To You, In the Past - TRIGGER WARNING

[Lex]

TRIGGER WARNING


I hate you, I despise you.
I am addressing this to you, regardless that you will not read it. It doesn't matter, because I'll tell you one day. You are a lowly, crude excuse for a human. I swear to every living creature in this world, that I will see you judged for the horrible things you've done. Your torment, and not one time did I cry in front of you. I did not cower. You said I had a beautiful mind  once with your colleges, but you didn't know me. Maybe you wanted them to think that you'd gotten in my head. You failed. I know so much about you. All that time, you were confident, you talked. I listened. I didn't dare speak, because one thing leads to another. I'm out now, forever. You will pay for your sins? That's a wildly overused statement. I find, that at times I almost admire you, I couldn't succeed at the evil you have cultivated. You were the worst. I've never seen a more deplorable soul. I can never forgive you. If I find out that you still do to others, what you did to me, you will pay for it. You weren't in a haze, you are cognizant- aware of your own horrors.

I was your favourite, more than the others. You cherished me in that sick, sticky way. Then again you may have resented me, because you thought I was beautiful. Perhaps both. I don't know whether to scream, cry, or vomit. All that time, you didn't physically touch me once. You wanted to savour the oppression. I want everyone to know. Know what a undeserving, heinous, emotional tick that you are, inherently.

I would look at your body. Your frail, atrophied, body. Your arms were so small. A thin neck. Disproportionate rump. I was stronger than you back then, even when I was young. I certainly am now. I was in the shower a few months ago. I started crying. This is what you do. My hate for you is like a star exploding behind my eyes, infinitely. I feel so much hate. I can't express the fire. I awoke this morning angry. I have can't alleviate myself yet, I'm not that free. I will be, soon.
They told me I had complex ptsd about a year ago. My therapy always  refered to those Hells as chaos. That wasn't chaos- it was monotony. That was the fire of my *. Time is the fire in which I burn. Every morning I knew what awaited me. That was the worst part. I would always say one more year but that went on for well nigh a decade. You got there at the end.

I suffered the most because of what I was. Maybe I was there because I was different. Better. I was like that before. It would be a misconception that all that time changed me alot. It just made me angrier. I suffered more but I withheld the longest. I reckon some people would say I was a psychopath or something, but I'm not. If I was I would not feel this deep aching.

Yes, I'm ashamed sometimes. I never really fought back. Others fought back, some fought the whole damn way through. Not me, I didn't want to be tormented anymore. I just didn't move. I didn't speak. It felt like I went months without talking. It's funny, because I talk so much now. My life's work is me talking, (amongst other things, of course). People marvel over how articulate I am. There was a boy, I knew, when I was in * with you. He was a fighter. He had been there for about two years. One day, after I was made to answer something,  (I don't remember) he was sitting adjacent to me, and the turned to me with an odd expression. Finally he whispered to me "I didn't know you could talk."

So, yes. In some ways I made it more painfull than it already was. I'll never know now. If I could have acted differently. Made it better. Fought back. I was so afraid. I did similar when I lived in a different place. I recall one time very vividly. I was hiding behind a mattress (that was leaning against a wall), I was crying my eyes out, but trying not to make much noise. I came to the conclusion that the more I was hurt, the less obligated others would feel to hurt me.

I have better things to be proud of now. I'm writing this because people say it makes you feel better. I'm writing this because there is still anguish and loathing inside. I'm writing this because I can write this, you can't hurt me. I'm not in * anymore.