Violence would have saved me. A thought I struggle to comprehend. It were the words that degraded me, broke me down, they wrapped around my neck. "Piece of shit" "worthless" "a mistake" "this is your fault" "I hate you" ... they suffocated me. It's like they're holding a pillow over your face forever but they never push down hard enough to make you stop breathing. It's like they have you on a leash, but they leave just enough slack to keep you walking. It is defeating. As a child you can't see it- instead you believe it. A pillow soaked in tears your hands covering your ears. Make it stop! You are embarressed and confused. Words that didn't cut like daggers, but cut like razors. Swift and sharp cuts, scaring you; but not big enough for anyone to notice. At the time you accept it and distract yourself. Toys for games become toys for the pain. The corner of your room becomes your hiding place. A titanium cage that will keep you safe... but in reality it can't. Because it is not the fists to be afraid of, it wasn't something I could defend. It was words, sounds bombing my soul. Sentences crushing my spirit. I imagnied the phrases like missiles, breaking through my bedroom door, crashing into my head. The sppiting, cursing, yelling, intimidation, breaking of things, was never enough to get someone on the outside to hear or to care. It was the day that he 'hurt' me, where his temper 'lost control.' Where police came and sirens blared and neighbors noticed, when things finally changed. But that wasn't the first day he 'hurt' me, and god it wasn't the worst day he 'hurt' me. His touch could do only so much, his words were what made the deepest cut. So yes I'm okay, but I wasn't the other day. and where were you then? Leave a scar on my skin, fine. Leave a scar on my heart, on my soul. Give it time.
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