This bloke; such a creep...
This bloke; such a creep…

I am tense and breathless, spinning and whirling stupidly fast down the dark well with my arms thrashing wildly to keep them away. I am silent, they are silent, the silent fall feels about the same as when you feel yourself falling as you drift off to sleep then you jolt and wake yourself up (and almost laugh every damn time).  Except this isn’t that, and I hate this, this is scary and it made my soul feel heavier than it should, it made me feel older than I was. It’s dark in the fall, but I can see them clear as day, there is no light and there is no end and I know every time what is happening isn’t real… but i know this;

The fear keeps me in, the fear is the strongest most in-depth part, the fear swallows me up and I can not scream, and when I try, nothing but silence comes out of my small open mouth. They are horrifically violent and aggressive with large dysmorphic features, yet they are not bloody or disgusting to watch, they are big, small, warped and all neutral tones, they take up every inch of that tunnel, that well, that space, that atmosphere, they are always there and they are always the same ones, every time, like I almost knew them.

 They watch me fall, they want me, they reach out for me, the monsters, they want me like I am the only thing they need, furious needy hungry hands. They stare, they grab and they pull at my body, my long long blonde hair, my feet, I feel naked and vulnerable but I never knew if I actually was, I never saw myself, I only saw them, they got me every time, every single time. When this happened, I always knew what was coming, I feared what came next.

 These were like pre-dreams, they came and then what felt like immediately afterwards would always be followed by an onslaught of graphic and horrific nightmares filled with murder, death, blood, tears, screaming, heads cracking on pavements, body parts covered in blood, sheer brutality on other humans from other humans and animals that I am never able to stop (no matter how loud I scream, run or as much as I try hide). I know what is happening, I was constantly aware, and I would scream in those nightmares to rouse my asleep self up (usually I failed miserably and just waited for them to be over).

I would wake up after, every time, scared, heart racing, shaking, sweaty and unable to think of even falling back to sleep. Even closing my eyes just to try and sleep but they were still there, those images, those monsters. These were often the nightmares that came on the nights he didn’t. On those nights I was too scared to call for my Birdy in fear that he might hear me and would come instead (because to be fucking honest I was grateful for a sexual abuse break, a rest from the touching, from disappearing, almost content in my nightmare fueled fear to lie alone because this was better). Those monsters, those nightmares they can take my mind and hide in my dreams waiting but they would never be as sinister or as real as the Villain.

My heart is tight and my anxiety grows even as I write, I’ve never given these dreams, these nightmares much thought until now. Sitting on my couch, in the warm with my favorite blanket next to Wheels and Batman. My heart hurts with all the sads of the sads, I have to fight the urge to cry, the lump grows in my throat and the tears well. I did not allow them to fall, not because I am embarrassed, or ashamed but because I am done letting this shit rule me, the abuse and the nightmares are no longer me, they are part of me but they are not me, and I AM well-made, magnificent and way more alluring, charming and gracious than those monsters and that smelly old Villain.
Those monsters.

‘Monster, they’re monsters, they fuck with my head. Monsters, them monsters, they want to be fed. Monsters, those monsters, off with their heads. Monsters, them monsters, I’ll sleep when they’re dead.’

-Thelma plum, ‘Monsters’


6 thoughts

  1. I picture you there on the couch with your family, and feel your feelings because you write so well. And am also so saddened that during warm family time, a horrifically horrible poor excuse of a human being tortured you in such ways that haunt you even now.
    I too had such filth inside me, like black tar slime-ing my soul needing scraping. Raymond helped me begin to get it out. It was a start.

    Liked by 1 person

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