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THE BATTLE FOR MODeRN 1923


  chunks of flommus 

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toxicity

becoming i   CHAPTER 4

I want for the re­al­iza­tion to hit. For the care to come over what their ac­tions caused. Af­ter what hap­pened the night of Sep­tem­ber 5, I went on to work. 

I spent the whole day in a daze. I re­mem­ber get­ting off work and dri­ving off. 

Two hours on no sleep just to some­where I could find peace. 

I spent an hour on the phone with my best friend pro­claim­ing I only want­ed to with­er away. She said she would not let me with­er away. 

On the way back, I drove to the promise of flow­ers and time to spend to­geth­er. Al­though I got the call from my moth­er which turned into an argument. 

I walked into the door re­turn­ing to the home I once lived in that now be­come home to one of my worst mem­o­ries. He sat on the couch dressed up in a brown but­ton up. I looked at him. He said he was go­ing out for drinks with friends. 

I flew up the stairs. The hys­ter­ics took over. I fell to the floor of the room cra­dled knees into my arms. I cried. He walked in. And I shud­dered, “af­ter what you put me through last night? You promised we would have a night to­geth­er. You promised flow­ers.”

All I could hear was my voice shriek­ing. He stayed af­ter that. We went to the store. 

I re­mem­ber we got was a hor­ror movie be­cause it’s all I want­ed to watch. I want­ed to be in a place that wasn’t where I was at that mo­ment. I fell asleep. 

And for months our back and forth re­la­tion­ship con­tin­ued on. The tox­i­c­i­ty grew. I re­mem­ber call­ing a night I was left alone. He was drunk. And all I want­ed to do was end my life be­cause here I came al­most 6 years in jour­ney to have only fall­en in love with some­one who even­tu­al­ly raped me. 

This was Oc­to­ber of last year. I got through. But No­vem­ber came. See­ing my moth­er on the floor in a state of dis­ar­ray is still in my mind. I could do noth­ing but be a wit­ness to what I saw. 

The pain of the shrieks I cried that night still cut into my heart.
 
 
alley_mom2
 
 
As my mother’s death took over my life – as a blan­ket of con­fu­sion and find­ing my way – I’ve spent the last year clutch­ing to the only per­son who re­al­ly knew her in California. 

This was my love. This was the man that raped me. 

What you need to know is that I am not in­clined to hide the things shame­ful­ly I did this year. 

I re­mem­ber the night be­fore we had to pull my moth­er off life sup­port – send­ing text af­ter text – an­gry be­cause he chose not to be at the hos­pi­tal when he said he would come. His drunk words wouldn’t grasp my mom was dead. 

She’s gone”
“Don’t say that.”

He made it the night we took her off life support. 

I re­mem­ber ly­ing in her arms on that hos­pi­tal bed, it took me a mo­ment but I awoke look­ing into his brown eyes and he said “she’s with tiny now.”

No feel­ing can re­place how right those words were in that mo­ment. Those prob­a­bly were the only ones I could find any com­fort it. 

This did not change any­thing. Even the birth of his best friends child a week lat­er at the same hos­pi­tal did not change anything. 

When I say it didn’t change any­thing I mean it didn’t change our past or any­thing that lead us to where we were. I wish it had that pow­er to take it all away. 

Tru­ly I tried liv­ing on, the best I could, like our lives would now see our point of re­turn­ing to one an­oth­er. I couldn’t.

I reached out for oth­er re­la­tion­ships. Back and forth ex­ten­sive fights. Nights of pain and crying.
To a Dis­ney­land trip for our fam­i­lies. That even then the in­flu­ence of al­co­hol haunt­ed me and cre­at­ed a riff. 

A pas­sive ag­gres­sive fight about flower ears be­cause I felt un­heard and un­der­mined. He tried to find me the ears I so want­ed, and I just ig­nored his attempt. 

In these last months it’s been the hard­est. I be­came more ca­pa­ble and be­cause of that I didn’t want to waste more time. I didn’t want to strug­gle through the bat­tle anymore. 

I’d get SO an­gry be­cause I couldn’t con­trol his drink­ing. I’d get so up­set be­cause he would ig­nore me be­cause I tried more and more abra­sive­ly to get it to stop. Only I was dri­ving the car fur­ther and fur­ther away some­how I thought I was get­ting closer. 

I called him a rapist. I called him an al­co­holic. I dug up his past. I begged. I plead­ed. I yelled.
 
 
dertung_toxicmor
 
 
I be­came so con­sumed. I called him a mon­ster. All the while I was be­com­ing my own. 

In mo­ments of clar­i­ty I would cry and say how “you must un­der­stand I don’t want to be this way.”

Only I would con­tin­ue. The last thing I told him was that his moth­er gave him up for adop­tion be­cause she knew he was a piece of shit. 

No one knows but me how much those words burn my own mouth. They came out as he told me he still loved me but be­gan dat­ing an­oth­er girl. 

I didn’t know but the ig­nor­ing be­gan again af­ter an­oth­er night we spent to­geth­er. Which al­ways still feels like he just used me for sex. 

So I set out on these posts to get out all of this that has been eat­ing me up with no re­sponse from the one I wish would. 

Al­though I thought he wouldn’t find them he did. He set out to un­der­mine the heal­ing to say “why the fuck would you post shit like that?”

It took him say­ing I was go­ing to fuck up my sis­ter to take that com­ment about his adop­tion out of my vault I held be­cause I knew it wasn’t truth but it was the one thing I could say to hurt him. 

I was so tired of be­ing hurt. I was so exhausted. 

And we haven’t even dis­cussed the woman he let call me a cunt on Christ­mas or her hus­band who he let put his hands around my head and mouth. 

I’ve stood alone in this last year, and these are all the demons I’ve bat­tled. Com­ing face to face with my own de­mon in my­self who in wound­ed mo­ments will say any­thing to hurt the ones sur­round­ing un­less it feels safety. 

But I haven’t felt safe. Not once in this last year.
 
 

—al­ley scheffki

Flom­mist Al­ley Schef­f­ki is 22 years young, ‘I am the blue rose. Dies ist ein wun­sch für frei­heit.’ Copy­right © 2016 Al­ley Scheffki.

 
co
nti
nue
read
ing —

                   forward to  becoming i  CHAPTER 5  • • •
· · · back to  becoming i  CHAPTER 3

 
start over     al­ley scheffki’s  be­com­ing i  CHAP­TER ONE
DerTung_becomingIrose2

read en l’ordre cronológi­co

· · ·  a pre­vi­ous post
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Der Tung
Posted
Sun 27 Nov 2016

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