- - CW: Ableism, Slurs --
He attempted to control my flow of capital; capital Leash. He tried to make me his bitch; 4k in bills; one pocket. I was beholden to authority. I didn't feel like I could say no; I'd never seen that much money in one place. Even when we were in public; if I felt dysphoric. I was a commodity. I was a slut. I was a whore. I was trapped.
He never needed to think to speak; he was guiding the conversation so nothing came as a surprise. Keep me there. Keep me talking. Miss my train. Talk longer. I could tell he loved living a long life of lethargic nothingness; time abuse. His day came first. His unrealized position of authority grabbed hold of my neck and strangled me; no tears; no screams; no cries.
He had infinite frames to press whatever buttons he wanted. He was plus on block and was conditioning me to block high; unblockable. There was no escape from his onslaught; okizeme. The conversation was a constant downward vortex with no clue what direction I should even be blocking from. I hated every second of it. I wanted an end. I needed to make an end.
He made me think I was in control, so I let my guard down. He was comforting; I'm crying. I can't believe my existence had come to that; I'm sobbing. Why do I feel like its all my fault; I'm depressed? I never got a chance or moment in the conversation where he didn't have control over me; authority over my life and happiness; hierarchy ruled from second to second, and dusk to dawn.
He invited me to his home; he wanted to be my new home; only associate fun with his existence: he wasn't going to let me have any. He was waging a war I wasn't aware of; connection between his life, my life, and happiness; no pausing.
He wanted to parade me around where everyone could see me. Let everyone smell the stench of marijuana on my clothes and dick on my mouth. He made it impossible for anyone to call out the abuse; my responses spelled out all the letters of C-O-N-S-E-N-T. I was shutout from any escape route from hierarchy; from authority. I was a walking display of everything wrong with this legal system.
He distracted me from the signs the community was trying to give me that I was being abused; the coughs; the snorts; the sneezes. He gave no actual care for any of the material harm being caused in my life; he wanted to provide an easy escapism for my trauma to abuse me. He enacted emotional warfare with no care for the emotional causality caused. I was a prisoner of emotional war. I was stranded. Help.
The only one you can usually turn to in a time of terror was made to be terror itself to me; a lifetime of abusive experiences with the police meant I had no one to turn to. I fully realized the terror they were capable of and recognized my lack of social skills meant violence was assured. He knew just how to spot the terror in my gaze; how to make the community undersign everything I did with "retard". I one escape; my voice.
I screamed out for Grace; I didn't know who she was. A stranger didn't turn, so I played the part and kept following. I went down the steps. I changed trains. I went back home. I suffered on the inside for months from being deprived of a night out with my girlfriend.
I'm in emotional pain over escaping my rape.
