"Fuck Off: My Internal Dialogue of Naming & Accountability"
*CW: this piece is me processing some feelings of my sexual assault & mentions mental health stuff. please be gentle with yourself if this
sharing has potential to triggers your hurts. xoxo
As some sort of ode to my present state of sexual assault related ptsd, I am sharing the following. Last night I actually got some sleep, but still found myself upright, in the middle of the night, dream-like thoughts floating in & out. I moisturized with coconut oil to calm the unrest in my skin, offered myself a chance to cry, but decided to try sleep again. The process took significantly less time than the night before, perhaps because I was so exhausted, but whatever the reason, I am still grateful for the sleep. I woke up alone, had capacity to draw some tarot cards, & did some reflecting on the following:
trauma & internalized oppression
My plate, know as LIFE, is fuckin full all the fuckin time. I'm tired of it being full of bullshit, of recovering from traumatizing shit I have no control over, of tensions too high. Admittedly, though, I am in some kind of self-preservation flavored denial. Part of me is like, "What burnout? I'm fiiiiiine!" Blah. This was the entry point of my busy-working-both-jobs-today day. How do I take care before I feel like shutting the fuck down?
The star card--ancestors, magic, water, soft, intuition. I decided to address the impending // ever present exhaustion in my life, with these influences, & took time from colonial capitalistic powers to do my makeup in soft pinks, put together a look with my pajama dress & layers of sweaters, eat breakfast with my sister, & allowed myself to arrive at work when I felt ready, even though I was technically 15 minutes late. This feels important. Significant. One of the many things I'm not supposed to do.
Here is another thing I'm not supposed to do. Tell the truth. Name for myself what happened to me. Share what I want without shame or explanation. Time travel with me, back to the fall of 2013, when I was barely starting to grapple with what had happened to me the summer before. So many layers, so many things to tend to & details to carry.
summer of 2012
fuck off, sweet bee
how do i write this? tell the truth of my experience? i am trying so hard to be aware of the impact of my words because i don’t want to fall into traps of reducing you to fucked up tropes of femmes. i do not want to clothe the shit that went down between us in bone-constricting misogyny and femmephobia. i also want to tell the truth, the fucking truth.
where do i begin—when i fell in love? or when i fell out?
out. out is more fresh.
i won’t name you name you, but i’m keeping the sweet bee. it was a name i gave you when i was in love, and now it is a way for me to keep tabs. i can feel how far i’ve fallen out of love with you by the way my nickname for you mocks my tongue.
fuck off, fuck off, fuck off, sweet bee.
i can’t believe this shit you did to me. yeah, the shit you did to me. i can’t decide if the lies or manipulation or blatant disregard for my “no” hurts more. they are interconnected, propping each other, held tight in the teeth of one another.
i fully acknowledge something fucked up and violent happened to you this summer, and that was definitely not your fault, but something happened that i never knew was coming. layer by layer, the trauma you were experiencing was peeling me vulnerable as i ran in circles and talked in circles and dreamed in circles to help you.
you came into my life, thick with giving is what i though, but thick with something else is what i found.
you came into my heart thick
with want that suffocates
and for a time
you kept it from me
but when he violated you
in a way that violated me
was consumed by your desire
and it was no longer about
it was about taking what you wanted
when i told you “no”
you were supposed to listen
“no” can enrich relationships
“no” is valid without explanation
“no” is what i said
but i don’t know what the fuck you heard
what i know is this:
you pushed me up against the wall in my kitchen
and stuck your mouth on mine
after i told you i was too tender
to touch you
i couldn’t do any of it
your whatever grew to such a horrid degree
that you crossed each of my boundaries
again and again and again
and i became more and more numb to survive your survival
i lack a language that feels adequate to describe
how your hands felt
when they took from me
it was no longer touch
it was like they were cursed
to hurt and suck without my permission
you wailed and shook your head no
you threatened this and that
you lied to others and then you lied to me
you were always lying it seems
I'm scared she might read this. I'm afraid that the flow is all wrong, that I'm not as eloquent as I wanna be, that I will regret this in a few hours, few days, few weeks. No matter, I'm writing this anyways. I'm desperate for sleep & peace of mind. I'm quickly becoming willing to tell the truth.
My comfy grandma glam look for today.
Multitasking brushing teeth & selfies.