I could see the truth being poured into his mouth, with every swig. The bottle slammed down, punching the counter in contentment. A smirk stretched across his face, but that smirk didn't match his eyes. He smiled with a mouth full of, "I love you's", but his eye were etched with lies. He told told me he loved me. . . I knew love hurt, but he showed me how much.
I went through a viscous cycle of torture, an agony no heart should feel. I fell falsely in "love" countless times, but always with the wrong man. Not all would leave physical scars, but all would leave a mark deep within. I believe emotional scars run deeper than anything on the surface. Honestly, I would rather be punched in the face than be left with the torment of the mind. The mind reads like a book, and plays scenes like a movie. . . sometimes you want to turn away in horror, but your brain simply stays stuck on play, almost in slow motion, until you go insane. There are few things that can pause the pain, and nothing can stop it. Becoming numb is the only escape, and even that has its own consequences.
I remember the first mark he left on me. . . My skin swelled, and a bruise was made. This bruise would be one of many, and not just from him. I would soon learn that I would fail every time I stayed. Trust ran deep inside me, and I naively believed that this is how things should be. I now know that I cared more than they ever could. I was just a pawn in some cruel game. I hear people ask, "How could she stay?" It's not a simple explanation, but it's broken down to fear. Fear of being alone. Fear of being wrong. Fear of never finding true love. . . maybe this is it? Maybe he's right, and alcohol just consumed him. . .again. Memories of the fun times flood back, and you think to yourself, yes . . . he's right. He would never hurt me intentionally. Everything I experienced is wrong.
The brainwashing begins . . .
This torment has happened so many times, that the memories bleed together, in a sadistic pool of narcissistic fulfillment. I have so many to blame, but I only blame myself. I signed up for this, and I accepted it knowing the consequences. I thrived on pain, because pain is love, and love is pain. I now know this to be false, but for a long time this is how I felt. I even let someone who once saved me, protected me, and truly loved me go- I pushed him away! I didn't deserve such adoration.
Bruises fade, but the scars never leave. They may heal over time, but they remain. Most don't understand, some never will, and that's okay. I've built a wall, a fortress around myself, and barricaded myself inside. It takes time, and that time is now. I am slowly breaking down the walls around me, brick by brick, just for you to see a glimpse into the hell my mind portrays. . . my reality.
I might have lost the battle, but the war is far from over.
I have countless stories to share. I call them, my book of horrors. So many, so much so, they could fill a library. Some might haunt you, like they haunt me, but I'll save the gory details for another time. For now, I'll leave you with the words on this page.
**Whiskey bottle photo borrowed by Pinterest post/Google Search. Not my own image, and credit is due to the owner of the photo. Great imagery. If I knew who posted it, I would give credit as such. Will remove, if asked. Thank you.**- J. L. Howard