when you drown your girlhood

ownership.

have you ever met a man who truly loves? they desire an "object" they can possess and control. i would prefer to believe my taste in men is to blame for this particular opinion of mine, but the more i experience the more convinced i am that i am correct. the guys i have been with had me psychologically damaged at such a young age

i am only eighteen years old with enough sexual trauma and relationship trauma to impact my future relationships forever. assaulted sexually and physically on several different occasions. mentally abused into insanity. sent into anxiety attacks from being repeatedly called a whore and a cheater without reason. i was always called a whore by that one person, no matter what i did to beg for them to stop. gaslighted until i didn't know left from right. destroyed my relationships with friends and family. all for incredibly selfish people. most of the time when i am reminded of them, i grow so angry i can barely see. the entire time i was blindly giving all of myself to people who never reciprocated the affection and dedication i gave so foolishly. over time they learned i was too much of a coward to advocate for myself when being treated like a piece of shit

i don't want these memories and choices from the past to continue haunting me. every morning there is a split second where i briefly and blissfully forget what has happened to me. i think about all the girls he is having sex with. i wonder if another girl woke up next to him. then i feel guilty. i didn't like sex with him. it was abusive and toxic, so why am i jealous at the thought of other girls being underneath him?

there is an appeal to guys who have both severe mommy issues and daddy issues, struggle with alcoholism, and refuse to open up to me. i do not know why i crave this cycle so badly. my brain subconsciously sucks me back into being attached to an abuser. of course i want a healthy relationship. instead i am here at four in the morning writing about boys who don't love me and never will. the fantasies rot in the back of my brain with vividly detailed images of what could have been