The Pink Overglow

I’m tired of feeling like I’m fucking crazy
I’m tired of driving ’til I see stars in my eyes
It’s all I’ve got to keep myself sane, baby
So I just ride, I just ride

I hear the birds on the summer breeze,
I drive fast, I am alone in the night
Been tryin’ hard not to get into trouble,

Ride- Lana Del Rey

Thinking back on my life, I can see the covert transgressions that men have done to my body. I recall moments where I was coerced into fulfilling some carnal desire that my body did not mirror. There is one moment that stood out the most to me. 

I am in the dark room and there is no liquor flowing in my veins. My only desire is to return home, to lay in my bed. Instead I am stuck because I cannot drive back, and my father is not one to be there at knotty moments. It is not his fault because it is late and I made the decision to come with this man to this room. I beg to be driven home. “Please don’t be mad at me, I just hate sleeping in foreign beds.” But my lover does not listen and instead tries to nudge my skin into awaking in passion. But my skin does not react and instead I shut down. He takes off my clothes and as a lie there without moving he pulls in and out of me. There is no lubrication, just the grind of friction; skin against skin recording the violation. “I knew you didn’t want it and it made me finish faster”. I put my clothes on and he finally drives me home. I don’t recall anything else.

I became the person who drank to feel desire because my body no longer reciprocated efficiently. Maybe it was my weight loss, or my loss of self, or maybe I have never been in love but I have convinced myself that I acted not to fulfill anything but to prove my feelings. I suppose it’s the discovery that I am not loved out of physical boundaries that turned me into a rock.

This event was rape but I didn’t admit it to myself until a year after it happened. I did tell him to stop but I think the minor details are gone and they are replaced by fog. Sometimes a muggier picture saves us.

Speaking of muggy, I recently began to think about a more recent event that is even more within blurred lines. My transgressor once told me that a girl had told him that the song made her think of him but I merely giggled and gave no thought to this observation. I overlooked many words that he used to bring my self worth to the floor: ” What will people think? Me as your white male contributor, you as my spanish _____. I never remember the word that he used to describe me. He truly violated me but I didn’t see it until distance enhanced my clarity. Sir as he liked to be called took me to a strip club. I think that at some point he put a drug into my drink. I recall the buzz of the alcohol and compare it to times where I have been just drunk and not drugged. When we left the gentleman’s club everything seemed more illuminated. I drank more than I could have without passing out but didn’t puke, nor sleep. Instead I went into a dream like state. When it was happening and I was in his bed, as he touched me, I saw shades of pink in the lights. Everything was rosier and beautiful. It all felt amazing but even if it was good at the time, I feel violated that I may have been secretly drugged. I probably would have consented to the sex because I felt that I had to repay his kindness. I have been such an idiot. As time went on, the pink turned to black and the rest of the night happened without my consciousness. I didn’t think that I was raped. I thought I had placed myself into a situation that ended with me feeling like I needed a million showers. I felt dirty for a long time and had no self-worth until very recently. I gained weight within a few months because food became my outlet.I never told anyone that I was raped because I never admitted it to myself. I woke up naked and didn’t understand how time had moved without me. My dress has a little hole on the shoulder which is the only physical mark of my violation. I saw a pink glow as my violator touched me. I hid behind that glow for a long time and pretended like my life was just maturing. Instead I was dwindling into the woman who let herself break down for seemingly vacant reasons.

I have begun to face my demons. I had a dream where possessed people appeared and with God’s name I made them disappear. I think that the demons have gone but I think that it is time that I evaluate how sin purged me into a darker world than I was ready to face. I also think that God is granting me the strength to face my past. I will grow because I am ready for a new opportunity to live. Like the phoenix, I will grow out of ashes.

 

Tonight was an End but an End is a Beginning

Tonight I could write the saddest lines or I could stuff my face with the rum raisin ice cream in the fridge but instead I will write about the way my character has developed.

I did cry tonight and I roamed around holding yet another cigarette in my hand. I attempted to fall but I couldn’t. Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet that we broke up but maybe I just think that I couldn’t do anything to save the relationship. Even if it hadn’t ended he was talking about pulling away. 

I know that I’m hard to love but maybe someday someone may think it’s easier than he did. I suppose after your third heart break, you just know that there is hope and that love does not end with one person. It’s always painful to see someone go. And the thought of the person who held you, holding another is almost unbearable. But after getting used to people leaving, and breaking, and scraping, one day your heart just becomes numb to it all. 

It still hurts. I won’t act like I’m some emotion zombie but it doesn’t hurt like it did the first time. The first time may not have been the most beautiful but it is the most painful both emotionally and physically.

I didn’t turn on evanescence nor Lana del Rey today and instead opened a playlist full of new songs. New music brings happiness to your brain; it’s proven. 

Even the darkest has arms is the title of the song currently playing and it’s true. When I was depressed the dark always seemed to have a power that the day lacked. Maybe in the dark I could breathe because I didn’t have to pretend to have it all together. 

I am a very difficult person to love but I have a right to be an individual. I’m not losing myself, I can give my time but never myself. I may lose one hundred more people but at the end of the day I have myself and as long as I can live with myself, the rest doesn’t matter.

I’m working on my thesis and I’m reading lolita. I always fall in love with the language of the novel. I can try to be critical but I am instead mesmerized by the magic that words can make. 

I do not want to be an easy book but instead want someone to find my complexity enthralling and beautiful.

I have much to do still to better myself. I have to lose 25 pounds still. But I have hope that one day I may reach a place where I feel comfortable being my imperfect self. I wasn’t enough this time. To be honest after the fights I almost feel incompetent to ever be in a relationship. I just heard you suck, you’re such an asshole, you don’t get it so many times that I can’t be sad to not be in a relationship where I wasn’t enough and I was the problem. Being alone hurts but it’s better than constantly feeling like a problem. I was somewhat an awful person but bad habits die very slowly. Maybe the best bet is being alone and working on my thesis, my life, my knowledge, my netflix queue, my summer reading books, and most of all myself. 

I’m closing this relationship by trying to be a better version of myself for myself.