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[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

8/13/18

Cold thoughts run through my veins and head

Stinging, freezing, and clawing

I throw off the cover and walk to the kitchen

My thoughts are running marathons in her brain

My eyes are tired and heavy, my hands shaking, and my heart racing.

 Sleep which once was the escape is now the enemy

The bed that used to be my safe space is now my battleground

Your face blurs in and out of my head

The room in which it happens won’t leave the corner of my eye

You’re like a parasite buried deep within my brain

For a moment, the world goes black

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

The Fragile House

The plate slams on the counter and the world seems to crash around me like pieces of broken pottery.

The door slams and shakes the house made of fragile words and false emotions.

The car door shuts and echo’s like the calm before the storm through my mind. 

The floor is made of glass thats only an inch thick.

The windows are clear but covered with bars made of flowers, beautiful and deceiving. 

The ceiling is made of stars, filled with hope but out of reach. 

My life is on a continuous loop build on rusty tracks. 

I wake at the same time, leave home, go to work and feel accomplished and like I have purpose, leave work, dread going home, and suddenly I’m in the driveway shutting off my car and staring at the house even though every fiber of my being wants to turn around and leave.

But I can’t. 

I can’t leave. 

That reality hits me in the face like cold water and my brain shuts off like a light. 

Disassociating, becoming numb, losing my feelings as quickly as they returned. 

Every step I take feels heavier and my stomach behinds to knot

I turn the handle and take a deep breath as I walk

Into the fragile house. 

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

I dont even know how to describe the feelings you gave me. It felt like every good thing in the world had come together like pieces of a perfect puzzle. Every good thing in the world had combined into one feeling and that entire feeling made my heart swell. My longing had been satiated. Everything I had hoped for was finally there. It felt like all of those feelings were flowing through my veins like silver springs. You could taste the springs, even wade in them if you wanted to. They tasted like strawberries and honeysuckle. I wanted to drink it all up through silver chalices. And just when the waters became the most sweet, they dried up. It feels like when you were little and you fell off your bike and scrapped your knee. It hurt and it made you cry. Your mind was focused on nothing but the burning, stinging sensation. And then your grandmother came over, put a Hello Kitty Band-Aid on your bleeding knee, and kissed it better. Except this time there was no one to hold you. There was no Band-aid or kiss. The scab had been ripped off and left you bleeding and in pain. The floodgates were opened in your mind once again and it felt like there was nothing to stop them. It felt lonely. I had felt lonely before, most of my life really. I was used to it. But this was a new kind of lonely, one I hadn’t experienced. It felt like dancing in a field of wildflowers only to be plucked up by a vicious, black hurricane. My heart was close enough to feel, to talk to, to experience but not to touch. Not to hold, caress, or cherish. My very being was torn in two. One part of me was 1,332 miles away. The part that remained was fighting with every fiber to just get through the day that was growing increasingly longer. The only lifeline, the only shimmer of happiness was the pixels on my screen that made up your wonderful face. The nightly phone calls, the texts, the pictures we took. I feel stuck in time but forever moving. When you were here it felt like you never had to leave. I didn’t allow myself to think about the day you were leaving. I remember what your hands felt like and how it felt when my fingers slipped through yours. I remember feeling myself break when I turned away from you. I had never felt so alone in a crowd before. My car that once felt fun and full was now empty and boring. Songs had new meanings. Scenery looked less bright and faded. My room felt huge and empty. My bed was cold. Sleeping felt more like an escape than anything else because it was the only time I could come close to touching you. And the days go on, repeating themselves over and over. 

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

Do you suppose she is a wildflower?

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

Who gave you that idea?

Who gave you that idea? Where did you hear that? Did your boyfriend give you this idea? How many times have I heard these phrases growing up as a young woman? Is it too hard to imagine that I, a female, could possibly think of an original idea or come to a conclusion without the help of anyone else? Is it too hard to imagine that a female could hold strong opinions without her friends or male partner backing her up? Is it too hard to believe that a woman could think for herself? Never once have I heard these things said to my brother, father, male cousins, or male friends. Not once. But how many times have I heard these things said to my female friends, my mother, myself? Countless times. Because it is easier for the patriarchy to believe that a woman could only come to a conclusion with the help of a man than on her own. 

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

The bricks are littered with tiny white glimmers of fairy dust disguised as flower petals. The trees spring to life, celebrating the warmth and spreading beauty. The flowers dance and spread turning the hillsides into sunset paintings and dissolving into puffy white spheres that explode into magic. The birds fly with new life and sing happy songs while they build homes from natures materials. Baby cows frolic in deep green fields, kicking and playing, enjoying the spring breeze and the company of their friends. Baby deer snuggle closely with their mothers and sleep in fields of tall grass and yellow flowers. The scent of flowers and rain drift through the air and erasing the crisp, bitter air that came before it. It seems as though faeries dance through the night sky, blessing everything they touch with faery dust and encouraging it to grow and bloom. It is as though veins of magic run through the ground itself, giving birth to beauty, gentleness, and tenderness. 

