Piecing It Together

Piecing It Together

I try and breathe

I take it one day at a time

Every second seems important

More important than the exhale

I hold it in

Because I can’t let go

I try and count

The moments as I lie awake

The intrusive minutes that bleed into the late evening

When the world changes all around, and yet it all feels still

I try and cope

I haven’t found the best solution

I try, and try again

Yet feel failure with each win

As if I know the peace won’t last

I can’t breathe

My cries overpower my lungs

I gasp with each tear as it chokes me

A smell lingers

A familiar stench of alcohol, cigarettes, and young masculine sweat

So bold, but disguised

I can’t talk about it

Can’t say it aloud

Can’t say how when I close my eyes, I still remember

Remember the music from my laptop, still playing

Remember coming in and out of a “dream”

Feeling more than I could see

I remember, and I’ve tried to forget

I can’t count my tears

They fall hard, staccato, and like tiny wet soldiers

They’re quickly discarded so as to not have any evidence of weakness

And just as fast as they’re wiped away, they return, unwanted

I cope by not coping

Afraid to say how terrified I am at times being approached by people I don’t know

I put on a facade of toughness

I am tough, and yet just a bit scared to let any guard down

I scream inside my head, grit my teeth, tremble, and wait for the moment when I can run

I’ll run as fast, hard, and far as I can

I’ll run from you

I’ll run from them

I’ll run from myself

I don’t know where you are

I don’t know why you did this

I don’t know why I wasn’t successful with letting it all go

Because I tried

I tried to go away

And guilt brought me back

Sometimes it gets painfully difficult to stay

I don’t trust the world

And I don’t know how to fully understand reasoning

I need a reason

I need to know how stupid and pathetic I must have looked for that night to even be thought of

I need to know when my clothes became option

I need to know why both

I need to know if I screamed, because it felt as though I should

I need to know if after you regretted what happened

I need to know whether or not you said penance

I silently cry and torture myself into believing I’m over exaggerating

That what happened wasn’t bad enough

Even my own mind wants to say, I don’t believe you

But I remember pieces

Even when I don’t want to, I feel as though I’m there

I just want to end this

End the memories

End the haze

End the tears

End the jolting behavior

More often than not, just end it

And I try everyday to not give in

I try and hold on for family, which makes me feel like a failure even more

Failing to make myself happy, by just focusing on others

I want to one day feel happy, without feeling a mask on top of that feeling

I’m trying

Contemplating (a break)

It’s hard to say it, 

Let alone scream it from the tops of your lungs —

I was assaulted!

Not even able to say the type of assault, 

You sit silently, 

Trying to catch the sight of someone who makes you out.  

Their eyes tell you they don’t believe you, 

Faster than the words coming out of their mouths. 

You clinch down harder on your tears, 

To keep them from showing just how you haven’t dealt, 

Just hardened the shell.  

Those same eyes glossing over without a blink - - wrenching fingers and pulled nails - - parts of hair in one hand - - and blood between teeth and lips. 

That’s how you deal. 

Until you just can’t. 

///////::——

Contemplating staying longer than I’d like utterly destroys me. 

I’m finding it more difficult to find ways other than excessively working out and neglecting food, to distract me from the inevitable. 

That one day I won’t be able to hold off on going through with my plan.  

That the date I’ve pushed back a few times I’ll push closer. 

And feel the breeze one last time as I choose me over them.  

The staying is destroying me, and I am trying to overcome this situation. 

What’s better: painfully living while waiting for the end? 

Or ending the pain just fast enough to feel as though you’ve lived? 

Documentation/Searching

So, I finally received the full incident report from my SA in East Lansing.  And there were fifty two pages of it.  Fifty two pages of so many moments I had tried so desperately to forget.

Speaking of wanting to forget.  Here is what happened today . . .
----

I panicked, sitting inside the room with my therapist.  I panicked as she read over my full incident report of my SA.  I had a PDF copy of it on my phone.  I told her it was okay, because I trust her.  But still during those moments I felt so disgusting.  I know the ELPD has read the forms, and many other people might know about it as well (due to police officers talking about cases).  But somehow sitting there in the same room with someone reading over the details of a night I have never been able to forget or get over, was truly unbearable.  I tried my hardest to sit there and not focus on which details she was reading.  I focused on my feet, and even then I couldn't stop shaking.  I eventually had to briefly leave the room, and try and regroup.

When I returned I was still in the most bizarre head space.  I could not even look up at her.  As she spoke to me, I stayed focused on my feet, and drew outlines on my wrist and FitBit with my fingers, all while trying to push back the tears coming down my face.  I don't like to show emotion. 

