The Skeletons In My Closet
The skeletons in my closet don't actually represent things I have done and are ashamed. The skeletons in my closet are things that have been done to me that I blame myself for.
I drank too much that night. I smoked Arabic tobacco. I was high. I passed out. I thought the worst was over. Until my eyes struggled to open and I could feel your breathe. You had no right. It took me years to realize that it wasn't my fault. You took my innocence. I physically couldn't say no.
This skeleton is similar to the first. We dated. I thought you were a good guy, until you weren't. You were emotionally manipulative, abusive, and you physically and sexually assaulted me. You borderline stalked me to the point I almost had to break my silence and seek help. I still can't have my neck touched, I still remember how it felt to have your hands wrapped around my neck. I still remember when you picked me up and wouldn't let me go until I said I loved you. I remember my toes not being able to touch the ground. I remember feeling helpless all over again.
The cycle continued. I dated the same type of guys. The abuse came in varying forms, and I believed it was my fault. I believed I deserved it. It broke my soul. It broke my heart. It broke me. It was easier to be numb to the feeling then to feel.
I play out every situation like it will end and be a collection in my closet of skeletons. I carried the
skeletons like they were mine to hold on to. I felt like it was my burden to bare.
Until I opened that closet and I shared bits and pieces I didn't realize it wasn't my burden. Then the closet seemed too full. There was too many skeletons that no longer fit. Slowly the pieces of the skeletons are removed.
The closet still holds pieces I can't remember how they got there or pieces I can't talk about yet.
That closet though, it's got some new shoes. Some pretty dresses and a light. It's got room for better things, things that bring joy.
I drank too much that night. I smoked Arabic tobacco. I was high. I passed out. I thought the worst was over. Until my eyes struggled to open and I could feel your breathe. You had no right. It took me years to realize that it wasn't my fault. You took my innocence. I physically couldn't say no.
This skeleton is similar to the first. We dated. I thought you were a good guy, until you weren't. You were emotionally manipulative, abusive, and you physically and sexually assaulted me. You borderline stalked me to the point I almost had to break my silence and seek help. I still can't have my neck touched, I still remember how it felt to have your hands wrapped around my neck. I still remember when you picked me up and wouldn't let me go until I said I loved you. I remember my toes not being able to touch the ground. I remember feeling helpless all over again.
The cycle continued. I dated the same type of guys. The abuse came in varying forms, and I believed it was my fault. I believed I deserved it. It broke my soul. It broke my heart. It broke me. It was easier to be numb to the feeling then to feel.
I play out every situation like it will end and be a collection in my closet of skeletons. I carried the
skeletons like they were mine to hold on to. I felt like it was my burden to bare.
Until I opened that closet and I shared bits and pieces I didn't realize it wasn't my burden. Then the closet seemed too full. There was too many skeletons that no longer fit. Slowly the pieces of the skeletons are removed.
The closet still holds pieces I can't remember how they got there or pieces I can't talk about yet.
That closet though, it's got some new shoes. Some pretty dresses and a light. It's got room for better things, things that bring joy.
Comments
Post a Comment