then he would come back and kiss me and touch me like he gave a damn. The prostitutes he would stick his dick in where hundreds of dicks had been before, and then come home and profess to love me. The words he would spew so I might never guess that everything he ever promised, everything he ever said he was, every word he ever spoke to me was backwards and upside down and inside out and empty.
Lies. Deception. Hate hidden behind a smile.
How the only thing I ever asked was he not fuck someone else then come home and fuck me without being honest about it, without telling me first. I could stand to live with someone who needed more sex than I might be able or willing to provide. I could stand the needs of a man. What I couldn’t stand was any more broken promises, any more lies.
But he was only a lie Everything about him was a lie. Is a lie.
I am broken and bloodied by the blades of lies.
Oh, God/dess, the lies!!!
I just keep dying.
And that feeling of horror lives in my spine now and owns me and I can’t stand living in my own skin and I am sickened at heart and spirit and mind and I cannot escape. I am living in every nightmare I ever feared. The sex, the lies, the deception, the hate and misery, the heavy, dark navy blue shudder than I cannot shake off.
If I die here, I will live forever in this hell.
What Dreams May Come?
I have to keep moving.
But the demons keep laughing and I don’t have the weapons to fight them anymore. I don’t know if I have enough strength to be the hero and come out the other side, dead or alive. I am terrified I will be trapped here, broken, shattered, horrified, terrified, shocked that I brought myself here when I thought I was bringing myself to love and light.
Evil wears a pleasing face.
Inanna help me.