April 2015. And May, June and July. August, September, October. And finally… November 2015. 8 months of love- no. 8 months of pretend love. April 2015 to November 2015 was 8 months of abuse, manipulation, gas lighting, confusion, narcissism, misplaced trust, misguided love, sexual abuse, and emotional torture. It was 8 months of being in love with a masked boy. I didn’t know this boy wore a mask, not until I had spent months in an emotional detox and my rose-colored glasses were broken in half. Even years after, I will never truly know the boy behind the mask, and I honestly don’t want too. Yes, I have questions, ones that will never be answered. But I do not wish to have the evil behind that mask be unveiled to me. I do not wish to know that horror.
It’s only been 3 years… which seems unreal honestly. But Google says its only been 3 years since November 2015. 3 years of freedom since I ripped from that masked boy’s grip. It has been 3 years of life changing moments, unforgettable memories, and a crazy rollercoaster ride of healing. November 22nd, was the day my parents forced us apart. Back then, I saw it as a day of grief, but now I see it as my day of freedom.
It has been 3 long, hard years since the exit out of denial began. My journey of healing started in January 2017, when I felt the cold water of reality hit my face. Not only had I been abused, but I had been sexually assaulted and sexually abused by that boy. His mask had started to slip, and I finally began to see the real person he was.
Years later I still struggle with battling the vulnerability that drowns my mind when the buzzing train of thoughts come to a stop. The brain is never silent and never still. Vulnerability drowns out any attempt at peace and calmness. It creates a collusion of chaos and under the rushing waves of vulnerability I go, sinking further into a panic of the past. Vulnerability finds me and swallows me whole. It creeps up on me in the dark when I am alone and weak.
It makes me cringe at my past, at the way my body was used, at the way my heart was stabbed. My mind was twisted and my identity was crushed. The fear of being betrayed again has stolen countless hours of sleep from me. The possible reality of misplacing my trust in somebody I love, once again, has sent me running from countless potential partners.
Vulnerability goes past being physically naked in front of somebody. It requires me to be emotionally naked also. I have to show my scars, both on the inside and on the outside. I have to show my broken pieces, and hope they won’t be used against me as weaknesses. I have to be able to “trust fall” into somebody, knowing if they don’t catch me, I will fall to the ground and crumble. For me, being vulnerable is flirting with the death. If I am dropped, I shatter into dust, unable to pick myself up again…