Saturday, November 3, 2012

Free Form Writing - Drowning.


The cold porcelain of the tub bit at my back, but I take no notice of it. It’s solid and real behind me, while my world is crumbling around me. The stark whiteness of the bathroom is comforting in a cool, innocent way. It’s still untouched, not ruined in my mind yet.

Tiny bruises cover my body, and they sting as the water sprays down on me, but I feel I deserve the pain. It’s a reminder that I am a dirty whore, in a way punishing myself for sins I didn’t commit. Bitter hot tears fall down my cheeks, mingling with the scalding water.

I want to scrape him off, remove him from my flesh but the shiny knife looks so intimidating, scary.  Why can’t I get him off me? Why am I such a coward? I grab the soap, scrubbing as hard as I can. My skin is raw and red under my soapy fingernails. Nothing.

His black and blue finger trails against my pale skin are still there. I toss the soap down letting the water wash away my fruitless efforts. I give up and lay down in the tub switching the shower to tap, slowly filling it. The heat soaks into my skin, but it hurts less than the shower did. If only I could drift away.

I wish I was floating away into nothing but the warmth that now surrounds me. Like a piece of driftwood lost at sea, just bobbing along soaking up the sun. It seems like such a far of dream right now.  I wish I far away from here. My parents don’t help me, my friends don’t know how, and  every time I close my eyes I see his smile and I feel his disgusting tongue on my skin. I feel so…alone.

Like the emptiness of this tub there’s just me and the evidence of what he did to me. There is no help, there is no rescue. When I look out at my life for the next several years all I can see is me sitting in this tub, trying to wash him away. It’s never going to end.

I asked for help and was denied. That was my last resort, my last fragile hope. I squeeze my eyes shut and my mother’s face swims to the surface. The look of horror, denial, disgust and rejection. She didn’t want me, she didn’t want to believe me. She would never accept me again, I have done something to horrible to be forgiven.

I should just disappear; I should just go away and just solve the problem for them. I should just die. Strangely that thought calms me, there is no more pain, no more sadness, just empty calm. I start going through the check list. Pills? I hate pills and I probably couldn’t take enough anyways. Slashing wrists? I stare at the bruises on my arm, that would hurt too much. Gun? I know where there is one, but when I imagine that cold metal against my head I chicken out.  I release a breath in frustration, swirling the water around me with my hand. Why can’t I die by water?....Wait drowning.

That’s a good idea actually. I flip myself over, facing the water that mingles with my tears. I wonder what it’s like to drown? My arms fall away and I’m surrounded by water. I slowly push my breath out of my lungs, forcing myself not to hold on any longer. Just make it stop, make it all stop. For a moment I’m at peace, with everything, even excited by the thought that I got one up on D, that I stole myself away from him when no one else would. Then my lungs start to burn for air, I force myself to stay down, accidently swallowing some water. My body panic, jerking back to the surface and sputtering for air. I cough and hack as my body quickly gulps up precious air. I growl angrily at myself. I’m eleven, I don’t know anything about a body’s survival instincts.

Over and over again I try to make it work. I even climb out of the tub and fetch some material to help. I tie the knots, tightening them with my teeth. I return to the tub and climb in, face down, crossing the rope behind my neck, forcing my head to stay down. Each time I get so close. The air leaves, my lungs burn, black dots start to appear and yet every time I can’t figure out a way to stay under and I jerk up sputtering every time.

I give up to tired to cry and to frustrated to be numb. The water’s cold and unwelcoming as I sit in the tub, my hands tied in front of me. I can’t even kill myself right. I am pathetic. I have discovered my new drug.

Drowning will become my new obsession, I will drown myself every time I’m in the tub for the next 5 years, like a cutter that keeps on cutting, but never commits the killing blow. Was I any happier? No. Drowning, suicide was not the answer I was looking for. Help was, counseling was. My first counselor sucked, but I refused to give up. I kept trying till I found the right one. If you ever felt like this know you aren’t alone, know that it’s not the only option, if no one will help you, help yourself, go talk to a professional. 

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