Seven years and I still can feel your fingers around my neck. The pressure. My heart still pounds. My breath runs short. I still feel like this could be the end.
Is that the moment love lost meaning?
I had thought sex was so sacred, reserved for lovers with, at the very least, unrealistic plans of building a life together.
But he fucked me. Who was he? A stranger. Me? Blackout drunk and looking for love. And he just left, maybe he laughed, when I begged him to stay and save me.
I always needed saving.
Back then, it was from a man--a boy-- who couldn't see (or didn't care) that he was breaking me. He mattered most to the both of us. Our relationship was founded on a web of lies and they were suddenly unraveling all at once before me, but he was still spinning his web and I kept walking straight into it.
Back then I still naively believed in forever.
When I confessed what I'd done, or perhaps more appropriately what was done to me, he choked me.
He choked me in the home I'd welcomed him into.
I cried as I asked for forgiveness and attempted suicide the first moment I was alone.
Less than a month later my closest male friend at the time took advantage of my trust & attempted to start the cycle all over again.
After that, I pushed everyone away. I isolated myself. And eventually I decided I was okay and I laughed.
There's nothing sacred about sex, people can't be trusted, and love is not enough.
I keep holding onto these gems who are better at breaking me than lifting me up, even if it's not their intention.
Nobody's going to save me & I can't save anyone.
This I need to remember.