Scarred

I’ve been silent for a while now. I keep sitting here, thinking about all the thousands of things that I want to say and yet there is nothing to show for it.

I guess I’m still pretty messed up, from this adoption and also from my abusive relationship. My mind has been twisted and warped into this knot of negativity, completely impenetrable from even the greatest of joys.

With the adoption, I just can’t find the happy things anymore. It was a reach before that I managed, but the future doesn’t look too bright. I feel that the more Ben grows up, the less he likes me. Like of course a sweet, squishy baby will love me when I’m feeding him his bottle. And then I was able to bribe him onto my lap with food when I went 6 months ago. But now he is mobile, and he knows what he wants. And I know that isn’t me. Why should it be anyway? I mean absolutely nothing to him, and I know that the only reason he might in the future is because of Ann and Derek telling him that he should. Otherwise I’m just this random nobody. Everyone is so obsessed with the idea that he’ll automatically know me and love me and cherish me. Why should he? Honestly, he likes my best friend better. Any instinct he might have had that I was his mother probably went away the second they took him from me.

I feel this giant disconnect between us. I’m so crazy in love with him. He is my whole world. No one can replace him, and I crave him every second of every day. And he feels absolutely none of that towards me, and he probably never will.

Then there’s the little tidbit about having been with Andrew. I didn’t know that the scars he left reached so deep inside of me. He taught me many things that unfortunately have transferred into my treatment of other men, even though they are kinder than he ever was.

He taught me that I am easily disposed of, that the smallest mistake means that I’m worthless and pointless to keep around. He taught me that promises are nothing more than pretty words with an opposite outcome. He showed me he could only stand to be near me if he was intoxicated. He taught me that kisses and touches and sex can be taken from me without my desire or permission, and that I have no choice but to silently allow it to happen or else I’ll get hit. He taught me that loud voices and cuss words being screamed at me is just the beginning to another horrible night filled with tears, pain, and cruelty.

And I know it’s not fair to think that everyone else is like him. I know I need to start over in this new relationship with a clean slate, no assumptions, and no hating him for something Andrew would’ve done. But I’m too scarred. I can’t even be woken up with kisses because it’s complete post-traumatic-stress of when Andrew forced himself on me in the middle of the night, and I couldn’t get my body to wake up and fight him off. I can’t stand hearing my boyfriend cussing loudly about his stresses at work because in the back of my mind there’s a huge, red DANGER sign flashing at me to flee. I can’t be hugged too hard because I start panicking, or be left alone for too long because I go suicidal. Basically, I’m a mess. And I want to sit here and point fingers and blame him for everything. I wish I had left earlier. I wish I had realized that being alone (even for as temporary as it was) is not as horrible as constantly being stuck in the room of the man who supposedly loves you but would rather bruise you. God, I am so messed up. I think the worst part is that people knew. They knew and they gave advice and none of it worked and I stayed and I kept getting degraded and everyone could see and I was stuck. But I think that even if I did leave earlier, I still would be this messed up.

I miss my baby. Please, give me back my baby.