My Wrists Are Red From Where You Grabbed Me

Good Morning Self.

This is why you don't have relationships. This is why you don't build friendships, or have significant others, because in the end, you shut down. You always, always shut down. Like you're doing now. One by one the cartelidge machines are grinding to a halt and the web of skin stretched over the muscles that are slowly churning to a stop is red and bruised from where you were grabbed and tears are streaming down your face because you were terrified, so terrified, and how could he have known? How could he have known that playfully pinning you down would ignite in you such a fear as you haven't known in years? You were so scared... You couldn't think. You couldn't breath and you could literally feel your bones throb with the force in which your heart was pumping blood, crimson swelling against the walls and pushing pushing until they break and you are nothingness. You're a paranoid girl, or are you? You tried telling her, tried telling her for weeks that you were getting a bad vibe, that he was not to be trusted, and what happens? This. Exactly what you were being warned against. He was stronger than you, and you could hear the crescendo of the kerosene against his skull and then it was all paisley patterns and trucks with tool kits and careening around corners because now, now he's decided to come back and finish you off, to have his way with you. Just like the others. Just like everyone else you've ever met, always there to just have they're way with you and then leave you bereft, asking for everything but giving nothing in return. Come see me. Come play with me. Come meet me. Come be a shadow in the walls and never touch me and never look at me because in looking they will see and then all will be lost.

You're emotional right now dear self, you should not say these things. He had no idea. It was all done in fun. How could he have known? Logically, mentally, you know these things. You know he didn't do it on purpose. But that fear is still there, that memory of being unable to move and thrusting all of your weight trying to throw him from you but knowing that if you fail you are only grinding against him and that makes it seem like acquiesence. You will face him tomorrow. You will face him with no hatred, no fear. Or you will try. The thought of facing him tomorrow, despite everything, makes the breath come hard and fast and quick and you can't think because everything is blurring...

You are numb.
I am numb.
You are faceless.
I am faceless.
You are a machine.
I am a machine.
You are without pain.
I am without pain.
You are without passion.
Why must I go without passion, if passion equals fearlessness?
Because passion is life. And you are not alive anymore.

~Alisa