An open letter.. of sorts. (Part 1)


There’s a disconnect… in my mind, I mean sure I am a healthy fully functioning 20 something year old who goes to school buys her own groceries and stares at guys buts from time to time but deep down like really far away in my mind there’s a little girl who still wants to play with her Barbie’s she still wants to be tucked into bed.

How do I explain this?

Sexual abuse, molestation has chilling effects not that you don’t know that already but anyway all those times you held me all those times you undressed me you ruined me and to be quite honest I’ll never heal I’ll never be completely okay sure maybe one day I will meet prince charming who like all the wonderful men in romance novels will wrap me up in cotton and love me to death and I’ll be so wrapped up in our love that your hands your actions will be nothing but a distant memory.


I was just six years old yes six.  I can’t remember how it started, repression they call it. But I remember enough like that time you were drowning me in the tub or that time you beat me for having your coin collection in my possession, which you had in fact  bribed me with earlier in the week so I could be quite while you used my body while you used me. Beat me with a stick for that and it left purple bruises all over my back that took weeks to heal.

It was always a game with you my poor little impressionable self still growing couldn’t keep up you, you hated me still young I couldn’t decipher the burning look in your eye but now I know. It was anger so fierce deep hatred I couldn’t possibly understand. My mind was playing catch up at rapid speeds, I never understood really, I never felt like what you were doing to me was wrong or right or anything I just went with it, my mind at the time would wonder yes I could feel you pressed up against me, in me I could hear your breathing but I wasn’t there no I never was never there somehow my brain would offer me an escape I’d stare at the bedsheets I’d stare at the colourful patterns how they intertwined list in how pretty they were sometimes id mindlessly trace over them with my fingers.


But my point is between being made to clean up your ejaculation off the floor between trying to get over the smell of it the smell of you. My mind shut down and restarted again and the restart set me back now there’s a disconnect, my inner child wants to play that little girl who stopped living wants out. I think about suicide at least three times a week because I’m frustrated half of me wants a dollhouse so I can play and comb my Barbie dolls hair while the adult part of me struggles to adapt socially I get hyper around my friends, I over compensate because I’m scared I’ll retreat back into my head. Back into the nothing..


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s