Trigger Warning for talk of intimacy.

I can’t catch my breath, I’ve been crying so hard. I can’t seem to stop. The flood gates opened at work today, and now at home. And it hurts so bad.

I work in a major department store as a cosmetics floater; I fill in for the regular employees when they are sick or on vacation. So I don’t work in one specific area. I approached my boss today, told I was grateful for my job, but I would prefer to be at a permanent location. She said was wasn’t thinking of moving me to a permanent position because she had concerns over my “serious face” and my lack of smiling. She said I was unapproachable. And then the tears began. I’ve been told I don’t smile enough before and that has always pained me, because when I think I’m smiling everyone tells me I have a sad look.

So I don’t think I can change this about myself. Boss Lady told me that she can see I’m trying to smile, but it doesn’t come naturally and doesn’t come from the inside, and customers will notice that.

I’ve always lacked the carefree, happy-go-lucky attitude. When I was in third grade some of my poetry was entered into a contest. The feedback I got back was that it was too serious, too dark, and not happy enough for an 8 year old. Story of my life.

Now, because of the comments by my Boss Lady, I feel worthless. I feel like I’m not made good for anything. Everyone does everything better and I never stood a chance. What made me this way? Did he? There is no hope for me.

Later this evening, Husband and I were intimate. And it hurt over and over. I couldn’t catch my breath because of the pain, but I didn’t want to say anything to him or ruin his pleasure. When it was finished, I started bawling, not from the pain, but from what it reminded me of. It reminded of when Abuser hurt me as a little girl by having sex with me, a seven year old. Husband was beautiful while I cried. He just held me and let me sob away, promising we would never do it when it hurt again. But I’m still crying.

I hate Therapist. He thinks we’ll get better. He says we’ve made progress. But he’s not there for these moments. He doesn’t see how bad it gets. The hopelessness, the helplessness, the crying, the want for everything pure and innocent. To find a time when maybe I wasn’t so tainted, so cheapened, so serious, so misfit. And I hate myself for believing his bull shit. He doesn’t know me. If he did, he would see I’m dead inside. And I can’t be resurrected. And I just want it all to go away. I want me to go away. It’s been a bad life that I was reminded of in one day.