Trigger Warning

Today was great, actually. But two things today led me to getting drunk alone on my couch binge watching RomComs. You know, triggers. They are fucking fantastic at taking you out of your real and current life and throwing you into the past.

 

One:

I ran into your mother at the store today. She hugged me.

“I remember when you were this big” she exclaimed,

hand down by her side. What she should have said was “this little”

Little enough to never have been near you.

Not old enough to have been my babysitter. But old enough to know you were taking advantage of someone weaker than you.

Do you remember when you made me hide on the side of the hill with you?

Do you remember asking to see my body and fighting me when I said no?

Do you remember grabbing at my pants trying to pull them down?

Do you remember pinning my arms above my head?

Do you remember covering my mouth with your hands when I yelled for help?

How about the time in my bed? When you whispered your question again…

Can I see you?

Playing hide and seek was your game, huh?

Who else did you scare? What are you doing now?

I’m lucky you never touched me. I yelled enough for you to stop every time you got close.

Today I hug your mother and instantly I’m a young girl again.

Thinking about you, and the ways you taught me my body is not mine.

You’ll always be the first man to try and take advantage of me.

The first person to use my body.

 

Two:

Hi dad, yes I’ll see you.

Thanks for the free tickets. Thanks for offering free groceries.

This is weird, is he really showing up for me? A second phone call and it makes sense. You needed something from me all along. Usually the reasons you call, there’s always a motive. This feeling is familiar. I remember the many times you called me for favors, for money, for whatever you could get out of your middle daughter. You take advantage of my love and my inabilities to say no. Just the way you’ve taken advantage of my mother and every other woman you “loved.”

You want to sleep at my house. The thought heightens my anxiety. I have to hide all the cash, the alcohol, hell even the mouth wash. There’s a part of me that knows you will fuck this up somehow. You’ll break the trust that doesn’t even exist anymore. On top of that, you’ll break my heart like you always do. These are the reasons I don’t answer the phone. I shouldn’t have answered the damn phone. Now I find myself tipsy on the couch, actively seeking out validation from any woman who will text me back.

Love me someone. I am lovable right? Prove to me that my father is sick and I really AM WORTHY of love? To way you make me doubt myself is just incredible. A sick gift.

 

 

 

Long story short, I hate men. Goodnight.

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