Breaker

Raped. By you. Again. My fault cuz I can’t keep my mouth shut, oh ya and, because I don’t have any personal boundaries. This was one of the bad ones. Not one of those times when I say I don’t want to have sex but you completely ignore my voice, my right to say no, and you grope me until I am so uncomfortable that I feel like I have no other choice but to cave and give you what you want in case it gets ugly. It wasn’t one of those times when I just have to accept that it’s my obligation, my wifely duty, to feed the savage inside of you. This was one of those times when you took what you wanted with immediate force; violent, bruising, brutal force. It wasn’t just sleazy, it was criminal. But that’s okay. I can handle it. I’m resilient and I have a special type of light inside of me that God only gives to abused women. It’s true. Even the cops know that, I’m sure they write it in all their reports. Duh.

So, as a woman of light, I have to leave my husband. But because I’m a woman of light I have to try 50 bazillion times to leave before I actually leave. It’s a thing in the light bible. And, whatever, that’s easy for me because I’m wicked smart, and full of compassion, and I’m wise, and cool, and funny and fun, and blessed with good genes and blond hair and a shit ton of Roman Catholic guilt. It’s my mission to suffer for a long time. Duh. I got this.

But, I’ll make it out eventually. The beacon won’t let me rest but will guide me endlessly across the sea until I break on the sand. I’ll foam and froth and sputter in the tide. I’ll get pissed drunk in the hopes of being able to like you for a second or two. I’ll call 911 for help and then lie to their faces later to protect you. I’ll only call them when I’m afraid that something might happen but never once you’ve actually hurt me because that’s just shameful and pointless. So I’ll stand out in the freezing, pouring rain in my socks waiting for them to arrive and then I’ll act like those fools are the boss of me because, after all, it is my fault that I’ve chosen you as a partner. They’ve seen the likes of me before. And you are so gifted at saying the right thing. And I am so bad at white knuckling it. I’m terrible at lying… to you, and to myself, but to them… I am just another drunk domestic, and that shit flies. I am a liar. I am powerless. Case closed. Fade to black.

But, I’ll make it out. Because of the lighthouse. Because of the surf. Because of the fire on the beach. Because of the crazy. I will have to crawl but I DO NOT GIVE A FUCK ABOUT THAT. My only port of call is the warmth of the rocks around that fire and those embers which are disappearing into the night sky. I am clawing my way across this shore and I’ll swill out your poison and drink instead to grace and absolution when I get there because I am so bloody grateful that it was me. That I was the one blessed with the ability to rise and that, finally, I could be the one who disappears from our nightmare. I have been wrought of faith and beaten with desire. I have employed you as a propeller and fought the pain of your brace, only to improve my own posture. I am on sacred ground now, purified through your crucifixion, while you are damned. Condemned to the next dark, dank, muddy, cold cell. But, that’s easy for you. It’s hard being the lucky one, the one aglow, because I can’t hide. I have to show up calm, strong, and clear to light the way. I have no choice but to feel all the unhinged, deep, twisty, sweet feels. While you just remain vacant. So. Damned. Vacant.

I release you with love. I pray only good things for you. My wish is that you find a connection that’s meaningful to you, and for you to know peace and comfort. But, don’t you dare mistake my forgiveness for weakness. My wall is high and the guard has orders to cut you if you ever show your face around here again.

Nighty night wild man, you poor wretched beast. Sweet pipe dreams.