A Violet Carson. 🌹

Cared too much it always ruins me. But I can't stop. Probably a good idea to just stay away. But, I don't want them to think I don't care either. It can be lonely not having anyone understands your mind. I think their mind is magnificent. 

I finally able to talk to my partner again. It's just the stories in my head that need to stop. And I need to stop feeding that part of me. But it calms me down when I do. I really need to sit and think about how to manage these thoughts.

Last night I woke up at 3 am, and someone's story sparked a new story about them in my head. It's a sad one. Domestic violence. Lots of drinking. Marital rape. Divorce. Stalking. Moving on. I wish it to be different but my mind likes it when it hurts.

Someone suggested to write the stories down. I think that's just gonna feed that part of me. I don't want that.

Some of the things I imagined today are calming, one of them started calm but ended with pain. 

I skipped my therapy yesterday. See, I don't even know what to say to her. She'll think I'm crazy. She knew I'm an interesting case. I don't like the word interesting here it makes me feel like I'm some kind of a project. I can't tell her what I've been thinking. I can't tell her about my "addictions". I can't tell her my studies progress. I'm too afraid of being judged.

I tried to tell my partner. Well... She's a fixer. If I say something and she gives me suggestions, and if I reject it, she'll think I don't appreciate her efforts again. So it's better if I don't share that much with her. Which makes me feel even lonely. I'm trying to tell her. Maybe I should try again. In text. But she knows I have an active imagination. I guess that's enough.

Maybe I should write them down. Hm. Even if I think it's sinful. I don't even believe in god. But things like that still feels... Improper. Lol. What a hypocrite. Just *** write it down. You're thinking it might as well turn it into a novel. But they're mostly sad though, what if they sour my moods every time?

Anyway.

I don't think it's gonna work. Mind's too fast and my hand's too slow to write. I'll just stick to imagining.

Wish I can just snap out of it

Since nobody cares, maybe I'll just sit here and relive some of my past.

I didn't have a good childhood. My earliest memory was when I was 4, and my mom wasn't kind to me. Yanked me out from pre-kindergarten. She always looked so big and scary.

She owned a business. Two branches. So sometimes she let her employee babysit me. My mom and dad were usually not present at home. I guess that made the best environment for the man to take advantage.

I was 7. I had just gotten home from school. It was dark, so I reached blindly for the light switch. I was startled when I touched something moving. He switched on the light. He was a tall man, around 25-ish years old. I laughed nervously.

"What are you doing in the dark?"

"I was waiting for you."

"Why?"

"I want to show you something."

He walked me through the corridor. Told me to lift up my shirt. And I did. Thought he wanted to do a check-up. Well, I didn't know anything. I was 7. I'll stop here. Then he brought me to the bathroom. Told me he would show me something after he was done. I'll stop here. I didn't understand.

This had been going on until I was 9. Nobody knew. Sometimes... never mind. Let's just say I spit it out every time. I didn't know how to process it, so I drew the shape of it. Then I erased it. I repeated this over and over again. Still didn't understand.

He showed me explicit contents. Told me, “This is what I want you to do.” It happened in my parents' room one time. My brother was home, and he knocked. Asked us what we were doing. That man said something I don't remember. And my brother just accepted it and walked away. I wished he'd pressed the man for more answers. There goes my chance for it to end.

He bought mini skirts for me. Toys. I was happy. Then he took pictures. He attempted to rape me and I cried. There are so much more things he had done to me.

One day he brought me to his parents' home. I was so afraid his parents would also do something to me, I threw up. I was in so much stress, I fainted. I still get triggered when I see a specific brand of peanut butter. That was what he fed me before I puked. I get triggered when I see certain plushies too. That's what he gifted me.

I hid from him several times. He found me every time. I just laughed it off. I think he thought I liked what he did to me. But really, I was just scared if I fought back, he'd hurt me even more. He told me to keep it a secret or he would tell my mom that I started it. I listened because I was scared of her. He also said he would do it to my siblings too. I listened to protect them.

He ended up doing it to them anyway.

Eventually, my mom’s business went bankrupt and we had to move. I thought I escaped this nightmare finally. But no, I was sexually abused by 2 other men when I was 9.