The last few days have had that type of intensity.  I have read over the entire fifty two pages.  Over and over again, just trying to find out what I did wrong to have that happen.  And why I was so trusting of people I did not know.  I'm still trying to correct my naivety. 

My therapist told me to print the forms, and then delete the files from my phone, so that I was not tempted to constantly look them over.  She also told me to take the printed forms and put them in an envelope out of site, and locked away.  I just printed them out, but don't know if I can fully delete the files from my phone, nor just lock away the printed copy.  I'll try.  I just know that so far, today, I'm still looking for answers. 

(Just trying) Keep fighting!

Just Trying

There were times where I sat right in front

In a class of as little as 30

To a class of more than 600

I sat in front, because I wanted an access to run 

If I needed to, I wanted a clear space

There were moments I knew the answers

But still said nothing 

I didn’t speak, and you noticed 

Nothing came of it

I carefully, yet forcefully trekked building to building 

Stone faced, and blaring earbuds 

I was tuning out my surroundings 

Trying to not be seen 

Not wanting to look up

Not wanting to say 

A voice not wanted, and I knew it

Never truly understanding what to say

I was silent 

Scared of what would happen if I tried

I didn’t, and you noticed 

Timid, but bashfully trying to overcompensate 

Just trying 

****************

Keep fighting

Every day I run

I run to see how far I can go

How much I can endure

How long it’ll take me to stop and catch my breath 

Ending a race that never had a start date

A continuation that will never die

I run to run out of air 

To fill my lungs to capacity 

Shatter my chest from the frigid wind that pushes towards me 

I run

I can’t stop

If I do I won’t restart 

I won’t try again 

I need to shove my thoughts down

Under my doubts of being

I run from doubt

I run towards my own second guessing 

I can’t stop running 

If I do I wont see the end

I’ll run forever hoping for a lighter path 

A safer ending 

But I can’t stop

Truth or Nothing

Truth or Nothing

My eyes hurt from crying

My heart hurts from holding it in

And still I can’t tell you

Because I dread the hurt you’d feel

The hurt I would cause if you knew

So I walk past, holding my breath as you ask

What’s wrong?

You can sense something

You must know

Only a mother can notice a quiet change

When did you notice?

Was it when I let out a sniffle?

Said my allergies were the cause of my blood shot eyes?

The eyes that had seen a nonstop flow of salty tears, that forced me to catch my breath

The same eyes that focused on yours, and said I was okay

When did you know?

Do you know?

What do you think was wrong?

Can I even ask without admitting there was something wrong?

My eyes still hurt from crying

And my heart squeezes in anger for holding it in

But I still can’t tell you

Because I’d dread the hurt you’d feel

So I’ll take the pain, just to spare you my truth

Rise Up

I don’t know what to feel, besides anger, disappointment, and total sadness.  And maybe that’s what I need in order to understand what just took place with the whole Title IX situation.  DeVos decided survivors were not as important as their perpetrators.  Yes, I’m making that assessment, even if Betsy herself won’t come out and say it.  

Title IX is beyond important.  To survivors who tell of their assault(s); to those who haven’t yet grasped what happened to them; to those who still can’t speak of it; and even for future survivors.  Yes, there will be more survivors. And as utterly f***ed as that seems, this is why Title IX is needed. 

It goes beyond universities, and into the minds of young adults.  Title IX protects those not even in college.  Or would have protected them, had DeVos not decided what was best for them.  

My sadness and anger fluctuate, because as a SA survivor, I know, had I understood Title IX, it would have been helpful.  And now, as I continue to learn more about its benefits and guidelines, I cannot let its destruction take place. 

I stand with survivors.  I am a survivor.  I suffer PTSD, even to this day.  And some days it becomes too much to breathe.  Especially when it feels as though rights are being taken away.  But I cannot stop fighting.  I can’t stop for that person who has lost all hope in the system that should protect them.  For that person looking for justice, when everyone disclaims their story. And for the countless others who are nameless.  

I stand with you, will write letters, and I will fight with you, to make sure everyone knows they are not alone.  They were not to blame.  And that they are loved.  

#TitleIX #StopDeVos #SurvivorSupport #NoMore 

~Kyra C.

Adolescence Tested

I walked away.  I walked away from that day.  The day I told of my failures, and was dismissed.  The day I told of my losing value.  I walked away.  Well, I thought I did.  And yet I held onto those nights.  Those days where uncomfortable hands were "normal."  I didn't seem too scared in the moment.  Just confused.  And confused.  And not questioning what was routine for a visit.  Years of consistent images; feeling older than I was; made to know objects, and parts that were intended for married couples . . . I was confused.  Uncomfortable.  But not terrified of the routine.  I had been taught at the young age of three, not to cry, but take the pain.  To toughen up.  To deal.  I had been taught at the age of three to grow up.

*Part one