Something Ill Never Forget Is When My Partner And I First Started Dating; Ghostie And I Came By After

Something I’ll never forget is when my partner and I first started dating; Ghostie and I came by after her shift was over (she closes where we work) and while sitting in the backseat with her my tics begin to do their thing. One of my not so common tics is kind of like an arm flinging type thing. It’s not too violent of anything but you deff don’t wanna be next to me when it happens. She had known I had tics before we started dating, but wasn’t all too well versed about it.

She holds my hand and goes “you can control it I believe in you” in the most encouraging voice ever. Before I I can respond my arm responds for me and flings out to my side. Ghostie and I are laughing because my partner was trying (and failing) to hold my hand before realizing “oh, never mind” 🤣🤣🤣

Me, watching a cutscene of ichiban getting out of jail: “where’s the scruff?”

CPII: “his scruff is gone”

Me, panicking for Ichiban: “HE’S SCRUFFLESS?!”

CPII: [singing Nasty Girl in Hagrid’s voice]

Me, begging: “MAKE IT STOP”

Everytime I think about you the only sounds I can make are the same I made when I knew nothing; guttural and raw and without articulation

The same sounds I once used as an infant to tell people what was going on in my little head

And that I think it’s kinda poetic, a feeling so strong that the only thing I can think to justify it is a sound rather than a word

CPII, during a sleep deprived game of scrabble: “I hope you choke on [partner’s] uvula”

Me, loopy af at 5am, thinking about it: “how the FUCK do I do that?”

CPII: “You THOUGHT ABOUT IT?”

Written in all sorts of POV’s because I’m unorganized and angry. Will edit later, I need to vent.

TRIGGER WARNINGS: mentions and implications of SA, suicidal ideations if you read between the lines, a now ex friend who made fun of my experience

This is a VENT!!!

Innocence died screamin’

Honey ask me, I would know

I screamed. Begged. Pleaded. Eventually I had to punch.

My innocence died at 13 and I still remember waking up in that truckbed with sore knuckles surrounded by vomit.

And I didn’t cope with it in any healthy way. All the way up until the night after my 18th birthday I let people use me and jerk me around with my emotions as a collar.

So forgive me, cunt; if I tell you something with the confidence you won’t treat it like a joke. Forgive me if I’m angry and explosive when you treat these things as if it’s another story to go and tell all of our friends because you think you’re soooo special for not “giving it away” until well after your 20th. Forgive me if that makes me “an easy lay” for being vulnerable around people I once trusted.

“I just feel like it should be special when it finally happens for me, you have expressed you don’t feel one way in particular about virginity.”

I didn’t get a choice, otherwise virginity would be way higher on my list. I don’t get to have the same experience you did. I’m glad and overwhelmingly happy you felt safe, I glad you weren’t gutted and robbed like I was.

When my partner and I met she had only the bullet points of what happened to me. She had an idea that the reason [redacted] and I stopped talking was because something happened.

[redacted] felt like everyone where we worked should know, even after I did my best to cover up what wasn’t even my fault in the first place. To this day I’ve never once tried to bring it up to other coworkers that [redacted] was lying about what really happened. I had to beg with my partner not to knock his teeth out.

She knew before we started dating that my outlook on sex was skewed.

“I think sex can be beautiful with the right person; but I don’t think I could personally see myself being sexually active.”

And she accepted that as my answer. Part of me feels bad, though. I feel like on some level that because of my (albeit valid) fear that I’m preventing some level of intimacy between us. Only time will tell if something ever happens in that regard.

Sometime I look at the photo drive of people I used to be friends with. Sometime I dig through my Polaroids to look at the frozen moments. I don’t have the heart to get rid of them. And I don’t know why.

I hope that one day I can untangle the mess in my mind, get rid of all the photos; and eventually be comfortable in my own skin as myself.