Punished for being me.

First it was per abandonment, just for being born to someone he didn’t want to marry. He had other choices. My mother just a conquest and I the ill result of his winning.

Then it was for having emotions of my own. Responses that registered as ‘disrespect’. How dare I be an individual with my own experiences and pains!

I rocked to self soothe. Placed on a strangers lap suddenly it was proclaimed sexual self pleasuring. I was uncomfortable. But their narrative mattered more. Now I know it was autistic stemming and self soothing, still its insisted to be sexual, even if I am doing it to fall asleep.

He resented my time with them. When I came to visit and he to play, it was constant mockery and physical conflict. One day I was enjoying Thunder Cats and he decided he got to control the tv. We physically fought, even though he was winning, I was spanked and kept in time out while he was allowed the tv remote. I was barely four the first time he had pulled a plug out of my hair but somehow I carried the blame each time, just for being born, louder, or was it simply being female?

We were poor. Barely keeping ends met. So when I hated what was on my plate I paid for it. Physically, emotionally, whatever was within her energy’s reach. I hid the food as a toddler, but learned to choke it down after numerous servings shoved down outside of my control. She claims it never happened. Yet felt empowered to do it to my step sister not long after they moved in. Doesn’t she ever consider what warranted her the right to act? Just the same, I guess I was a spoiled brat. I knew we were struggling.

Next for being taller than my peers and flexible… Declared ‘whorish’ just for bending in strange ways in the shared living room floor.

My high energy and childish questions were more than her single life had space for with having two jobs and military part time stealing any personal time away. It was better to play alone for both our sakes in what little time we had together. Even my concern encroached her need for privacy and self sufficiency.

The janitor harped on me for the scuff marks my favorite boots left as I stemmed walking down the halls. Somehow the sound of my feet hitting the ground soothed/s me. Reminds me I exist in the present. Ruins my shoes, and her day, too. So the boots were shoved to the back of the closet. I learned to walk softly. Invisible.

The acne was next. Earlier than the rest. An easy target, like my strange hips waving from the birth defect. New student makes an easy target without any connections to deflect.

My loud whisper helped the teachers join in. Even when they declared it acceptable to communicate during class work. “Your voice carries, so you’d better not speak at all.”

“The ugliest duckling, with no hope!” He called to me laughing from across the playground. I was a no one, as every classmate had their first kiss. He made sure to let me know why I wasn’t granted such affectionate inclusions.

Not a best friend in sight, instead strange adults proclaiming me ‘an old soul’ no matter where my mother and I go. Finally, I decided my best chance at connection was with teachers and baby sitters. Settling with the idea my maturity was the reason my peers isolated me most.

I was not even into double digits that Halloween night. The queen of hearts, dressed up, bright red lipstick on. Store bought costume, I felt so proud and pretty. . . She answered the door with shame on her tongue, ‘You’re too old for this!’ She slammed the door. I never went trick or treating again. My favorite holiday carved a wound pumpkin deep; couldn’t even find a space to take my little brother and sister years later in its wake.

Middle school, new hopes dashed as the girls half my size felt challenging me granted them strength. A teacher reproached them: She’s so much bigger; if she wanted she could wipe the floor with you! Their response was getting their 8th grade friends to help corner me. Thank goodness for the distant 8th grade girl on the bus that put herself between to fight my battle which I hadn’t started. She had seen my soon to be older cousin mock me daily while stealing my lipgloss pushing me around… she knew I had no fight in me. That I folded on confrontation. A well trained obedient child. Her strength my savior even though I was fully surrounded and she also smaller than I. Her strength burst forth from my weakness in chosen defensive kindness.

I took what she taught me and paid it forward. Using my size to intimidate the guys bullying others. Didn’t make me a single friend, only emasculated them, lost a few even. Yet, I only wished to end their pain the way she had mine.

She saw my missing toenail. Advised me to never wear sandals, even though they were the only shoes that never hurt my feet. Went on and on about how ugly it was. She wasn’t the first or last, and yet, my hopes were dashed of any deeper connection/comfort right off the bat. All for a toenail that has been gone since I was 8 months old.

