I can't remember the last time I wrote publicly like this. It used to be ritual. I always loved the idea of writing something publicly for strangers to see, unashamed, raw, me. If you're reading this, hello and welcome. I'm not going to try and sit here and write eloquent pros, I'm just writing about whatever comes to mind, however mundane or interesting you may find it. So let's see. Where do I start? Maybe I'll start where I left off. We'll call this story entry, "The Gray Area. (Part 1)." And this may or may not be fiction or based on true events and assume all "characters" names have been changed.
I was 17. I just started experimenting with alcohol. Some might say I was a late bloomer, some might say I was an early bloomer. Back then, a 40 oz of Saint Ides would obliterate me. I mean it was 8.2% I wasn't no bitch. But nonetheless, I was on a path of self destruction. I'd find myself sneaking out late at night through my bedroom window to meet up with my bf and his friends at the time. He fronted a metal band, drank and smoke, his dad would drink and smoke with us sometimes, he was raised differently, and I thought "how cool."
It was fun. Feeling like you can do anything you want. Mom won't catch me. But the honeymoon phase didn't last long. Jay's demeanor changed as you might expect from consuming large amounts of alcohol at the age of 17/18. I began to see things. His dad berating him. His dad beating his mom. His dad beating his dog. And his dad beating him. Then it shifted. Jay berating me, isolating me, calling me a bitch, telling me "i'm your only friend" and "no one will ever love you like i do", veiled threats in the forms of i love you's, "if you ever leave me, i'll find you"-- you know the usual. And me, self proclaimed feminist bad ass, never me, never I, I'd never be that girl, deny, deny, deny, but yes, it was me, I was "that girl." But i played along. Longer than I should have, longer than anyone should have. I mean he didn't beat me right?
Damn. It feels good to write again.
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