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- I suppose, if you're reading this, I trust you enough to want you to know what happens when I go too far off. I'm sorry if this seems weird, or if this makes you feel uncomfortable, or anything like that. But, please, understand that I trust you, and I want to let you in. If you aren't comfortable, please stop reading this and tell me so that way I know if I've overstepped my boundaries.
- ~~~~~~~~~*^*~~~~~~~~~
- Without a trigger, it starts with visual snow dappling in the corners of my eyes, like static on TV. If I pay close enough attention, I can see it and stop it before anything escalates; if I don't, I can lose myself without realizing it. My surroundings become slightly… fake; like the world's slowly becomes a video game that hasn't completely loaded all of its textures. Eventually, I'll begin to see bruises splotching onto my skin like demented tattoos. They cycle through every instance, every set flashes across like they're reflecting off a disco ball. Once I get too far from myself, more injuries sprout up. Cuts blossom, blood cascades from… multiple places on me, and once the pain starts to resurface, the entire world around me melts away into the fuzzy, hazy darkness. This next sentence is my starting point with a trigger. The darkness was normal; it was constant when everything happened, save for the occasional car lights that flared through a window or the motion lights flickering on ominously -- either way, the lighting didn't help, nor was it constant. Shadows starkly surround me, more dramatically than hero comics. He comes in towering above my kneeling or laying body. I'm crying, pleading, begging, bargaining, trembling… but it all falls on deaf ears. Now here's where they diverge. I can re-experience the cigarette burns and smell my flesh melt amongst burning tobacco as the smoke wafts up my face as if it was trying to smother me. I can get repeatedly bashed over the head and across my entire body with beer bottles -- scraping my arms and back, making me smell like alcohol, going to school late and hearing callous teachers calling me drunk, forcing me to blow into a breathalyzer and sending me home when they realized I was just tired and was around the alcohol whilst they all sneered at me like I was an abomination (which, in every instance, I feel more and more shame and self-loathing and less and less human as I cycle through) -- and I shower and shower but the smell never goes away and I keep scrubbing and scrubbing and scalding myself. Or better yet, he's wearing his steel-toed shoes and stomping on me repeatedly as I lose my air in the real world as well as my waking nightmare along with him bashing me with a gun magazine. Or more recently, as if it's some sort of ‘special treat’ I go back to that cemetery, back to the statue and feel him inside me over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over and over until I flash back to the shower and scald or freeze myself even more, and when I'm done, the fantasy skips like a scratched record and I go through the horrors all over again. All the while, no matter what experience I relive, I hear him. He’ll call me (in no particular order, but in a drunken, threatening voice) “a slut, a bitch, a mistake, a waste of money, time, and energy, worthless, useless, a burden, my slave, my plaything, a good-for-nothing piece of shit” and a slew of others I can't always remember off the top if my head. And, from what I've experienced, two things can snap me out of it. Either someone I trust calling out to me, or just time. Someone else that I trust enough can bring me back out with a matter of seconds, but alone I just succumb to the flashback and they do with me what they will from an hour to a day. Sure I can be released, but those feelings resurface with me and I go scrambling back to trying to rebuild and become cold and plastic. Plastic made sure no one knew anything. Plastic made sure no emotions could leak out besides cloyingly saccharine kindness. Plastic made sure no one wanted to look in further and hurt me more. Plastic made sure no one would ever get closer because who would want to get close to some degenerate? Some worthless, putrid, vile, horrid, useless, impure, toxic, broken, deplorable piece of trash that never thought she should have existed.
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