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

Quietly I sit confined by the four walls that are continuously closing in. I try to ignore it, drown it out with music I have heard thousands of times, trying to talk about other things. I gather my pets and they hide with me, all frightened and trying to feel safe. We sit in an almost dark room too exhausted, too focused on trying to ignore it that I can’t turn on the lights. My brain follows the argument thinking of what I would say, aching to scream and yell and tell them to stop. I feel rage boiling up inside of me. I want to punch a hole through the wall, I want to rip out my hair, I want an escape from this. The four walls begin to crack and crumble, and then come falling down. 

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

As soon as she leaves her workplace, her steps quicken. They quicken with “What if he is around the corner?” “What do I do if I see him?” “Will he hurt me?”. Her keys are clenched tightly between her fingers that are formed into a fist. She avoids eye contact while checking every face that walks by, every pair of shoes to see if they are his, every corner, every alley. She stands with her back to the wall at the elevator so he can’t come up from behind her. She rushes to her car and locks it as soon as she gets in. 

She enters a restaurant and has already examined the parking lot for his car. She looks around while trying to not look too obvious trying to identify danger. She sits in the corner closest to the wall and looks up at the door every time a new face enters her sight. 

She goes to an event carrying with her a mixed bag of emotions filled with happiness and fear. She wants to enjoy herself and yet there is a nagging feeling of always being in danger. She carefully studies the room and everyone in it. 

Her mind is working overtime. Her eyes are constantly wondering to faces, to cars, to shoes, to flannels, to buses. Even in her own car she feels unsafe until she reaches home. She hates this feeling of not being on control, of being afraid to leave your home, and of constantly being on edge. Her past has turned her into a deer in the headlights. She desperately wants to be free, to live without fear, and to go out without avoiding parts of town.

This is the life of a survivor of abuse. We are not victims. But our lives don’t just go on. We can’t just move on. We can heal but never erase. 

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

When you stop viewing yourself as superior to your fellow beings, your whole world begins to change,

Jordyn Fender

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

I look in the mirror seeing oceans of fat, too thick here, too thin there, not enough muscle here, not enough muscle there. I look into a mirror and see nothing but a disgusting, horrifically ugly thing that does not even deserve the respect to be called human. I look into the mirror and see thoughts circling my head. “Too fat!” “Starve!” “You shouldn’t have eaten that” “No one will ever love you” “I am your only friend”. I look into the mirror and see not my achievements but only my failures. My failure being that I am human and I do not have a perfect and flawless body I am supposed to have. I look into the mirror and see nothing but damaged goods, too big to be loved, too small to have a voice. So I continue looking, trying to find myself under all of this, searching, screaming for hope that I know is there. 

And one day, I look into the mirror, and the image has changed. 

I look into the mirror and see a person, a woman, an individual. I see a body who has been beaten, cut, burned, punched, bruised, and scared, and still remains alive. I look into the mirror and notice how my eyes flash green and gold. I look into the mirror and for one second admire the waves of my hips, the beautiful curves of my stomach, and the strength of my shoulders that I have hated for so long. I look into the mirror and see a symbol of strength and hope and resistance. I look into the mirror and see a soul that has fought tooth and nail to be alive only to hate the body she lives in. I look into the mirror and see the awful things that my mind has made me do to myself. I look in the mirror and begin to feel a strong sense of guilt for what I have done to her. And then I turn that guilt into rage. I rage and scream and yell at the disordered voice that has made me believe so many untrue things about myself. How dare you make me believe for one second I am not worth of love? How dare you belittle me in my own space? How dare you make me think I am no longer in control of myself, my thoughts, my actions, or my life? How dare you believe you will be allowed to keep existing? 

So I look into the mirror for the last time, and the thoughts that were once circling my head like rainclouds are gone. And I can see that through all of it, this body of mine has been beautiful and perfected in her own way the entire time. 

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

Her voice

Her voice is soft and gentle, supportive and encouraging. She always tells you what you did right, repeats how many pounds you’ve lost in your head, reminds you of your goals, reminds you you are striving for perfection. 

Her voice is loud, painfully piercing, and constant. She takes control of your body and doesn’t allow you to eat without putting up a fight. She whispers nasty things in your ear while you eat. She reminds you constantly how your thighs touch, how your stomach rolls, how your collarbones don’t protrude far enough. 

Her voice becomes a friend. She becomes an ally. She becomes everything. Her voice becomes your worst enemy, your nightmares, and ultimately your death. She becomes nothing and everything, good and bad, helpful and deadly. Her voice is anorexia. 

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]

[kitty-witch-stuff-blog]