If she had been more careful, they wouldn't have found out. Found out that she was a liar, a betrayer. If she had been more careful her ex wouldn't have told his ex. If she had been more careful his ex wouldn't have felt the need to tell her that he had cheated on them both. If she had been more careful he wouldn't have been crying to his best friend. If she had been more careful things would still be the same. If she had been more careful she wouldn't be cutting her fingers on the broken glass of her mind. If she had been more careful everyone involved wouldn't be in this much pain. If she had been more careful maybe she wouldn't hate herself more that they did. If she had been more careful maybe she wouldn't have cried herself to sleep for a week. If she had been more careful none of this would have happened. If she had been more careful she wouldn't be as broken as she is now. If she had been more careful she never would have had sex with a guy she barely knew.
If she had been more careful, maybe her heart wouldn't hurt so much.
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Late Nights and Bad Thoughts
Whenever she sees someone with scars on their arms she always wants to ask "What's your trauma?" She knows her own well enough, everyone keeps telling her what it is. She has learned not to speak of the time when she stayed up late, when he shoved his tongue in her mouth and his hand down her jeans. It didn't happen to her anyway. She watched it happen, floating above her body, limbs useless and mind frozen in shock. She has learned to laugh it off when people ask why she gets so still at the sight of a can of Skoal Green Apple flavored chewing tobacco.
The kid who sits next to her in the Intro to Psych summer course she is taking has cigarette burns all over his left forearm. She wants to ask him his reasons so badly she has to cough sometimes to dislodge the words in her throat. She doesn't wonder why the professor hasn't called him out on it, she learned long ago that people see what they want to see, they way they see cat scratches in the thick scars on her arms. She wants to laugh at their self imposed blindness. The way she is now people have a hard time believing that she would ever purposely hurt herself. She has learned how to act happy and always have a smile on her face, she learns quickly.
Sometimes, though, she forgets the way she is supposed to act and she cries herself to sleep. All she really wants most nights is a warm body beside her to keep the nightmares at bay, someone to sing her to sleep the way her mother used to do when she was a small child, and rub her back and pet her head and tell her everything is okay, it was just a bad dream, go back to sleep, when she wakes up screaming and shaking. She doesn't want to wake up with someone's hand down her pants again, ingraining in her mind that people are not to be trusted. Sometimes she thinks about going somewhere where no one knows who she is or who her parents are and getting a small loft and filling it with so many books that she can't hear her own thoughts anymore. Maybe her own pack of dogs to guard her from humans and nightmares while she sleeps. She knows that life could never be as simple as she imagines it, so she sits in her Intro to Psych course next to the kid with the burns on his arm, choking on her questions because she wants to know so badly it almost makes her cry, and tries to learn other things. Maybe she can learn enough that she can fix herself, patch the bits that are crumbling away like old castle walls. It's a long shot, she knows, but these days what isn't?
The kid who sits next to her in the Intro to Psych summer course she is taking has cigarette burns all over his left forearm. She wants to ask him his reasons so badly she has to cough sometimes to dislodge the words in her throat. She doesn't wonder why the professor hasn't called him out on it, she learned long ago that people see what they want to see, they way they see cat scratches in the thick scars on her arms. She wants to laugh at their self imposed blindness. The way she is now people have a hard time believing that she would ever purposely hurt herself. She has learned how to act happy and always have a smile on her face, she learns quickly.
Sometimes, though, she forgets the way she is supposed to act and she cries herself to sleep. All she really wants most nights is a warm body beside her to keep the nightmares at bay, someone to sing her to sleep the way her mother used to do when she was a small child, and rub her back and pet her head and tell her everything is okay, it was just a bad dream, go back to sleep, when she wakes up screaming and shaking. She doesn't want to wake up with someone's hand down her pants again, ingraining in her mind that people are not to be trusted. Sometimes she thinks about going somewhere where no one knows who she is or who her parents are and getting a small loft and filling it with so many books that she can't hear her own thoughts anymore. Maybe her own pack of dogs to guard her from humans and nightmares while she sleeps. She knows that life could never be as simple as she imagines it, so she sits in her Intro to Psych course next to the kid with the burns on his arm, choking on her questions because she wants to know so badly it almost makes her cry, and tries to learn other things. Maybe she can learn enough that she can fix herself, patch the bits that are crumbling away like old castle walls. It's a long shot, she knows, but these days what isn't?
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