Can I talk to you?

Okay, good, thanks. Maybe it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m not very much of talker. You know, when it comes to opening my mouth and using my voice to speak. It’s pretty impossible telling someone in the flesh what’s happening to me for obvious reasons: he’ll kill us. So, I end up not talking about many things, because most of my feelings are intertwined with what I go through at home somehow. I mean, how could they not be? How could I possibly separate the normal emotions of being a teenager from the overwhelming feelings that come with being sexually abused? Is that even possible?

I don’t know. But I know I’d love to talk to someone. I’d love to tell how horrible I feel about myself, how I feel ugly and worthless and useless. I’d love to have someone look into my eyes and say… something. Maybe even something nice. I’d love to actually get a hug someday. Wouldn’t that be grand?

Meanwhile, I talk to you, because you’re a virtual, non-animated, unconditional listener.

I’m tired, you know? Of living the life I live, of hiding myself  and what  really goes on every day in my life. I don’t really have friends at school, because kids make fun of me, but I still work so hard to maintain some kind of a reputation. I still work so hard to fake it. It exhausts me. Wearing this stupid mask every day is like wearing a 100 ton costume. An I can’t ever take it off. What would  even happen if I took it off? What would people see?

A girl who’s completely broken, bruised? A girl who’s ugly, disgusting, depressed? A girl whose funny remarks and weird jokes are simply her way of coping with all the pain she lives in? I’m terrified of what would happen if my mask ever went down. I think the repercussions of it would probably be as great as if I told the truth. I don’t know if I could handle that. everyone knowing.

Still, I yearn for deep connections and conversations. I yearn for bonding. I know it can never exist if someone doesn’t know the real me. So, I stay alone. So, so, so alone.