They were gone, and I left behind. A reminder of others and nothing else. I thought I was isolated before, but it got even lonelier. He needed her support, and I was in the way again. The new family shattered, yet their foundation ready to be built, with me set aside. Dumped by the wayside. She claims she thought it would help me heal, but it only put me in danger’s way: raped, trying drugs, drinking. Not that I cared, survivor’s guilt begged me to be carried away. Why should it matter what happened to me when I shouldn’t still exist anyway?

Shamed by fellow students even a few adults. ‘You weren’t even blood related!’ They cried as my pain leaked out. I had stopped playing the jester; an act I had shared with him. That part of me rendered pointless. Why should I have even false joy in the wake of their loss?

At school, the dress code shamed me since grade school. Long legs and trunk broke all the rules. Not to mention how uncomfortable sleeves/pants were; never long enough to cover my wrists/ankles. I guess the schools’/students’ constant harassment for my body wasn’t enough, when I got home he waited until we were alone and told me it was inappropriate for me to wear a spaghetti strap at home alone. “How do you think your mom would feel if she caught me turned on by you?” I wasn’t even 16. My little sister wore barely anything, says everything about his choice to not consider me family. I covered up triple after that. Still wear layers these days. Some days unsafe in body enough I need more than four…

Suicidal, I took so many Benadryl. Not that it worked. They found my note, questioned me, and declared professionals need handle me now. I resented it. Made a joke of the 500 questions they gave at intake. I guess the combination of my size and answers warranted placing me in the adult psychotic ward. I was attacked in my sleep that night by someone who actually was psychotic. My lies of spite for being caught and sent away again landed me in a place of physical risk… again. She too was smaller than me. Laying in the dark silently made me an easy enough target, but I still didn’t fight back. Why was she sure she needed to fight me? I had no hate in me for her… and no self love to utilize for self defense.

Teachers were nice enough after. Save the vice principal. Somehow even when I was cornered and being attacked she thought it right to punish me. I was full up, called her a bitch outright. She had sentenced me to be punished for some girl’s jealousy over a boy I was barely speaking to. He had come to the funeral, so she assumed there was more. The one person I had to lean on there lead to double punishment. Though she owned completely her choice to attack me and my unwillingness to hit back, this lady decided I must of been guilty of something… so I made it true. In school isolation… the teachers sent me advances on my work. They knew me well enough to know I hadn’t done harm even in return, save the eruption of my voice in the face of an unjust power play.

I thought I had made some friends. My depression and theirs played well. The darkness we walked in similar enough to connect over. One of them fucked the guy the raped me the day we went to play, a funny way to shame me for not wanting to engage that way. Another ditched me when I wouldn’t explore sexuality with her after we shared our shared pains of rape. Wasn’t long with them, but for a moment or two someone else sat with me in the grave I dug consistently.

Focused on my grades. Determined to gain affection the way I had for years. Intelligence rewarded as much as obedience. She helped push for honors courses. At first I struggled but it wasn’t long before I caught the wave. Reading in variety, learning even the false histories granted me an identity. I worked harder than ever before; still the suicidal tendencies winning. Cutting in privacy… eventually forced into hospital again. Upon returning a new diagnosis. One that upset my favorite course’s teacher. She shamed me, proclaimed mental health a hoax, gave me three days to make up a week of work; despite knowing the huge pile of homework my other advanced classes. Each of those teachers granted three days per single day missed. In the end she dropped my pottery on the way out of the kiln, then failed me. Ruining my gpa enough to end my attempt at joining the national honor society. When confronted, she proclaimed her sister used mental health as an excuse to abuse her, that she wouldn’t allow a student to embrace the same.

Got a job as soon as I could. No social life made it easy enough to ignore psychological needs unmet. It also stole the time my family needed me for household chores. Cornered and shamed as they proclaimed me to be ruining my life. Sure, there was no time to clean for the family; also left my room in a mess. It was the only way I could rest. The stalking that ended in a double murder was not even ten years ago. Sleep was pill induced and still escaped me… at least with a mess I would be woken if someone tripped sneaking in.

