A letter to V, shameful thoughts in the darkest part of my mind

Trigger warning: sexual abuse

Please take care of yourself

Dear V,

There is one thing that may be more difficult to admit than the abuse that you put me through. I’ve tried to forsake the though for years, and I find it occasionally sneaking up on me. You raped me so many times. I couldn’t keep count after we left your house, after we moved again. I just stopped, the numbers hurt me too much, all of it hurt me too much, but there’s another thing that, while it does not hurt me in the same way, is far more difficult to admit…

I loved having sex with you until you did what you did. Until it was forced over and over and over and fucking over again. I still remember before that. I still think about it sometimes.

50, I started to become numb.

It makes me feel like I’m discounting what you did. To think about it brings me shame. It slithers into my mind. It’s like an unspoken poison, whispering always, telling me that I lie to myself about how you hurt me, how you raped me, and just how much you hurt me.

I loved us at first, so how could it have turned so terribly south? If I can still relish the feel of your body on mine in the deepest, shameful crevices of my mind, if I can still remember how much I enjoyed the wonderful, sweet and subtle taste of you as I went down on you, if I can remember how I could have drank you in forever when things were good, I must begrudgingly admit you are still the most succulent taste on my memory…

How could I have been so incredibly hurt by it all after?

I have a hard time understanding how I can remember the wonderful sex, and yet find our times together from your house on so horrid, hurtful, shameful, dark and unwanted? How can I reconcile the good with the bad?

100, I could never love this with you again.

I loved you, I loved sex with you, and you took that away from me. You wrecked my mind like a house in a hurricane. This is the first time in 7 years that I’ve admitted how good it was before your house, before that bedroom that’s burned into my mind. I still dread purple and green together, are you proud of what you did?

150, how can I keep doing this?

How could you have done that? What we had was beautiful before then. Why did you have to force it on me during my most uncomfortable times? How could you do that again and again? I loved us, I loved you, I loved our bodies intertwined, and now, thinking of the good hurts worse than thinking of the bad. It confuses and disorients me, it scares me. How do I fucking reconcile what you did with what we had before it? How could you have done that to me?

200, please, just let me die.

It took me a long time to deal with it and get back to it. I’m still spooked at the idea of sex with another female, though it’s not all encompassing as it once was. I was scared about sex with R for a long time, and still, sometimes, I can feel the fear creeping in the back of my mind.

Why?

Sometimes I wish I could ask you again. Hope that I could get an answer this time. I asked you in Arizona, and you evaded the answer and put the weight of the horrors on my shoulders. After all, it was always my fault, wasn’t it?

I still remember the night I carved that word into my arm. It had been two years since I had cut myself before that. Two fucking years! You watched me do it, and didn’t give one single shit. It reminds me every day of what you did and how I felt. It reminds me every day of how you tore me down, only to leave me in pieces. I can still read it like fresh black ink on sparkling white paper.

Whore.

Forever it will be engraved into me a reminder of all the times I destroyed myself for you. A reminder of all the times I was too weak, and too fucking stupid to let you go and save myself…

225, I’ve died inside, please let my body follow. I can’t keep counting. Less than 3 months. How could you do this so much?

I hate you, and still, I can feel in a tiny part of my heart and my mind my love for you, I can still remember my love for our sex in the beginning.

I wish I could stop feeling bad when I speak negatively of you.

Five years since I escaped the hell you created especially for me. Five years, and still, sometimes, in the darkest, most shameful part of my mind, I still remember how lovely it used to be, I still remember your taste. I still like the feel of your body in that dark part of my mind, even though in all the rest of me I hate it, and it scares me. It brings me horrid body memories, and yet, in the shameful space in my mind, I still crave being your baby girl.

I mean, maybe it would be different this time, right?…

I hate you so fucking much and yet…

… I still remember the good. I still hope that your life is well.

God dammit I wish I could get you out of my mind. You’ve been gone for years and you still hold some control over me.

How fucked up is that babe? Are you happy with what you’ve done?

If I could say one thing to your face, I hope I would be able to have the guts to tell you…

How could you have violated me like that, you fucking evil bitch?

 

 

Thank you for reading sunshines, I hope you have a beautiful day

 

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7 thoughts on “A letter to V, shameful thoughts in the darkest part of my mind

  1. Aww, hun, I’m so sorry. I’ve always felt more of a “I deserved what I got, and I deserved to be with him” vibe, but I definitely know the feeling of that unwanted connection still being there.
    You really are brave to share all that.

    Liked by 2 people

  2. Well, that line sounded familiar: “I loved having sex with you until you did what you did.” -.-

    Only for me, it’s because… you know. Not for sexual assault reasons. For what they did to all of us peeps after our sexy times reasons.

    Liked by 1 person

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