Eating my experiences (24)

TOME 25

I could see the lips I kissed now swollen and torn by my bludgeoning, eyes I once longed to look into bulging out of her head, freckled face I once help longingly ruptured and specked by shards of bone poking through her skin. I wondered as her brain began to sizzle if I would ever rid myself of the events that unwrapped over the last 24 hours. I had killed the woman I loved, and the woman I loved was so many people, including my mom, how could you forgive yourself for that.

She said she acted upon her sexual desires because my mom had wanted that, and thinking back, that explains a lot about our shared past. She had always been touching my body in inappropriate ways, something that always sent a chill down my spine. How could I be expected to get past this? Flashed of my dying lover, beaten beyond the brink in which a human would have died, still speaking haunted me as I turned off the stove, the brains sufficiently burned and cooked.

I walked in a daze through the house, yet another location to hold my traumas, yet another location where safety had abandoned. I can feel the fringe of dissociation as my feet and legs fade away into nothingness, forgotten as my mind leaves my body. I spent several days in this state, mute, and undernourished as I refused to so much as glance at food. I had my friends, but my strongest aggressor of my childhood trauma had haunted me, had driven me to murder. That's how I saw it, I know she was a zombie, but she was cognizant, fully capable to love and speech, so it felt like murder.

She seemed to pose little danger to me beyond the risk of someone eating her and continuing the cycle. I killed her for selfish reasons, I killed her so I would never be tricked into seeing my mother again, mot because I feared for my life, or feared for the lives of my loved ones, but because I did not want to go through the same thing, stuck in a kind of time loop governed by a cycle of bodies holding my mom, who would continue to make me suffer time and again.

She did not try to hurt me physically, just as she had in my childhood, she only hurt me emotionally. The only physical harm I came to was from the hand of her husband who could have killed her, and I feel the same would be true now. She would have tortured me mentally, but she never would have killed me. I was likely never in true danger, yet my anger and hatred for my mothers complacency was enough to drive to killing her, but not beat her to a bloody pulp before cutting her head open. Lilly had been alive till the end, groaning, apologizing and...crying.

I already missed what she represented, love and nurturing, sweetness and sunshine, warmth and smiles. She represented a hope I had let go of the moment Gabe died. She kissed me with a longing I now see was a longing for life.

I killed her because I was selfish, not out of necessity and the reality that I had become that selfish and self serving to sacrifice the minds of numerous people just for my own comfort was really what broke me. I acted in a moment of anger, a moment of listless pain, but not out of fear or any thing tangible.

I feared I would never regain my humanity after such a heinous act. I'm sorry.

TO BE CONTINUED...