He targeted me before I was even accepted. The third freshman he manipulated into thinking he loved… at that time. He continued the trend long after I was gone. Used me to pay for his fun. Drinks, cocaine… all in the sake of keeping him ‘sober’. He gave me an std cheating, refused treatment. His family hated me for my poverty, even though I was clever enough for a partial ride to the upper-scale collegiate institution. When my car imploded a piston through the side of the engine, they ignored my plight. I was just another fool their son had used to continue his drug abuse. Our relationship ended between distance and my discovery of his return to harder drug use. Not like he hadn’t forced himself into me whenever it pleased him. Throwing me over a bed or two, more than my wallet was something for him to use. I really just wanted him to love me the way I hadn’t been. Losing him and a decent paying job might have been what was best for me… not that it lead me anywhere healthier. He contacted me when I was last homeless. Offering me to reconnect back where he was living, only not to stay with him. Somehow just another person trying to keep me behind, curious, manipulating, not choosing to be with me.

I was so excited for the quiet task of quality inspection. The whole factory clean, organized, soft machines running. Temporary to start, on day three I was fired. They told the agency I asked too many questions. I just wanted to be perfect enough to keep such a wonderful job. I saw myself in a career, something that fit my nit picky. Slipped through my fingers… or really my lips. If only I could have been quiet.

Finally invited to a party. Targeted my someone I thought was just a friend supporting, designated driver just came to give us a ride. She got out. So trashed from being uneasy socially and surrounded by people I didn’t know. Still working too much to develop connections as I continued my education. Black out drunk, I awoke with him inside me. Tried pushing him off me. He said he was almost done…

My therapist sent me to a new upperclass kind of mental hospital this time after found in a shower razors lined. There they attempted to convince me to get shock therapy. The women around me dull and lifeless. Angry and short tempered. Pork on the menu three times a day. Therapists, doctors shamed me the same: you don’t want to get better. Once free, my long term therapist told me she couldn’t help me anymore. Claimed I aged out, but all I could hear was the same as what was said inside the hospital. Someone I had trusted for years, gone. I held on years after still trying to gain her belief in me.

I thought he loved me because he demanded we wait on sexual intimacy. A trap made and fell in as I desired inclusion… to be wanted eternally. He hit me, beat me, cheated on me, avoided sex… somehow made me the enemy for his parents to see. As if he hadn’t slammed my head into the wall, or pinned me to the ground spitting on me, or stopped my phone calls mid dial even when we were in peace. His video games, midnight shift, parental connections far more important than even the days after I miscarried. I crawled to get water in excruciating pain as he claimed I was faking it. Now a college drop out; his baby well planted in another, I went home to my mother. For whatever reason he begged me back. We bawled together as I stood firm. I needed love, but double loading a muzzle loader to skew my shot wasn’t that.

My CPTSD now shined through my personality. Even before re-diagnosis, the explosions in self defense were regular with family, at work, even alone in the mirror. People I valued told me I was ‘too much’. New dates abandoned me even when my laughter wouldn’t quit. Happy, sad, or mad, who I had become was wrong for anyone.

She threw me out her car after leaving me alone at a bar. I barely had half a beer but she told everyone in the family I was drunk. I walked through fields in the dark. No phone or way to find their home. Still, I walked hoping I remember every turn taken. She had to take care of him and his nerves. There was no room for my own suffering. Her friends mocked her and me after she left. I couldn’t take a moment longer sitting alone. So I walked. When she drove by and got me inside her car, she shamed me for leaving. Talked about all the terrible things I had survived the years before as if they would happen again would scare me into being ashamed of escaping what felt like was coming where she left me. I wondered if she knew what I had already barely survived. She screamed long enough, triggered, I screamed back. Dumped me right out on the side of the road. Yet another person that called it love to abuse me verbally and emotionally while abandoning me the moment I mirrored it.

Family stopped inviting me to holidays or celebratory events. Years of avoiding me as I tumbled into homelessness. Inability to work. Staying at this or that person’s home. I would call them friends but they betrayed me time and time again. Mocking me right in front of me with those they valued. Using me sexually while lying about choosing me. Finally diagnosed accurately made no difference. I was now useless and weak. A disgrace even to my family. Confirmed one night as my aunt cornered me, telling the whole truth of why no one wanted me around. She clearly hadn’t noted my own avoidance of reliving my childhood of emotional isolating mockery. She apologized days later. Then lost her light within the year. I still wish I had hated myself a little less… just enough to tolerate the abuse in silence to not of damaged our connection. The one who never asked me to clean could have been close in my mind a little longer.

