Tatyana Brown- “Gaslit”/everydayfeminism
Taking its name from the 1944 film The Gaslight,
gas-lighting is a form of mental abuse in which false information
is continuously presented to a survivor in order to make them doubt their memory, perception, and sanity
You know you’ve really got it bad when decades later,
shadows in your apartment flicker after the sky is baptized in lightning,
and you hear his voice instead of thunder telling you, “There is no storm”
You don’t need to close the windows
That is not water pouring in sheets onto the rooftops,
flooding your bedroom until the mattress weeps under your weight
It’s just an accident
Probably you did it, little girl
Why are you making such a scene?
It’s a quiet night, a leaky bathtub upstairs,
there is nothing to protect yourself or anyone else from, darling
Everyone is happy
Maybe you should try it
Are you trying hard enough to have some better, more attractive feelings?
Show me your winner’s smile
No, not like that, all bare teeth
Close your mouth, and pull until it stings
Who’s going to love that gap, yeah?
Who do you think you’re fooling with all this sky is falling bullshit?
Nobody cares
It’s a party, and the sad girl in the darkened room stays sad her whole life
Her bottomless sorrow transforms all of the beautiful people into monsters,
or else just makes them leave
She only has herself to blame
It goes on like this for hours
Even though you know it’s raining, it’s a hurricane
The walls are peeling from their studs
The floor is floating in the flood
You live on a raft now, tearing itself apart as it is being sucked out to see
You find yourself apologizing to a voice no one else can hear
I’m sorry for this act of God we’re living through
Sorry about this flesh wound I keep walking around with, staining all your furniture
I’m sorry I can’t seem to start crying
You know, I guess somebody died, and it’s stupid
I realize, but not over it
I guess maybe something happened that gutted me
like a carp you hack apart to catch worthier fish
I guess I haven’t slept in months because silly me,
the roof tore off,
and I have swallowed so much rain lying on my back
Taking it
I’m sorry
You probably don’t mean to hear this messy grief girl who can’t keep her mouth shut
It’s just the way it always is, yeah? My fault.
You know it’s bad when you can’t actually remember what he sounds like
The only version of his voice is rooms away, roaring between the book shelves
as he pulls them crashing to the floor,
and you wonder how it is that he still lives here
How every creak and rumble in your new apartment belongs to him somehow
How you keep waking up feeling guilty for being lazy and such a mess, even at 7 AM
Your books still in their boxes, you realize, it isn’t him you’re hearing,
but the muscle memory of what he made you feel
It’s not so bad. It’s not so bad. You’ve got to get up, and get over it
Are you sure you even remember it right?
It’s your hand on the light switch now, flickering, and cursing your eyes for their perfect sight
Reblogged this on tdhssp's Blog.
Velvet Martin
April 16, 2016 at 5:02 am