Death is a reward.

I dreamed of him again, his fingers thrashing wildly in my clammed up vagina. My nipples were erect, not from pleasure, but from shame. His pot belly was sliding conveniently across my breasts, all the way up, till his penis found its way into my unwilling mouth, forcing my lips apart, the entire shaft went down my throat.

I grasped the sheets so tight, eyes clenched shut. A single, angry tear rolled down my cheek, disappearing down the snow white pillow without a trace. The room was silent, as though filled with a crowd of invisible, awkward spectators, all listening to the sound of me gagging.

He then fucked me, perspiration running down his temple. I laid still, my body stiffly rocking to his plunges. I wanted to throw up. I felt as though my ribs were buckling under his weight. I could smell his sweat and taste that overpowering stench of lust and greed. His penis stuck in like a sore entrapment.

“I will see you again. And I will fuck you harder. I own you, bitch.”

I left the room, my body felt like it was on fire. I wanted to throw my dirty self down a building. But all the inspiration quotes I read the day before acted like a guide, calming my frenzied mind, holding back my impulse… of death.

How can I die? I have to repay my parents for raising me. I have to make sure he won’t post up dirty stories of me, smearing my name with rancid bullshit even after I am stone cold in a casket.

I locked myself in my room, where I was supposed to feel the safest. I slapped myself over and over again. I deserved to be punished. For allowing a fat, disgusting mad man to degrade me this way. Desecrate my life, ripping it to shreds, until there’s no shadow to my own soul. I took out a whip and lashed out at my vagina. This disgusting piece of flesh that was raped and abused. I wanted so much, for it to be removed from my body.

The pain comforted me. I told myself this bitter punishment will relief me a tad bit from this horrible sin.  The physical treatment was like a weaponry pastor. I prayed to the rod for forgiveness.

I slammed my head against the wall, as if the memories could be knocked out from the impact.

*BANG*

*BANG*

*BANG*.

With each stronger blow I dealt, the lesser I felt. I continued doing it until everything goes numb, my face red from the hard slaps, my lower body paralyzed from the lashes. I lie down on my bed, quivering, shaking, crying. Still, my soul chose not to dissipate. Still, my heart beats. My body wanted to live. I had to crawl through the brambles of life’s cruel, existing torment.

I realized by then, epiphany through sheer misery; that death… is a reward.

And I do not deserve it yet.

Drag your feet, trudge through the grime. Let dirt decorate your skin but never taint your soul. Breathe, like the world owes you. Cling on harder and harder like an adamant root in the eroded soil. Cling on to life.

 

Subjugated.

I think everyone has contemplated the intricate allure of death, if not many, at least once in their lives. We first enter this world, like a silken cloth, free from marring, from pollutants, from desecration. As we age, we start to grow. The growth of our physique may give our age away, but this aesthetic form; is just a mere facade, is it not?

At different phases of life, we birth many desires; some strange, some childish, some ridiculous. But in most phases of our life, we crave love.

That is one thing humans will never stop wanting. 

I reminisce sometimes, with a tinge of abhorrence, and pangs of disgust the one boy in my life that I spent 2 years of my life thinking he was what love really was about.

How wrong was I?

I am sure you have felt this before, your palms sweating, heart racing when the phone rings with a text from him. You schedule your every day around his ups and abouts, keeping time free and skipping your meals just to wait for his casual “Wanna meet for dinner?” You talk relentlessly to your friends about him, how cute he’d look in this 500$ shirt you just bought for him, and spend your days thinking of how to doll up better so he can finally say “you look nice.” (But obviously i never had the luxury to hear that from him.)

I have chased that guy, not only in a bid to get together with him, but also literally. Chased him down the streets publicly calling his name, tears strewn amok my cheeks, begging him to stop, but hell I wasn’t much of a runner but I sure was determined as fuck. What was I even chasing him for? What was I sorry about? Nothing. Evidently, I was sorry because that’s what he wanted to hear. I was chasing him because that was what he wanted to see.

My sister brought his name up again once during dinner days ago. She was laughing and joking about how amusing it is when I, the pathetic girl so madly in “love” with him, was mopping the floor with tears wetting the ground faster than the mop could do its work. I can, at that point, understood from her point of view, how comical it was. But the girl I once was, was so remotely shattered it felt like I died so many times over.

I remember that day, he had blocked me on all media. And back in those days there WEREN’T many platforms you could talk to someone on. He wanted a break up, for the millionth time, because he was in army and he has gotten bored of this plain jane with a flat chest who loved him so much, she gave him everything. With nothing left to offer.

The bed… felt like a coffin, with the ceiling closing in onto me. The computer was the devil’s advocate, whispering for me to do something crazy. And the window….. let’s not even go there.

So I tried to busy myself. I grabbed the mop and started cleaning like crazy. But this sadness it just wouldn’t leave me. And it felt like all purpose of living, all purpose of ME, myself, has forsaken me. If I could cry my heart out, that must have been that day I finally see how mine looks like.

But fast forward to 7 years till today, I finally realized that wasn’t love. I let him hang around even though he has “broken up” with me just because he wanted a quick outlet for sexual pleasures while I stupidly thought the physical contact could bring us closer on the emotional plane where he clearly didn’t want to co exist with me in.

If you are reading this and you find yourself in a similar situation, know your worth. It may be hard for you to leave, I tried a thousand times. But when he leaves, death is never the option.

Let me tell you what love is. Love is when you hold him close, for the 10000th time, but your heart doesn’t flutter. It calms. 

 

 

Keep fighting.