Ran to Colorado after an NDE and the legal system failing me. They believed his lies over my truth. Even family and friends. No public defender in my corner. Changed three times, and didn’t speak to me day of. Camping in Colorado recentered me. I thought set me free. Yet the first roomies I picked was just like being home again though she insisted I not clean, her love for kittens extended and then landed on me. No sleep for me. Kittens died mostly from cows milk they were fed before arrival. Still my heart couldn’t take death after death without support. They wanted me their third and when I wouldn’t join in, they used my pain shared to abuse me. They were hurt by rejection, but I had been clear before I moved in…back home I went. Still homeless, but with a plan.

Reconnected with someone from high school. Someone casually supportive back then. The best hugs in the universe. Yet, each time my CPTSD won, he decided it his right to punish me. When he spoke to me again he would let me know all the fun he had in my city without me. In groups he would walk behind with his real friends and talk about me mockingly. All because I wouldn’t be casually sexual. He took a photo he refused to delete… of my body. Apparently, he owned me without wanting anything to actually do with me or my problems. Stayed up late longing for anything that felt like connection, only to see I was in servitude of abuse, again. He texted recently, pretending to care… only to ghost after I shared my new diagnosis of life long conditions. An apology? No, just a manipulation to quench his curiosity.

Went back to college. Determined to face what I ran from. Only to find the same waiting. Professors ignoring my no the same way the locals did. Raped and mocked again. Forced exposure to nudity after I said no and they faked agreement. Suddenly, my triggers were targets. My attempt to heal by being honest and forthright with my needs were reason enough for anyone using the word friend to ignore me and my boundaries. It was like grade school only as an adult with other adults. Just a joke they laughed at, while I cried alone foolish enough to believe the next one was legitimately interested in connection. Was it my desperation or their lies that blinded me? Either way, the police denied my reports. So when the neighbor used a knife before he took what wasn’t offered, I kept silent about that, too. The local DV shelter said they would help, but didn’t.

He asked to hear my story. Acted like an elder. A safe-house. Only to proclaim boys will be boys. When will men learn their guilt is deserved, unlike the abuse they spread about. He wasn’t the only in that town. A support from the local organization lended free therapy. He got a rapist to sit with me in buddhist meditation just to play the same lie. Another rapist looking to explain boys will be boys… to excuse himself ignoring a females rights. No room to speak my pain in a room cornered. Only they were allowed to say the truth, mine had not a notes room to be heard. Their guilt excused and my pain protruding. Another ‘safe’ place illustrated me the target for their own feet wiping. Perhaps I should pity them for feeling the need to use me… or maybe it was more of the same crime already preformed. No one asked my consent for them to use me for their sins to be excused. To help me? What a joke, that whole conversation was about them.

He called me friend for a couple of years. We hung out regularly. Said he was gay the whole time, but turned out to be bi. Of course I didn’t know until one night he was trashed with his man and decided to ask me to join in. Not at all my style. Went from best friend to someone I didn’t know in four seconds flat. Turns out saying no comes at a cost. Funny, he claimed rape was not a real problem in life. I wonder if he knows by abandoning me for saying ‘no’ is just another form of abusive coercion. Not like he hadn’t pushed me including those that had been casually sexual. I guess my different needs weren’t allowed room next to his demands.

He stayed around for more than a year. Started with pretending to want to date me, but saw a single triggered day. A few months later he was distancing himself… ya know after I was dumb enough to think he was interested enough to share my body with him. Coercion? Make believe? Just another man that decided I owed him my body for the food/ activity he paid for.

Suicide hotline hung up on me after I disclosed I was autistic. I guess the diagnosis excuses anyone from supporting, even those paid for it.

It followed me to the new state. Domestic violence places offering help only to never follow through. Ignored emails and calls. I had help at first. Someone that had helped me see the danger was only increasing. Their partner was not actually on board with the whole thing. Passively punishing me by ignoring my every boundary. Feigning friendship while bailing on me for every plan made, even when they made them. Using my towel or seeing me head to the bathroom to rush in before me. Small things added up. Until I had no where to turn, thats when family came in, saved me while trying to convince me to return. As if they hadn’t set up my car to break down before I made it to my destination. Like years of avoiding support would be ignored the moment I had to sleep in the cold. Of course they claim none of that is true… yet the evidence and my experiences do not retreat.

