Numb.

Dear Self,

Today I realized my problem.

You broke me. You were the little chip that shattered the glass. You destroyed everything.

And I'm not putting all the blame on you, because I forgave you. I forgave you when it started. I knew it wasn't completely your fault.

But then again, these things don't just happen to everyone.

Don't hate your thoughts. It'll be okay, because to quote the wise, "every body's got to die sometime."


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He was what I wanted. Wasn't he? I sacrificed everything for him, I broke the heart of a boy I deeply cared for. And now he wanted to kiss me, and I had no reason not to. I leaned in, hoping my decision would be validated by the soon to explode sparks of true love. He was aggressive. I felt lips, I felt too much tongue. I felt a bite. I felt cold hands. I felt... nothing. I wanted to cry but I was too numb. I let him kiss me. I let him take away any part of me that was good with his lips. I let myself disappear into the absence of love and into the emptiness of physical desire.

Why wasn't this magical? Why didn't cliche phrases come to mind? Why did I want to pull away? And most startling, why couldn't I? Question after question ran through my head as I ignored what was happening. I separated myself from the reality, a boy s from my pathetic body that let a boy kiss her when he didn't love her. The body that was too numb to stand up and walk away. He pulled away to take a breath and smiled at me. I regained feeling in my fingertips, legs, and lips. He was expecting more. He can't touch me again, I thought. I'll freeze .I won't be able to push him off. I need to get away.

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There were these nights. I never mentioned them before, I didn't think they were significant. These nights, when things happened. Things that shouldn't have happened. I didn't know anything was wrong. At least, not until it was too late. Too late to understand. Too late to fix.

After... it... happened, I'd lie awake in bed staring into all corners of the room. I swear, I saw this ghost. He came back every night, right after. A tall, skinny silhouette of a man, wearing a trench coat and hat. He would pace back and forth in front of me. I didn't know what he wanted, but he made me feel cold. He made me feel numb. I couldn't do anything I wanted to: hide, cover myself with a shield of blankets, run to my parents. I just stared. My heart would pound harder and harder, until I settled into the fear. I replaced my caution with curiosity. I called out to him.


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These nights, they're just so hard to talk about. I don't want to use the wrong language. I don't want to be misunderstood. I wasn't mad it happened. It didn't fill me with resentment. I was accepting. I was confused, sure, but accepting nonetheless.

These nights, nobody could see the good in them. If I told someone they'd say how sorry they were that I had to experience that. They'd say, you must be troubled. They'd say, you should get some help. They'd say, you should talk to someone. They'd ask, do your parents know?

As if my parents knowing could make every ugly thing in this world beautiful again. As if they had this ability to make it all okay. Not that it wasn't okay, it was. Because you see, my turmoil comes from hiding this secret. Making it a secret, makes it mean more than it should. It gives it power.

They were just these nights. They're just memories now. They're just words. These nights don't have to mean anything. There is no one at fault for them, everyone involved was clueless. Especially me. Not to defend myself or anything, not to play the role of a victim.

It was okay. I was numb, but I was okay. He touched me, and I couldn't move anymore. I let him kiss me. I let him kiss more than my lips. I let him put his hands on me. In me. I said I'd never tell the times he realized I was awake. I was always awake. I let him take away any part of me that was good.

These nights, they weren't big deal. They just happened is all. I could have stopped them if I didn't think they were alright.

These nights, I don't think they were significant.