C’mon Baby, Calm Me Down

[Actual transcription of what I wrote at the AA meeting from which I just got home. I should have opened my stupid mouth and spoken instead of just burying my face in my notebook. It’s probably disrespectful, arrogant. My old sponsor, J, used to say I shouldn’t write during meetings, and I didn’t listen to her because I didn’t think she knew anything. So it goes]:

It hurt so much when Tim shoved me against the wall and fucked me like I was some worthless piece of garbage some kinda cumslut cumrag cumdumpster worthless worthless WORTHLESS. I am filthy I am nothing I am a fucktoy I am not human. I am good for NOTHING but sex. I might as well just sell this rotten body for whatever I can get I might as well just […] because I am rape meat, and like Rabbi [S] said, “We all know this will happen again,” and he was right. It did happen again, and it was completely my fault because I shouldn’t have trusted Tim because he was a fucking ADDICT and I don’t even know if he was even clean the whole time I was dating him and I should have known better I should have known better I am such a goddamn fucking disgusting worthless STUPID piece of shit I don’t deserve to be here. I wish he’d killed me when he had his filthy fucking hands around my throat… I wish that [name] had killed me when he was [abusing me] so that I wouldn’t have had to grow up and feel this.

I cried through the whole meeting, and didn’t say a word the whole time. The guy chairing noticed and tried to give me a hug, but I panicked at the thought of making physical contact with a big man (not that he’s built or fat or anything, he’s just very, very tall), and I just said no, and he laughed, which I guess is better than how a lot of the men who try to put their fucking hands on me–without permission, without even bothering to consider the fact that maybe I don’t want their huge, toxic, masculine presence in my fragile, without-value space–get offended. I’d rather just be laughed at.

This whole fucking thing is a joke.
It didn’t happen.
I’m not real.
Tim wasn’t real.
The only real things are drugs and alcohol.
And my razor blades.

I got rid of all the blades. More accurately,
my mom got rid of them for me. I told her
where they were, and she tossed them for me.
She acted like it was weird, and I think she was
kinda mad, but I didn’t go out and buy new ones.
(Okay, actually I did, but I tossed those after
like one use.)
I just found these. I realized I stuck them in my
desk when I was looking for stickers or something,
and I realized that’s where I should have looked that
night I went to the hospital for the
rape kit.

Other things that are real:

  • My vomit swirling down the toilet after I’ve disposed  of a meal I shouldn’t have consumed
  • Hunger pains
    • lack of hunger pains because I don’t know what hunger feels like anymore.
      • what does it feel like to think? to circulate your blood? these are things that are constants in your body. hunger is constant. it should be, anyway. it used to be.
  • Time and boredom
  • Cravings for
    • food that i shouldn’t eat
    • drugs that i shouldn’t do
    • alcohol that i shouldn’t drink
    • men i shouldn’t fuck
    • an ex-girlfriend i shouldn’t think about
  • Xanax and other psychotropics
    • mostly Xanax

Did G-d put me on this earth just to be abused? Did He intend for me to be rape meat when He made me? I am so cold and so tired.


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