Maybe I'll write about it another day.

Maybe I deserved it.

I couldn't forgive her for letting it go on for years. Not until I reached my mid-20s. Always blamed her. A 7-year-old.

Wish I could hug her now. Wish it was different. Don't know how she survived that. What's on her mind.

Then there's my parents' abuse. Also a story for another day.

Something happened this morning that caused a flashback. I don't know what to do with it. It's just... I... Well... Maybe I'll just write it down, and if I feel like it's too much, I'll delete everything.

This specific memory, I can't remember how it started. What I do remember is that it started with me on my parents' bed... with him on top of me. I was 7, I think. Or maybe 8. Oh God, I don't know if this is a good idea.

Okay.

He was on top of me. It's different this time. Like I said before, he did a lot of things to me. But this time it's different. I don't want to describe it in detail.

I remember the heaviness. The awkward position. She choked.

I'm trying to detach myself right now as I write this. It's as if I'm watching it happen instead. This is unlike my usual memory, where I am in first-person perspective. There she is, the 7/8-year-old girl.

I don't know what's the point of writing this down... I can't push through it...

I'll start again.

The heaviness. She choked. Then he tried to rape me. I didn’t know, though. He never did this before. I thought the worst thing was the things he had done to me. I didn’t know there was more.

As he was trying, I cried because it hurt. I tried to kick him, but he held me down. I tried to get out from under him. I tried everything I could. Then he asked,

"Does it hurt?"

"No."

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes."

"How about this, does it hurt or feel good?"

"Feels good."

"How about this?"

"Good."

I cried the whole time. My logic at the time was: if I say it hurts, he's going to punish me by hurting me more. Child's logic. I was trying so hard to make sure he didn’t end up physically harming me like my mom does. So I accepted that I had to bear the pain, that it would end very soon. I just hoped it would end soon. I kept telling myself that.

He obviously could see I was crying. Maybe he got off on that. Obviously, if it really did feel good, I wouldn’t cry. He knew I lied. He knew I would do anything to avoid punishment. That there was a right and wrong answer in this situation.

She thought it was the right answer. She didn’t know.

I can't remember what happened next. I remember how it felt, though. Cold. Lonely. He didn’t comfort me. It felt like he just left me there.

I also can’t remember if I felt any pain after it was over. It's all blank. I don’t know if I should thank her for blocking that memory for me.

No. At the time, she blocked that memory for herself.

I'm imagining horrible things again. This time it's about me being married to a man, and I love him.

Then things get really bad, especially at night, when he comes home drunk. He rapes me. Tells me to shut up or he'll hurt me. So I don't make a sound. I tell myself it's going to be over soon.

I want to write it in detail, but that would only make things worse for me at the present time.

He also pushes and kicks me, grabs me by the hair, at one point he grabs a metal pipe and hits me with it. All I can do is protect my head and curl up so he won't hit my vital organs.

My skin turns mottled day by day, and it doesn't heal because the bruises keep adding up every night.

And he doesn't even remember he did this.

One day he wakes up and finds me on the dining table, tied up, bleeding, and obviously raped until I was knocked unconscious. He brings me to the hospital. I don't press charges.

It ends when he sits me down at the dining table and tells me that I need to leave. Leave when night comes, and only return in the morning when he's usually not abusive.

I could choose to leave this madness. Leave the people who don’t show even an ounce of care. But knowing myself, I’d stay.

I’ve been thinking a lot about how people have been treating me, and about what life might be like in the future… except this time, with different people who treat me the same way.

Sometimes I wonder why I have these painful fantasy worlds to live in, instead of daydreaming about a good life. Maybe I don’t want to have high hopes for the future, in case I get disappointed again. Maybe I’m just preparing myself for the pain.

At least something good happened today. I had a good time with my partner. Being silly and confessing things in our different languages using Google Translator and ChatGPT. She said I sound like Romeo. I mean, it’s not my fault, that’s just what the AI gave me. I didn’t mean to sound overly sweet or cringe. She said some inappropriate things at one point in my language, and it made me laugh and fall in love with her again.

I guess I should hold on to that instead.