This probably isn't really a poem but I'm not making a new work thing for dark non-poems.
Tonight it's all hitting me, I still have another week before I see my therapist again.
Why couldn't it hit me on the eleventh or twelfth, I don't want to call the emergency number.
I don't know who will answer, I won't know what they look like or if they'll know who I am.
I only have one person to talk to, but she's not available.
She's busy doing homework and I have to set some new limits.
I've known her for 3 years, as long as I ever knew any friends I ever considered close or real.
But in her definition we aren't close friends.
I've bared my soul to her, she knows everything, she knows things I haven't even told my therapist, things I haven't even talked to God about.
We're not close friends though, I shouldn't have, I should have kept the walls up, I should have protected myself.
I feel exposed now, like a patient cut open on the operation table, she can see all my insides and if she wants to she can piece together my puzzle.
Anything that someone could possibly hurt me with, she knows, and if she doesn't consider me close, why wouldn't she use it?
I trust her now, but do I trust future her?
I just wish I had one soul to talk to, one person who knew my background and could even remotely understand what I'm going through.
If anyone could understand it's her, she's had troubles of her own, but I can't talk to her anymore because we aren't close. It's not safe.
She's like a sister to me, only she cares more than my real sister has been able to in the past decade.
Being near her makes me feel safer, more secure, and less like I'm falling into hundreds of pieces I don't know how to put back together.
I just wish I had one person to talk to tonight that understood the pain I feel right now, the pain that hardly makes sense.
Yes, I feel violated that my parents are talking to people about me, but it's more than that.
This darkness has lived inside me, festering, for so long that having it exposed to the light is like pouring alcohol into a deep infected wound.
The more it's talked about, the more times they pour alcohol on the wound, only the alcohol never helps it just makes the wound worse.
It irritates the wound, making it swell and get red, because now the world can see it and no one understands it.
No one understands how you could have that wound for so long and never look for help, no one understands the subtle messages you sent.
All the times father would yell at me I'd say I was being abused to him, yes what he did was emotionally and sometimes physically abusive.
But that wasn't what I was talking about, that was the closest I ever came to telling him that I was being molested, and they never understood.
Now that I'm trying to look for help and talk about it the one person I'd think would understand doesn't, my sister refuses to understand.
She hates that I'm seeing how all the things that are odd about me are linked to what happened to me.
I was tortured for years, how can that not change a person? What else could explain why I always lock the doors?
Why I'm afraid of the dark? Why eating made me sick for months and still does sometimes? Why I avoid sexual thinking like malaria?
What else could explain the jerks, twitches, and random stabs of pain I've had for years?
It's all body memories or all explained by the horrible things that happened to me.
I couldn't tell so the stress was released somehow, I twitch my shoulders to get his arm from around them.
I jerk forward when I feel like a hand is going down my back.
Those stabs of pain, that's the pinching and hitting and sometimes the kicking.
I'm afraid of the dark because he came in my room at night and he's the monster in my nightmares.
I avoid sexual thinking because when you're introduced to that at 6 nothing good comes of it, my sexuality is damaged and any thoughts of that sort are terrible.
My sister doesn't want to link anything together, she wants to act like he hasn't affected her.
The only people that could understand me choose not to, that's why I'm alone again. I hate it.
It's lonely here, it's like being in a glass house with no way out.
You can see all around you, the beauty of nature, the happy people, normal everyday life.
But you can't reach it and no one wants to see that you're there and get you out.
At the same time your world is entirely fragile, someone throws a rock and all the glass shatters, the little pieces slash you and the big pieces stab you.
You see everything and nothing can reach you, but at the same time the world can destroy you.
Right now I'm watching the world from the sidelines, but I'm watching them play baseball and I'm behind the umpire.
One bad throw and my world's gone, and no one recognizes that I'm here so they don't know to be so careful.
