I know how to numb the pain

I couldn’t be more different than the child I see in my memories. The girl in pigtails running into the sunny early morning, now taping blackout curtains in anticipation of the harsh awakening. The memories that play out in scenes above, a spectator in my own life. I wish I could take it all back. The weak moments, the forgiven mental attacks. 

One little bite a day still runs out eventually.

One joke about my chubby cheeks.

One tip at the fourth grade snack table on how to lose weight.

One night when you took too much of me. 

They chip away like string after too many attempts at beading it, the dry taste still in my mouth. One more memory to pretend is just a dream, just something that will one day be forgotten, something I can forget. 

Disconnect. Quiet it. Forget it.

Float above in a bubble of safety, a warm blanket to separate me from the real one that’s being slowly lifted off of my legs. 

A place to hide when the fingers I stayed awake waiting for, finally placed their fingers in their practiced route. 

One-step, two-step, move a bit. Restart. 

Until he got enough. Resisting the pressure on my eyelids, to let him take what he wanted before entering his own perfect sleep. I was always taught to put others first. Didn’t want to find coal in my stocking. 

Let them sleep.

While I retreat. 

Thoughts never spoken.

my soul’s already broken. 

What’s one more moment forgotten. 

Learn to be light as a feather

To even the pressure

Flat on my back

Don’t let the eyes track. 

never look back.

Praised for the thing I hated. Hours of practicing demanded. The dread when I saw my father, knowing what he expected. Bits of russian learned before ever taking even a math class. Engraved in each speck of spit as my teacher would have to reach into her backup dictionary, all the english insults used up. A bit contradicting when everyone else was stating that I could never quit, a god given talent; too bad she stole that with each word, yell, and criticism that she used to make me better. 

Humans are creatures of habit, one of the reasons I used to invalidate my own memory. Something that’s normal, it’s not a big deal. It’s not a surprise that I stick to my own. 

Needing a routine, a system tried and true. No room for error. 

Sure it can get mundane, but at least there’s less pain. 

Same alarms used.

Same calories burned.

Same pull from the long-sleeve drawer.

Scared of a delay that ruins my day.

they preach how its dangerous to stay this way–i dont know how to fucking change. 

Just let me bleed.

I don’t want to eat.

I just want to fade.

I’m trying to put others first.

I know how to numb the pain.

So just lay all yours on display and I’ll chip away. 

nothing really matters, as long as I’m helping others.

Maybe I took that wrong, too young to fully understand. But I can’t forget how to live, it’s the only way I’ve learned how.  It’s the only way I’ve stayed. So what if I’m stained. With thinning hair, and purple stripes. At least she’s still there, and I have the bits of happiness, my personal pixie dust that lets me float above. Sometimes I like horror movies, I guess. 

I wasn’t there during kindergarten recess when they made me scared of everyone’s favorite part of the day,

The red tube where they used me.

I wasn’t there when he overruled my logic every night and slept right next to me,

My best friend’s house, stained.

I wasn’t there at my weekly dreaded piano lessons, her tips were never used.

My switch turned off, when the music stopped, and her mouth opened. 

I wasn’t there, so why would I be here? 

I never learned to stick. 

I learned to survive.

Not to thrive.