I've Got To Be Entertained Pt. II

If the adult content warning didn't fuck up my blog, it would still be there. This is very intense.
I'm not drinking coffee. I'm not constantly eating or binging. I haven't smoked a cigarette in a year, a month, and eight days, I haven't smoked pot for a little over two months. My ipod is sadly still very dead. I feel like I'm being pulled in two separate directions, misery and happiness. They're both scary, but one is familiar and the other could possibly lead to worse misery, though I know logically that doesn't make any sense. My brain seems to be wired where happiness is even more terrifying because standards are built upon and there's tons more to lose. The misery afterward is greater. But if that's true, then there wasn't really any happiness to begin with. I think. The song just ended so I'm having a harder time staying on track. True happiness is the ability to not be miserable in any situation. Letting yourself be sad and get everything out so it doesn't follow you around like some pathetic rabies-infected animal. I don't fucking know. At this point all I'm going off of is ideas.
When I walk around, I'm filled with more fear than I thought I had, mostly at night. I walk past a car at a stop light and in my mind the car hits me and the guy driving gets out and shuts me in and drives away. It's how I express my real fears, the ones that could immediately happen. No words, just movies. Two guys step out of a bar and walk to their car and I tense because the worry that they'll grab me and rape me is just too real. I don't walk under fire escapes because the ladder could come loose and crush my skull. I don't have distractions anymore, so the way I view the world is becoming more apparent. It's so scary, more scary than I realized. I feel like I'm constantly at risk, and I act that way, but I didn't always know that.
I keep remembering all these small moments, moments that wouldn't be so bad on their own. (Though of course, I do tend to minimize.) My dad invalidating what I say or my mom projecting her shit onto me in an incestuous way or my sister acting ever so slightly sexual toward me, or anyone I'm related to telling me that my feelings didn't matter but my dad's did and I should call him. It's amazing I have any trust at all. I've had to tell a lot of people what happened to me. I wish I could skip over it, I wish I could say "I was abused" and that would be that. But they always want to know what kind it was, who, when. And that always makes my mind explode with pictures of it. I always want to cry and freak out, but I don't know them.
I had a flashback yesterday in a moment of extreme stress. I tried to get it out of my head but it wouldn't leave, that's how I knew it was a flashback. I'm starting to remember details of the rape, how it actually felt. It's so scary, I don't think I can adequately describe it. I feel trapped and betrayed and like I'm invisible but too visible and like my very soul, the essence of what I am, is being violated. Violated isn't a harsh enough word, if you ask me. It's soul-shattering. It's nightmarish, it's being trapped in a tiny area and all the scary little monsters with glowing eyes and sharp wet teeth are closing in fast and they're going to take my skin one slice at a time. It's enough to make me want to die. And it didn't stop there. It didn't stop until nearly nineteen years later.
I screamed when it happened. I didn't remember that. I thought I had simply shut off when my dad got on top of me and forced himself inside of me. I did, but I was still there. I felt extreme physical pain and it made me scream with it. I remembered the pain, and it was the worst I could possibly ever feel. I don't think anything has even come close, I don't think anything ever will. My world, my life, it all caved in and crushed me and it fucking hurt. I can't believe I'm still human, I can't believe I ever was. I have to poke myself to remember that I'm real. I never got to be a happy little girl. I never got to explore and discover my body, I never got to come up with my own ideas. This shit happens in movies, but not in real life. But it happened to me. Am I real? Of course I am, I'm here at the library, I'm typing this. But it doesn't feel like it. I need something to feel alive or I'm just nothing. I'm nothing I'm nothing I'm nothing.
There's something lodged in my heart chakra. It's keeping it open and vulnerable like it shouldn't be. It's been there a long time. It's raising itself to eye level and saying "LOOK AT ME!! I'm here! I exist! I need you to look at me!" but I can't, not yet. It's scary and gushing something bad and I don't want to look at it right now. It's the full memory, and I'm not ready to look at all of it.
Despite all this, I don't feel all that bad.