When I was younger, my mother always joked that I would watch too many horror movies because I was always paranoid there were ghosts in the house. A creak of the stairs, gentle taps on the window. Now that I’m older, I realize that our house is just old and the nights are windy here, per the tree right outside my window.
When we’re younger, we’re afraid of the stories we heard growing up, afraid of the dark, of the unknown. I’m older now, and I know better but that’s not to say I don’t think ghosts no longer exist. You see, the girl I once knew was full of life, full of joy and light and passion. I remember seeing colors more vibrantly, and feeling everything more deeply. After him, I wanted to numb myself up the best way I knew how and now that I want to finally process everything that you said and did to me, I can’t because when I tried to lock the memory of you up in the closets of my mind, I left a part of myself in there with you, the part that you took from me. And to get her back, I have to face the memory of you and I’m not sure if I’m even ready to do that.
Writing this is hard. Even though I’ve emotionally detached myself from the memory, from the event, I still find myself spiraling and disassociating. That’s the weird thing about trauma, no matter how many lies you tell yourself or how many memories you keep locked up or how many feelings you try to avoid, it still has a hold on you.
You took all of the parts of me that were alive and used them for minutes of your own selfish desires, for your pleasures. I’ve spent four years trying to make sense of it in my mind, trying to not make sense of it, trying to lock it up, trying to face it, trying to exist without the memory of you sending me into a breakdown.
You have a girlfriend now. You have a job, or maybe you don’t. I can’t remember. The last time I heard about you, you were in jail for sometime for drugs. I wish your stupid rich uncle didn’t bail you out. I wish you rotted in there. And then I feel bad about the thought of it, for wishing that upon someone else. Isn’t it funny how that works? I feel bad for what you did to me.
I don’t feel anything writing this, but I also feel like it’s wrong to write about you. I guess four years of your words repeating on a loop in my mind “please don’t tell anyone” sticks with me. It’s hard to remember what exactly happened. God I wish this were easier. Talking about it. Every time I try to get it out of me, it just doesn’t come out. I’m doing my best here. Or maybe I’m not. At least I’m talking about it.
It feels good saying that name. Jered.
Before you, I was a happy girl. Bright, full of optimism, pure, passionate, driven. Now I feel like a shell of a ghost, empty, looking for something, but I’m not sure what I’m looking for exactly. Some days are better than others. But for the most part, I feel empty. My body stored a lot of that internalized emotion so I’m just constantly drained and in pain physically. Mentally, I tell myself everyday to make it. Because aside from what you did to me, I still have hope, somehow, somewhere, sometime, something is waiting around the corner for me. And I’m going to meet it one day, and finally take a breath of relief, knowing that this was what I fought for. This is why I fight everyday. I don’t know what that is yet, I feel like a ghost searching for a way to either rest in peace or feel alive somehow again. But I know it’s there, whatever it is.
I don’t know if I believe in karma or not. You seem to be doing just fine, aside from the fact that I’m not the only girl you did this to. I wish I had the strength to face you, to put you away. It’s too late now though. Whether or not what goes around comes around is true, I just want justice in somehow. Even if I didn’t have the strength to get it. I hope someone else does.