Tuesday evening

My blood sugar is low because I haven't eaten since my cup of oatmeal this morning.
I just ate 2 slices of processed cheese and had a glass of cranberry juice.
Mayhap the dizzy feeling will go away.

I've got to shut down. My head is hurting and my heart is raw from hoping.
I don't want to feel pain anymore.
I don't want to let anyone see me crying.
I don't want to offer my hand in trust and be crushed by the rejection.

My little world, I should leave it be.
Not a moment's peace in the midst of chaos.
Alls I wants is sanctuary for my little self.

* * *
A few hours later and I feel my age.
My body is tired, of the reaching and the yearning
and the bending and the yielding.

Actual physical pains punctuate the aches inside me.
I look out a window into darkness.
The house is silent.
I’m alone.
I can’t sleep tonight.

My inner light is dim tonight.
I feel weakened as if after a bloodletting.

Something inside me is so sleepy and needs to rest.
Something inside me is so restless and anxious.
I hurt inside. Fuck.

Just as I begin to wish for unconsciousness
a new Force is asserted within me;
one of my most cherished allies, my Rage.
If I am Chaos in another world, by my side lay my weapons, my pets;
Glorious, Imperious, Righteous Rage.
Supple, Tender, Wicked Vulnerability.

Do I need to be enslaved?
Wasn’t I just liberated from a slavish holding pattern?
What does it mean about my psychology
that I would allow myself, my small proud head,
to bow in submission?
What does it mean that I accept cruelty and pain?
Emotional, physical.

Once. The period after Hugo had first broken my heart.
My shields were new, and strong.
The girl who loves went to sleep.
and my Dark Angel awoke to sing her first siren song.
The heartbreak awoke the Predator in me.
After a time he became jealous.
After a time he wanted to see me again.
So I let him.
I was beautiful and sexy and cold.
I sympathized with him in regards to his
poor sex life with his girlfriend.
Who was his ex-girlfriend.
Who he broke up with initially to date me.

He was incited I could see.
He wanted into the goods.
Into my head. Into my bed.
And we got really drunk that night.
He took me home.

He started to kiss me but I didn’t want him
after what he did to me.
But I was broken already.
I did what he wanted, not feeling anything.
He used me several ways.
Tore my bra, my clothes, smothered my mouth.
He wasn’t wearing a condom.
I wasn’t on the pill.
He knew it too.
I just couldn’t fight him.
It was just easier to lie there and stare at the ceiling.
And think I was above this.
That I was winning somehow, with my soiled virtue
and the evidence of his cruelty, his brutal lust,
perhaps he would hate himself.
As I hated him.

He didn’t sleep with me that night.
He went home to her.
I slept alone.

The next morning I had to ask my housemate
for a ride up to the Health Center.
She asked why.
I told her I had to get a morning after pill.
She hugged me and I cried.
Big fucking surprise.

I came back to my room,
which was still trashed from the night before.
In my full length mirror I took off my clothes
to look at my naked body.
When did I decide it was alright to sacrifice myself
for a man’s pleasure?
On my chest, my breasts, around my nipples and my neck,
dark purple bruises where his hands gripped me,
the tenderness on my nipples where he bit down on me hard.
Dark purple bruises on my breasts where he bit me through to break skin.

My body despite the marks, was at it’s most beautiful, I think.
I had my roommate take photos of my mauled tits.
To remind me. Of what he was capable of.
Of what I am capable of.

* * * *

I thought it was a triumph. I knew it was empty.
But I also knew that in the way he was ruthlessly fucking me,
he wanted to get at something deep inside me,
a sweet honey basted heart that would never touch his lips again.

How quickly can men be inspired to cruelty, to violence.
How easily a woman swallows it.

* * * *

Have I ever feared for my safety?
Yes.

Do I still?
Yes.

From whom?
One who would aim to make me doubt the extension of my trust.

What will I do?
No choice but to play it out now.
Men will be cruel if that is their intention.

* * * *

I am doing my best to stoke the chaos I suppose.
More thunderous crescendo.
I’m delerious.
My inner laughter is depressed, catatonic, maniacal.

I want to paint my face with lipstick and kiss myself in the mirror.
I want a tiny animal a chinchilla or something, whose head I can fit
into my open mouth and then slowly bite down on, just a little bit.

Passing out now.