I asked him to keep me safe. He had joked about raping me after getting me drunk, then he did. My no ignored, he pushed forward and I went into fawn…again. Who was I to think I could realign in a new place, after all, I stayed and drank, so I ‘must of deserved it’. Really I just needed a friend. Someone to pick up trash with or design a sculpture to race in.

A life long battle with names of things was directly address by a random human at a dog park. His passive aggressive out-lash mocking my failure to remember their names. Something that caused issues in testing now directly pointed out as a social issue. At one point in my past I even claimed self absorption the reason, yet, it’s never been that. Seemed easy enough to blame an ego; alas, its a common issue with those who have faced trauma. Something in the mind stops wiring for labels in favor of more neurons focused on survival. I guess this person I had seen twice for a total of an hour cumulatively was privileged enough to keep his brain functioning on the basics. Still, he shamed me publicly while laughing. Just like the school yard, no room to understand my differences.

Just moved in. A total stranger repeatedly came up to me demanding I take care of his dog when he had to get to work. His dog was never leashed or orderly. One day he jumped on me and the owner apologized. I said it was okay, but he didn’t stop him afterwards. The next jump the dog busted a cyst on my ovary. Me in excruciating pain post endometriosis surgery… I still managed to smile. Why did I care so much about this stranger? I turned him in to the building manager. He’s called me a bitch ever since.

Another new neighbor stopped me with regular conversation. When my hands were full. I politely spoke through my hands going numb. I just wanted a safe place to live. In the end after he shared his digits and I ensured a clear boundary of my lack of romantic/sexual interest, he made sure I knew he didn’t value me. I turned and abruptly walked away. He called it assumptive, I call it proactive and clear communication. Men who can’t handle rejection shouldn’t attempt to get a girl half their age to go to dinner. Now he sneers anytime we cross paths.

He was attractive. I started the connection this time. But as I got to know him, I realized it wasn’t a fit. Mostly because I was done connecting with men that used their pasts to try and threaten me. Why else tell me about being in a gang and killing people point blank? Why else explain that he felt nothing afterwards? Regardless, he took my no’s and made them abuses. Flipped out, called me crazy. I offered a peace offering twice, both times he mistook it for reconnection request. I just wanted my packages to stop disappearing. For him to stop coming down the moment he saw me outside under his window. Every day now he does it. Proclaims ‘I’m just hanging!’ But he isn’t there until I go outside. Then every night he knocks on my door at unheard of hours.

Five men followed me down an alley. Laughing and mocking. Full of themselves. One threatened me. One police officer sent me to another who eventually ignored my phone call. Both had the same victim blaming advice. When will a cop be the solution for me? Even the apartment manager avoided helping me identify the guys I have seen use keys.

Don’t get me started on doctors dismissing my symptoms. Blaming it on the past injuries and embodied paychology. Yet test results and imaging show issues. Doesn’t seem to matter where I live, that stays the same. Is it my gender or ableism? Either way, I go unheard. One doctor even laughed my whole visit: ‘that sounds like torture’ a chuckle burst out. As if my pain was jest. I guess it’s hard to imagine a white girl being abused. Assuming me privileged makes it much easier to dismiss my upset shared.

My internet cut off. No call from the company. No confirmation of a new lease. Just ending my internet. An email warned me. Only way to stop it. Why would a professional do this? Or a company? A random person… clearly pure harassment. Just for me being me. Even after I corrected the order, a worker still came by to install. ‘Funny’, I was sent a DIY kit when I signed up, not yet a year ago.

Just yesterday after reporting harassment by a neighbor, the building maintenance let someone know that I was just “loco” outside my apartment door. This after months of mocking me while I was within ear’s reach. Disabled from CPTSD grants everyone the right to dismiss me and my truthful experiences shared. No one willing to prevent, validate, or protect… after-all the just world fallacy of most religious/societal beliefs reassure them someone suffering deserves it.

***Thank you to anyone that read. I needed to dump out all I have been carrying. It was never really mine to hold, despite how easy it was to pick up, especially with so much practice of having it handed to me. May it rest in peace so my pieces can rejoin my whole self.