I woke up with it on my brain again, you know. I am really, seriously, not coping with this THING taking up all my headspace.
So as per the title.
I was asleep. Cosy and curled up on the sofa, waiting for Rob to come home. I woke to a tongue and a heaviness and breath that was confusing and strange. I thought it was Rob, because who else would it be? I’ve left Rob in the pub chatting up some bird. Awake properly, knees drawn to my chest. Your tits are great, can I touch them? What? No. Hah not even Rob gets to lately, they are all for the baby. Can I get you a drink? <keep it normal, keep it safe> What’s the point if you’re not going to get naked? I move. To the kitchen. Stand in the doorway. He leans over me. I move again, outside. Have a fag. That’s safe. Please leave. Or stay? Rob will be home. Go to bed, he said. I’ll let myself out. What? No, you go and then I’ll go to bed. Hand on thigh. I move, again. He’s there. He leaves. I lock the door. And break.
I just. I don’t know. Worse things have happened, you know? But this. This. I’m so ANGRY. No, that’s not it, really. I’m scared. He broke me. My home, my haven, my nice life, he kind of smashed through it. I vomit, often. I dream. I shake and for fuck’s sake, I cry. Too much energy expended on this shit. I am done with it.
So. I’ve written the shit out of it. I’m putting it in a box. I cannot, actually, have this thing crowding up my head any more. I am exhausted from it, and it wasn’t even anything really bad? He touched my boy, at a thing, adjusted his scarf. I wanted to rip his fucking face off. Dirty, nasty, entitled creature. But we have to live here, you know? So mostly I’ve buried it, I’ve gone through the proper channels and been vilified for it. I’ve talked it out, drunk it out, cried it out. And it’s still there. So I’ve written the shit out of it. Lets see if it helps.