Heart shaped box

May 12th

A chapter about SA.
TW: incest, SA

Anniversary
It's a day of many faces, it's a day of silent tears, it's a day of celebrating survival.
I couldn't write about it, I probably still can't.
I'm so sorry it was Mother's Day. Mom I'm so sorry I didn't plan it better.
I'm so sorry you have to hear me cry to the same song looping over and over again.
It's too ugly to tell in a pretty way. There are no flowers to arrange to tell a pretty story of survival. I'm still hurting. His touch lingers in me.
The tears are hot and quiet. I don't even know how to tell the story anymore because I know it hurts you too. People want to help and sometimes they can't. People rearranged the story and they weren't there.
I was there every time. It's not pretty. It can't be. I can't give it a pretty package with a bow because I'm still bleeding.
The things people say about it hurt just as much as what happened. Please don't tell me how to hurt. I don't want to ask your permission if it's okay to cry about it.
It feels like no one knows the whole story. I don't know the whole story. It happened more times than anyone will ever know.
I think little girls always love their brothers, even when he is not what he should be. I will always love him. I want to hug him sometimes. I don't know how to say that out loud.
Please don't say I wanted it. God if you were that little girl you would know she wanted nothing more than for him to stop.
Don't tell me what words I should use, you weren't there. It was rape, over and over again. It was suffocation, over and over again. Why are you trying to rewrite the story?
I hurt because it happened. I hurt because people never say the right thing. I hurt because I'm not allowed to anymore.

Knowing and not knowing
It's all so suffocating.
I push this knowing into the back of my mind, not because I don't know, but because it's easier not to.
I don't want to know, but I guess I do.
I don't know what I want, I tell myself I do, but in a larger sense I don't understand the world enough to know what I want from it, and I know I don't want this.
I don't want to be suffocated anymore. How do I loosen the rope around my neck? How do I pull his hands off of it?
It's lonely here. I tell myself I want it that way but I don't know if I do or don't.
It's hard to be a person. I wish that was something I could communicate. I don't know how I'll do it.
There's always this odd sense of peace that comes with truth, even if it's bearing its ugly teeth, at least I admit I've been bitten.
I don't know how I'll live with it. I ask myself this every day, how am I going to live with it? I am shocked I've made it this far, every time, every birthday, every milestone, I didn't expect to be here.
There's a part of me that clings onto hope. It's bizarre, but it's granting me life, so I will take it for now.