I washed my body. I couldn’t wash him off

[Diary Entry, 21 March 2021]

I feel dirty. Maybe I’ll never wash it off. I don’t mean dirt in the literal sense, although… I’m not sure. The touch of someone who’s hurt you for years smells different. It stays on the skin. It leaves something behind. Maybe permanent.

I showered three times today and I still feel filthy. I keep thinking I deserve it. I let it happen. I let him do this.

After the arguments, the shouting, the names… he touches me in the way only people who care about us are supposed to. But why do I still want his love? Why do I crave that one quiet moment where I can pretend it’s there?

His love. Like a small creature hiding in the corner. Half alive. Hungry. It’s almost funny. I felt a flicker of laughter just now, like my brain trying to protect me. I’ve never been good at describing feelings. Whatever.

Maybe I’ve lost my mind. Maybe I want love so desperately I settle for mouldy leftovers. The worst part is the shame afterwards, when it hits me how easy I am. How naïve. How stupid. But apparently clever, rich women have the same problem, so that’s something.

They want love too. We all do, don’t we? We all want to be loved the way we deserve.

Because… I do deserve love. For fuck’s sake.

I’m getting angry now. That’s a good sign. After the tears, after the sadness, I always get this little spark of amusement and then the anger comes. Though never in the same order. Sometimes I feel like I won’t survive it. Like it’s some kind of curse. Like the universe has already decided I’m not meant to feel love at all.

Maybe I was born just to hurt in silence, even in a relationship. A relationship that suffocates me. One that won’t let go but also won’t hold me. And soon I’ll go to bed next to a man who sees me as an object. A thing. A piece of flesh. Like I don’t have a soul. Like I’m not a person.

And the truth is… he’s the one who’s not human. There’s not a trace of humanity in him, yet he keeps trying to convince me that something is wrong with me. And maybe he’s right in one small way. Something must be wrong with me, because…

I stayed long after I knew he’d already killed the woman I was meant to become.