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((TRIGGER WARNING))
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Sometimes I can remember his face in vivid detail.
Many times I can't recall a single detail. Just a tall, skinny, scary blur of a man. But sometimes I feel like I'm staring at his face.
His greedy, shiny, yellowing smile. So bright against his dark skin. His eyes contrasted too, blood red, usually squinting. They looked old.
And that tattoo. The fucking teardrop by his eye. His right eye I think. That's how I always see it.
He had long facial hair, just on his chin. Hair pulled back, usually a do-rag and a hat.
Bony skinny, but muscled, and too tall. Wife beaters, baggy shorts. He was so intimidating.
It's his face that really sticks. Like he's staring at me in my mind, sometimes. The way he looked down at me when he talked to me, literally and figuratively. Something evil in that grin.
His body is mostly a blur holding a lit cigarette. But I do remember the pictures. So sick that he showed me, I don't even feel it anymore. I worked in an adult movie store for a year after that to get over those feelings. So that seeing a penis wouldn't make me sick.
They say I'm so lucky that I can't remember. The black hole in my brain hides those memories from me, to keep me safe from trauma. No flashbacks, not that kind of nightmares... But nightmares about searching for something throughout abandoned houses filled with sick, dead things. Something I thought I needed. But it exhausted me, so I lay down on the floor and cried in frustration at the world.
It's his face that intrudes my mind, so clearly every once in a while. Gravitating outside of the black hole. It doesn't mean anything to me. It just wears me out. Like grinding my teeth, slowly breaking down my enamel.
I want to stab out his eyes so bad. Shove knives between his ribs. These stupid revenge fantasies wear me out too.
I just want to know what my body knows. My body knows what he did to me, somewhere in that black hole. How can I even trust myself? Both my brain and my body have betrayed me. They let him win. He's still winning. That's why I see him grinning in my face sometimes.
I don't even know his real name.
.
.
.
Sometimes I can remember his face in vivid detail.
Many times I can't recall a single detail. Just a tall, skinny, scary blur of a man. But sometimes I feel like I'm staring at his face.
His greedy, shiny, yellowing smile. So bright against his dark skin. His eyes contrasted too, blood red, usually squinting. They looked old.
And that tattoo. The fucking teardrop by his eye. His right eye I think. That's how I always see it.
He had long facial hair, just on his chin. Hair pulled back, usually a do-rag and a hat.
Bony skinny, but muscled, and too tall. Wife beaters, baggy shorts. He was so intimidating.
It's his face that really sticks. Like he's staring at me in my mind, sometimes. The way he looked down at me when he talked to me, literally and figuratively. Something evil in that grin.
His body is mostly a blur holding a lit cigarette. But I do remember the pictures. So sick that he showed me, I don't even feel it anymore. I worked in an adult movie store for a year after that to get over those feelings. So that seeing a penis wouldn't make me sick.
They say I'm so lucky that I can't remember. The black hole in my brain hides those memories from me, to keep me safe from trauma. No flashbacks, not that kind of nightmares... But nightmares about searching for something throughout abandoned houses filled with sick, dead things. Something I thought I needed. But it exhausted me, so I lay down on the floor and cried in frustration at the world.
It's his face that intrudes my mind, so clearly every once in a while. Gravitating outside of the black hole. It doesn't mean anything to me. It just wears me out. Like grinding my teeth, slowly breaking down my enamel.
I want to stab out his eyes so bad. Shove knives between his ribs. These stupid revenge fantasies wear me out too.
I just want to know what my body knows. My body knows what he did to me, somewhere in that black hole. How can I even trust myself? Both my brain and my body have betrayed me. They let him win. He's still winning. That's why I see him grinning in my face sometimes.
I don't even know his real name.
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2 Comments On This Entry
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I relate a lot to what you have said. I've been told that it will get better or whatever..I doubt it. I have no hope that I can get past this even though its been 12 years..I'm worse now than I have ever been. Probably because I'm sober now. I wasn't drunk that night but I stayed drunk after..for several years. I should go back to drinking I guess.