haiku on abuse
absolute content warning || proceed with caution
This will be related to an abusive relationship I had in college. This may be uncomfortable to read. If you are someone who anticipates having a difficult time with this content, consider skipping this post or waiting until you feel safe and supported to proceed.
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Whenever I fall back into a depressive season, my mind always returns to my abuser. He used my depression to his advantage, emotionally and sexually manipulating me at my most vulnerable moments. It is the worst thing I have ever experienced, and I resent how much it still guts me to think about.
I’ve hardly gone a day in the last decade without thinking of him, but usually I’m able to prevent my mind from lingering. I remember he exists, then I let the thought go. But sometimes I remember that he’s moved back to San Francisco, that I could bump into him when I least expect it, that he would not give two shits about me if he saw me. And spiraling on these thoughts feels embarrassing and sad.
I’m constantly holding these two truths: I have healed a lot, and I still hurt a lot. In demonstration of this dichotomy, two haiku I wrote consecutively on Friday:
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gold glimmers from cracks
of my broken spirit, glued
by my own two hands
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green honda civics
still arrest my breath, my mind
frozen, tears spill down
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I have always been open about having PTSD, of having been raped and abused. But I have never been this blunt in writing, never shared this level of detail. I thought of not posting this, for fear of what my very few friends who read this would think, but I reminded myself why I started my Substack: for me. To keep a log of what runs through my brain and my heart, whether it’s painful or it’s banal.
I think what I fear the most is that people will read this and pity me. That they’ll only be able to think of my trauma when they see me. So to the anonymous You reading: I hope you remember that this is only one part of me, and I am more than the worst thing that has ever happened to me.
I was talking to a dear friend today about being in a creative season right now, even though it’s made possible by high highs and low lows. And she said, “People like you and I, who just feel so much, we need to bleed it out. We need the feelings to go somewhere.”
So here’s a pool of blood for you to see: 20 haiku I wrote in a single session, sitting in my car in the Dogpatch after trying and failing to go to the gym. I would say, “enjoy,” but I don’t think that’s the right sentiment here. So I guess I’ll say: I hope this helps you see me, but I hope this isn’t all you see of me.
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couldn’t be bothered
to say sorry, because you
“dealt with it with God”
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don’t want your God if
he lets you think abuse is
inconsequential
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all those accolades
signs of your growing power
meanwhile, i’m still small
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you walk through life like
nothing touches you, like you
had never touched me
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as if you never
said, “oh, you’re sad? come over
we’ll eat some ice cream”
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as if you never
told me, “i want to love you
how God would love you”
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as if you never
had a condom waiting on
your bedside table
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as if you never
fucked me then called me a whore
just a “stumbling block”
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as if you never
kicked me out at 3 am
to walk home alone
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as if you never
did that over and over
and over again
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as if i never
was the kind of girl that meant
anything at all
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i want to pretend
that i’m over it now, but
can’t lie to myself
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i gave you pieces
of myself that i cannot
ever see again
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my innocence, lost
i curse naïveté, but
that doesn’t change things
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i may not be whole
but broken pieces are all
i have left of me
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so in spite of you
because of you, i will glue
myself together
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sort through the wreckage
and make something beautiful
using gold lacquer
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i’ve no other choice
my peace can’t be contingent
on apologies
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else i’ll be waiting
for when the sun tumbles down
and splashes the sea
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which is all to say
i can’t wait anymore, so
it’s time to let go
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