The Diseased | Teen Ink

The Diseased

February 5, 2008
By Selah Medlin, Burleson, TX

Writing in this journal is my only sancuary. In this keepsake I can hide from the man I must call my boyfriend only in public. The demon in the basement of my heart. Thats where I keep my love for him. Only showing it when I must, in public.

At home our love is locked in the deepest part of my heart. It must be there, it has to be, because if it was not, then I would not still be here together with him. My loving boyfriend, only loving in public, who hits me when we are alone. I tell myself again and again and again that when he says he's sorry, and says he will never hurt me, that I will believe it. I have to believe it. And I guess I do, because I'm still here.

Never is there an end to the destruction he causes me. Lurking from behind every corner is is a fist waiting to tear me apart. Bruises cover me from neck to toe. He never does hit my face. In fear that someone will know, I hide behind the shelter of turtlenecks and pants. They cover everything, even the cries for help. I want to tell someone other than this journal. Someone real, someone who can rescue me from this nightmare.

Fear keeps me from speaking up. The fear that will never leave, that can never be subsided. He talks to me, every night, when I'm forced to share the same bed, sleep at his side, always fearful of his wakening. He gives me a kiss softly and says he's sorry, but I can feel the anger raging inside of him, waiting until I break. He tells me that it was my fault. I was the one to blame. Then I remember all the times he hit me, all the times I saw death close in. I guess I am forced to believe what he says. I believe him because at night, when we fall asleep. I fight the urges that keep me from ending it all. I fight them because because it is always my fault. I am a bad girlfriend. I should keep the house cleaner, pick up all of the broken beer bottles strewn all over the floor after his evening football game with his friends. Have dinner ready and placed when he gets home...

How has he dealt with me all this time. I am the one at fault. I wanted someone to come and rescue me. What a foolish request. I'm pitiful. I should be grateful to have such a boyfriend, one who only wants to correct my awful mistakes. Oh, he'll be home in half an hour. Better go start dinner...

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Speaks

Smith Summer

Wellesley Summer