Maybe He Doesn’t Hit You

Maybe he doesn’t hit you,

But the scars that are left on your soul have altered your whole life.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you,

But you wish he had just so that people would take your pain seriously.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you,

But I find myself drowning in a sea of sadness six months later with no one to turn to, because while he wasn’t hitting me, he took away everything from my life. I’m screaming, I’m shouting, I’m begging for my life to change for the nightmares to stop for the constant fear that is etched into my heart to go away, but it won’t.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you,

But he does, he rips you apart with his words, he drowns you with his actions, and he installs the fear of hell inside of your decaying soul. I’m trying to breathe, I’m trying to find a way to save myself from this endless sea of pain, but I seem to have forgotten how to swim and there’s no lifeguard to save me because he never hit me so no one can see my blue-black bruises that are covering my whole body.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you.

Those words echo through my head, making my wounds reopen, making my flesh burn with the memory of him. Maybe he doesn’t hit you… but that doesn’t make the emotional abuse that you’ve endured any less. Maybe he doesn’t hit you… but why is it that i still wake up in the morning and the thought of ending my life still lingers at the back of my head?

Maybe he doesn’t hit you.

You were just being stupid, is what they said. He just took advantage of you, it’s no biggie. You were a fool. He never hit you. You’re lucky.

And as the words of these strangers I used to once call my friends surge through me, I sink even deeper in the sea of his abuse while I’m desperately trying to wave for someone, anyone, to see me, to look at me, to understand me.

Maybe he doesn’t hit you,

Maybe he didn’t hit me,

But my bones are still cracked. My eye sockets are still sore. My ribs are still broken.

Maybe he didn’t hit me,

But the nightmares of his return are still there, every night.

Maybe he didn’t hit me,

But I still need to pop a Xanax every night to go to sleep.

Maybe he didn’t hit me,

But he suffocated my soul and drained me emotionally.

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My battle with Lupus

As i’m writing this i can feel the pain in my legs surging through me like a stream of electricity; As i’m writing this i keep shifting around my bed trying to find a position in which my back won’t scream at me in antagonising pain; As i’m writing this i feel my body failing me, and there’s nothing scarier than that.

Lupus – the latin word for wolf, but also a disease whereby your immune system attacks your body’s tissues. I was diagnosed at 17, during a life threatening trip to the hospital. I suppose, three years have passed and i’ve still not grasped what this disease has been doing to my body. It can be dormant, for a long time, making you forget it’s there, making you think you’re normal, making you think you’re body is as able and as strong as any 21 year old.

But then, out of nowhere, it creeps up on you. I suppose, Lupus is the perfect word for it. Just like a wolf, hiding in the shadows of the night waiting for its prey. Just like a wolf, carrying the pain all alone, with no one to help. A lone wolf, lurking in the woods, waiting, and then out of nowhere, gripping you by the throat and making you feel every cell in your body exploding.

I get rashes. All over my body. Red, ugly, rashes. They’ve started appearing on my face now as well. They’re there, and there’s nothing i can do about it. Then there’s the muscle pains. Those are the worst, paralysing me.

I’ve been ignoring it. For the past three years, i’ve been refusing to accept its presence. I’ve been refusing to admit that i am sick. And then, just when i think i’m fine, just when it stops crossing my mind, it begins again. I’m trying to figure out a way to forgive my body, to accept my body, to love my body once again. I’m trying to learn how to live with this disease. I’m trying; but saying it is easier than doing it.

The worst part about it, is that no one knows, and nor do i want anyone to know. No one understands when i say, i can’t go out tonight because i can barely get off the bed due to my legs cramping. No one understand when i say, i can’t stay in the sun too long because i’ll wake up tomorrow with a rash all over me and excruciating muscle pains. No one understands when i say, my whole body hurts just because i’m having an anxiety attack. No one understands, how i must constantly control my physical and emotional environment as any imbalances can make it wake up and begin tearing at my body. No one, understands.

I’m tired. It hurts. With every single movement i take, i can feel my cells exploding, radiating little pieces of pain through my body. It’s sucking the energy out of me, and there’s no control over it.

After my incident at 17, i began smoking, that is after my diagnosis. It was irresponsible, stupid, immature even. But i felt as if it was the only way i could control my body – the only way i could control what was happening to me.
I should probably stop. But i’m still trying, trying to learn how to be 21 and live with this lone wolf.

I’m trying.