Pain is a strange thing, it’s hard. You can’t choose to get rid of it, it’s always there. Sure, you can try and manage it. You can work on ignoring it, and you can learn to live with it, but whether it’s emotional or psychical you can’t tell yourself to forget it.

Think about it, if that were true and you could just choose to move on and not worry about pain in the slightest, the world would be a better place; there wouldn’t be suicides, there wouldn’t be drug and alcohol problems, and so much more. There wouldn’t be war, or hate. We would all always be happy, and life wouldn’t be such a struggle.

Pain is a strange thing, it’s hard. You can’t just end it, and never have to worry. I, myself, have learnt to live with it. Sure, it’s always there, and I’m aware of its existence, however I’ve learnt to manage it. I’ve learnt to expect the worst, and to expect that no matter what, life’s going to hurt. Pain is a part of me now, and whether I like it or not, I am me, therefore I’m stuck with what comes along, including pain. It’s been imprinted into me, it caresses my very soul, and has poisoned my blood streams, but as I said, I’ve accepted it now. I know it’s there, and is going to be for a very long time, but that’s okay.

I can’t really tell I’m awake or not. My eyes are closed. The hands of sinners are upon me. The feeling’s thick. Hard. Heavy. The hands feel so harsh against my skin. Evil. My spine feels weak, and my chest feels poisoned. The feeling of purity is being confused with the feeling of hate.

My eyes feel as though water’s going to burst through them. I want to see around me, but I’m too afraid of what I might see. My body’s no longer wrapped in a sheet of innocence. The sheet has been torn apart and disgraced with elements of sin. I want to keep some corners of my mind pure. Free. I keep my eyes closed, and senses blocked off, to keep some sort of sanity. In my mind all I can see is black. Not the same kind of black you can see when your eyes are closed - usually you can see the blood through you eye lids, but that would imply there were some kind of light, and right now, it felt as though there were no such thing - but a thick kind of black, almost like goo. It was consuming my every thought. It mocked me.

There was an unhealthy sound, almost like a laugh, coming from the blackness. It sounded like death, or pain. I pictured what would be his hands on my body, touching me, leaving a scar every time his hands lay on a different part of me. The scar looked awful, terrifying. It resembled the blackness that filled my mind. It bled into my skin, and spread across the area it lay on. It almost looked like tree roots growing rapidly, poisoning my veins. I could imagine everything the eye could not dare to see. My thighs felt numb, my arms didn’t seem to remember how to work, and my stomach felt like it was going to twist inside itself.

It was strange, I’d never known this feeling to exist, and yet it felt so familiar. It felt as though it were what I had felt all along, rather than a foreign invasion. I tried to remember what it was like, to feel innocent, to feel happy, but it’s like I’d never felt such things in the first place. I wasn’t me anymore. I was the world. I was part of a place I could not recognize but knew well enough to know it wasn’t right.

The air seemed to scratch along my throat as it travelled to my lungs. I couldn’t decide whether I felt empty or over flowed. I wanted to scream, but it’s almost like I was too afraid that it would open up a door to another world I wasn’t ready for. I wasn’t scared of what was happening, but what could happen. What was going to happen. He got closer, and closer. I stood still. I froze. His breathing was heavy, and full of excitement. I breathed in heavily, looking for some sort of relief, and rather than the feeling of freedom, his hands lay on my chest, at the sight of my chest pushing out as the air made it’s way through my body. They were grabbing me, pressing hard. Every time I took a breathe in, and my chest would move his hands would press even harder. It hurt. But what hurt more was not that his hands were inflicting pain, but the fact his hands felt they had the right to touch  me in such ways as this; in such a demonic sense. I’d not been in this world long, and yet I felt like I was caught right in the middle of it.

Once he was done, I lay there. I dare not to move. I did not think to run, or hide. It was too late. He’d done with me his sick desires. I felt no need to protect myself anymore. I’d been done with, and there was no going back. I felt dirty. I felt used up. I wanted to wake up, and come to realize it was all just a dream, however I was aware enough to know that would never happen. I couldn’t help feel the feeling of worthlessness throughout my body. The guilt made me feel sick. And yet, I still dare not move. I lay there, drowning in my thoughts and guilt. Feelings I was not old enough to know, were all I knew now.
They’re all I had left. They’d replaced my innocence, and happiness. Now, all I had was sin, pain and the weight of this sick world crushing down on me, because of a mistake one man dared to make. Now, I was apart of his world.

Here I am again, in a place I finally had accepted a part of my past. A place I never though I’d be a part of again. Here I am in a place that had once gripped me tighter than my skin itself. It’s so familiar, however holds a certain atmosphere of which I’d forgotten.

I’d given all myself to you, and out of no where you took it. I miss you already so much, and I don’t know how much longer I’m going to hold on for this time. I feel numb, but the kind of numb where all I feel is pain, and every other feeling is blocked off. I want to curl up, and cry for days and days, but there’s no point.

You were my everything, my all. How did you become the person that leaves me and takes my future away with you. Please love me again. 

I sit here, thinking, deeply. I think about life, and death, love and hate, happiness and pain. Things people don’t usually sit there thinking deeply about. I like to think our lifes are planned out, somehow. I don’t know why, but, it makes me feel..better. I like to think, about the future. I plan things over in my head, and act out scenarios, and situations that could occur. It makes me happy. I feel asthough I have control over my life, over my thoughts, over my feelings. I’m getting better.

I sit here, thinking, deeply. I think about heaven and hell, young and old, joy and gried. Things people don’t usually sit there thinking deeply about. I like to think. I like to be able to choose my words, without having to watch what I say, and be careful of who I come across. My thoughts are my own, no matter what. No one can hear me, no one can know the whole truth. No one can know. Even though, it means that no one knows what I’m going through, or can be there for me, but, I guess I’m okay with that.

Sometimes I do roleplays in my head. I think ‘what if’ about almost everything. I cause myself, to question my very being, I question myself, and trust, I question things that I once thought I was certan of. I enjoy thinking. It helps. It makes me feel better. There’s always some sort of truth behind everything, and I know my own thoughts can never lie to me.

I found my worst enemy is the thought behind my thoughts. The thought of my thoughts. The thought of the cery thought I’d just thought. The thought that pops in an out, and isn’t careful with it’s harsh words. And yet it speaks the truth. It’s no liar, just a theif. A thief of my happiness. But you know what, it’s okay. I’m happy. I’m better. I’m whole again. Someone’s helped me, and, my life’s back on track.

My thoughts, are just my escape from reality, when I need reality most.