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<font color="green"> I am working on finding the anger for myself that I can so easily access for others. My therapist wants me to write about how I felt during the abuse but not to obsess on it. I dunno, but I feel the need to put it somewhere. Please be careful as this may be triggering. Basically, this is a description of one of many episodes that happened in my teens. I am not suicidal nor am I cutting these days.
“Why can’t you do anything right?” She curses and I hear the peculiar whistle of the belt just before liquid fire erupts across my back, my bottom and thighs.
“I’m sorry,” I yelp and writhe but another slash crosses the first.
“I was scared to death when you were so late.” I cannot stay still but run from her wrath. Cursing and swinging the belt, she chases me.
Sobbing wildly I fall across my bed, “I’m sorry, please. I am sorry I won’t be late again. Please, ow, ow.”
“Damn right, you won’t,” she pants. Why cant’ I obey the simplest rules my whole being quakes as fire burns from shoulders to knees. She pants a last curse and leaves me to curl up on my bed and cry, waiting for the strength to ease my battered body in a cool shower... Gasping in fear and pain, I wonder why was I ever born. I wish I was dead
Later I twist and turn before my mirror. Welts crisscross from shoulders to calf. Why do I keep making her hurt me? Why is love so hurtful? Shuddering I wish I could die.
Watching the drops of blood I’ve released I dream of bleeding out all the bad. I am no good, worthless. I deserve all that she does. I clean the pinpricks and pray that she kills me next time. How many times must I repeat the same scenario? When will I learn? I love her for caring so much. I need to bleed some more.
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dalila
Worry is like a rocking chair. It gives you something to do but it doesn't get you anywhere.
-Erma Bombeck
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