Don’t cry.
I was only 11
I watched my Mother with tears in my eyes as she lay motionless on the bathroom floor
Her gown drenched with blood
And on her stomach, an open wound
A dead baby.
Face it.
Look me in the eyes and tell me why.
Because it sparks a fire in my chest, every time you cry.
Trickling down…
My thigh touching yours, your arm wrapped around my waist.
I clutch my toes, hoping that it will provide some quick relief like the therapist said, but it only hurts me.
I stare into nothingness as your hands trickle down my waist to my butt.
“Is this okay?,” you whisper into my ear.
Your hot breath feels as if it creates water vapor in my ear as I shut my eyes tight and try to mumble out, “Yeah, it’s fine.”
Consent.
My body goes stiff as your hand trickles down into my pants.
My thighs clench until I get a cramp.
My face gets hot, along with my chest.
I can barely breathe.
“No!” I yell, my eyes flooding with tears. “Never again!”
You suddenly back away, a worrisome look in your eyes.
Your heart is beating fast when it was just beating slowly with such passion.
I’m sorry that I can’t love you the way you want me to.
I’m sorry for giving you the consent to trickle your way into my temple.
I’m sorry for still processing what happened to me 6 years ago.
I’m sorry if I made you think that your hand could be trickling down.
It was nice to get away from my harsh reality with you
I’d been by your side through every emotion, every rant, & every other weekend that you’d pick me up
You’d told me multiple times that I was your only friend, the only person you could vent to
Sometimes, I felt guilty.
Like, why are you dependent on me for your happiness? I’m not even happy with myself, but I’m responsible for making you smile every other weekend
But, sometimes, I felt like I was worth something
I loved to hear about how you missed me & what’s been going on the past 2 weeks that you weren’t with me
You taught me how to listen, without judging
How to have empathy
We had 40 minute rides to your house from my house
I’d listen to you rant about work, stress, & whatever else came to your mind
Sometimes, on nice, sunny days, I listened carefully to you - nodding and agreeing to what you would say, engaging in conversation, joking along the way
It was nice to have an escape from the harsh reality of my life, although you taught me responsibility through the harsh realities of your life
It was nice to feel as if I belonged somewhere - as if I belonged with you
Sometimes, it was nice to have 1 real friend that considered me their only real friend too
It was nice to get away from my harsh reality with you
They would call me fat
My friends would try their best to stick up for me, cussing them out with no hesitation
Leaving me to laugh and point, although I still felt humiliated
I knew that my friends comebacks weren’t enough to heal the wounds of their words
When I would get home from school, I would stand in the mirror, sucking in my stomach and trying to fit into my big sister’s tighter clothes
I was insecure
I decided to wear my sister’s clothes to school to see if they would say the same things about my weight, but it only got worse because they noticed that I was trying to avoid them
They called me “stuffed” and it was the first time I heard the term, “obese”
I decided to do my research on that particular word
I was familiar with being called “fat” and “overweight”, but I’d never heard someone call me “obese”
When I read the articles about how the obese weighed more than the overweight, I cried and that was the first time I contemplated killing myself
I didn’t want to go to school. I didn’t want to eat anymore. I didn’t want them to call me fat.
My Mom had enough of it
She got sick of the excuses that I’d make up for not being able to go school
Like, “I was sick” or “I wanted a day off”
She started to force me to go to school, ignoring the excuses and lies
I faked as if I was going because I would walk to school
Then, when I made it out of her eyesight, I went through a shortcut, and sneaked back into the house through my window
Silly of me to think that she wouldn’t find out because I still came up as absent in school
She decided to go the school counselor about someone potentially bullying me, but
I’d never told anyone how I truly felt so they had no real evidence
I asked my Mom if we could start going to the gym and she said yes so I started to exercise in order to lose weight
It helped me to lose a few pounds, but I still looked fat and I still couldn’t fit into my sister’s clothes
One day, I’d had enough of trying to fit their beauty standard
I took my sister’s medication to attempt to overdose, potentially killing myself It didn’t work
I went back to school after about a week, but this time I had a therapist to give me strategies on how to cope with my weight
Rumors spread that I attempted suicide and everyone started to praise me
That month, we had an assembly about bullying
They stopped calling me fat & we became associates
I shield my eyes from the bright, beaming lights of what seems to be a hospital room Why am I here? What happened? I start to panic, calling out for help, searching for a phone that I could use A nurse and what seems to be a young man rush into the room The young man stands in the doorway, breathing heavily Behind him is an older man, dressed in a business suit He looks like he hadn’t been sleep in days The nurse has been talking to me all the while I’m trying to figure out who these two men are Confused, I glance over at her and she stops talking Her face turns blank For a while, we just stare at each other without saying anything because I’m silently panicking It seems as if this is all a dream Why would I wake up in a hospital and nothing has happened to me? “What’s going on?” I ask the lady, but she doesn’t say anything Instead, she starts to look at the two men Her face is full of sorrow The older man wipes his eyes as if he’s starting to cry “Do you know who those people are? Those two men, standing in the door?” she asks me, in a baby-like voice. The young man rushes into the hallway and I can see him quickly walk away, shaking his head I shake my head no. “Am I supposed to?” I reply. “Ma’am, that’s your husband and your son. Can you recall the name, Michael?” The older man slowly walks towards me, reaching for my hand. I pull away, fear taking over my body. I clench onto the nurse. “Get him away! I don’t want him to hurt me!” I yell to her. She walks over to the man, hesitates, and then mumbles something to him about letting me rest and getting coffee. As he walks out of the room with the nurse, he looks over his shoulder at me with tears in his eyes I feel scared, sorry for him, and confused How is he my husband and I’ve never met him a day in my life? Why does this dream feel so realistic?
Hard to forgive someone who left me confused at such a young age which caused me to feel as if my worth was dependent on my body later on in life. You raped me. It’s taken me a long time to admit it, but there’s no way to sugarcoat the bitter anymore. I’m exhausted. I’ve tried to forgive you time and time again, but the flashbacks have become more and more vivid. How can I forgive without knowing the full truth? I can’t even remember how old I was, but I’m supposed to move on. Life goes on, but what happens when you get raped? Life pauses or passes by in a glimpse. I’m stuck between forgetting and forgiving because I’m not capable of both, but I want to stop letting you define me.
