Before They Made Me

And what I made of it.

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My innocence is gone. Most of it has been taken from me before I really started giving it away. Because I got to the point where I figured it was easier to give it. It felt easier to offer it as opposed to someone ripping it out of me. I was forced to smell their stench. Forced to be touched. To be stolen. She was stolen from me. I miss her so much.

I was just a child the first time. Still in diapers. Barely learned words. Words that meant no. Words that meant yes. Words that meant ‘ice cream please.’ I wonder if I was too young to say it. Or if I was just too young to understand what was happening to me.

As for my second experience…

When I was just old enough to have a period, he climbed through my window and took it from me. This time I knew how to say no. It didn’t matter. He left out of the front door. The audacity to leave out of the front door you weren’t invited into. And how I cried with a tummy ache in my bed for the rest of the night. And how I let him chip away at my self worth till it was just a pebble in his shoe. Even that was an inconvenience for him. He broke me down so low, I began giving in willingly. And no one knew. When they did know, I was a slut. And I was too broken to tell the truth.

A year had passed. I wasn’t a legal adult. But drinking became the crutch and the disability at the same time. I loved the feeling of what could kill me slowly could keep me alive. And then she came. She was twice my age. The alcohol on her breath smelled sour, putrid. Her red lipstick smeared from napping earlier in the night. I remember trying to push until my back was against the couch, trying to angle myself enough to get away. When I was finally able to get away, I locked myself in the bathroom until someone showed up and put her to bed. I never told anyone.

My first long term relationship was a year after that. He locked me in closets, beat me, tortured me in many different ways. He was cruel to animals. He was cruel to the homeless. He was cruel to himself. And everyone was too afraid of him to speak up. He devoured me. My body and my threadbare innocence. He hid my shoes in the trunk of his car every time he left the house so I would have a harder time escaping. And he would always have his friend come over to “babysit” me until he got back. I developed stockholm syndrome and PTSD because of it.

More things happened between this time, but the most prominent after that was my boss who drugged me in my late twenty’s. I was too stupid to take notice that bringing someone Vodka in a foam cup was uncommon. I remember taking two sips and that was it. I didn’t remember anything. Just woke up with him on top of me. I had never felt this feeling before. It was like waking up from a weird dream that I couldn’t remember. He had his way and I had to see him at work a day later. Eventually, I had my Mom call and tell them I would no longer be working there. I never told her why.

Once the can is cracked, there’s no cracking it closed. I began to hate myself. Then to prove my narrative, I created more ways that affirmed that narrative. Put alcohol or drugs into the mix and you don’t have to feel anything about it at all. I developed the unhealthy mindset that if I just start giving it freely, it can’t be taken from me. The false sense of power I have tried to get back my entire life. I am now 38 and I miss the little girl I was.

I miss who I was before they made me who I was. They touched my body and the way I tortured my own soul because of it. Please don’t tell me to pick a better man. I have gotten to the point where I truly hope they don’t pick me at all. I don’t want to be picked. Once I learned I can simply pick my own flowers without feeling obligated to spread my legs, why go back? Now that I can sleep peacefully knowing no one is abusing my love behind my back, why sleep with another? I can cry loudly without someone blaming me for my reaction to their abuse. One more withdraw and the check will bounce.

I am now five years alcohol and nicotine free and I will never go back. The things I have endured. The amount I have tried to self medicate. The light has left my eyes. I swear, my heart beats slower. And I have to forgive myself for dealing with it the best I could. I will never get her back. And neither will they. But I am still here. And that’s something they can never take.