The Fractured Soul
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I struggle to open my eyes and the room is gray. I am confined in the warmth of this wouldbe womb that is our secret hiding place. Encircled in the comfort of your arms, I dare not breathe for fear of waking you and disturbing the sweet dreams that must be filling your mind.
But my waking dreams are not sweet today. As the sunlight begins to stream through the window, it pierces my eyes like daggers. In a flash, I am back there...
The room was dark and I heard the soft knocking. It did not wake me, for that was the summer of no sleep. Not again, please. But the tapping is persistent, so as any obediant child would, I open the door...The voice is soft and gentle like the sing-song voice of a children's rhyme. I know he is trying to lull me into a sense of comfort so the lessons can continue. The voice whispers of how he used to bathe me as a baby and I needn't be ashamed of my nakedness. As his hands fumble with my nightgown, I want so badly to laugh. Who wears a long flannel gown in the heat of summer, anyway? The child trying to avoid the lessons, that's who. I think of the empty champagne bottle under my bed. Can I show him I love him by splitting his skull? Would it hurt any less than the lessons I'm being given? Damn his black soul for being smart enough to hide his gun from me.
As he touches me, I can't cry out, so I leave my body. Let him play with the doll that is my body, but my soul will float free. He can't have that. And besides, it's always easier to pretend that it's happening to someone else, so I vacate and float from above until it's over...
In the world of my childhood, Daddy's protected their tender naive daughters by teaching the lessons to them before the nasty little boys could. I told myself that he really loved me and tried to understand how this was for my own good....
The sunlight pierces my eyes again and the pain is excruciating. I am back, but yet I'm not. Nor can I ever truly be in the world of the here and now as the past pulls on me like a magnet. Hot tears roll down my face. You hear me and hold me closer wondering what the source of my obvious pain is. But I pull away and cannot look into your eyes. Something inside me says that your face will become his and I won't be able to stop screaming.
After long, tense minutes of tender comfort, I tell you of the lessons. It causes you so much pain that you don't know what to say. That's okay, because I, myself don't know what to say. I tell the story with the non-feeling prose of a news reporter. "Just the facts, ma'am". There is not much feeling in these words as they are merely an account of what happened. To admit feelings would be to show weakness to the enemy. He is all around me every day, watching and waiting for any sign of weakness or vulnerability. He is the carrion feeder in the wild habitat that is my world. This creature waits to see the sick and wounded fall so that he can feed. I choose to let him starve and so give myself the chance at another day.
So I curl back up into the warmth that is you. I have opened the door just a crack so that you may peer into the mystery that is me. Some day, perhaps, I will invite you to come in and see this private room. I have so many treasures and belongings to show you. I will give you the tour and show you the champagne bottle, the torn pink flannel nightgown, and the yellow bedspread with the incriminating stain. I keep them here among the porcelain dolls to remind me that I am a survivor. Let him play with the dolls, for although it is broken, he can never have my soul.
We are embarking on a journey. One that I hope will be a long one together. Daddy dug some potholes and laid speed bumps with precision, but if you can endure the pitfalls in the road, we will reach our destination. There will be times that I cry for no apparent reason. There may be times that I turn away from you. But as I do, my soul is crying out for you to understand and join me on this long voyage that is the life of the doll with the fractured soul.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is estimated that one in three females in the United States has been the victim of sexual abuse. What kind of world is this? I choose to make it the sort of world I can survive in. For that is true strength and power.
Caress
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I struggle to open my eyes and the room is gray. I am confined in the warmth of this wouldbe womb that is our secret hiding place. Encircled in the comfort of your arms, I dare not breathe for fear of waking you and disturbing the sweet dreams that must be filling your mind.
But my waking dreams are not sweet today. As the sunlight begins to stream through the window, it pierces my eyes like daggers. In a flash, I am back there...
The room was dark and I heard the soft knocking. It did not wake me, for that was the summer of no sleep. Not again, please. But the tapping is persistent, so as any obediant child would, I open the door...The voice is soft and gentle like the sing-song voice of a children's rhyme. I know he is trying to lull me into a sense of comfort so the lessons can continue. The voice whispers of how he used to bathe me as a baby and I needn't be ashamed of my nakedness. As his hands fumble with my nightgown, I want so badly to laugh. Who wears a long flannel gown in the heat of summer, anyway? The child trying to avoid the lessons, that's who. I think of the empty champagne bottle under my bed. Can I show him I love him by splitting his skull? Would it hurt any less than the lessons I'm being given? Damn his black soul for being smart enough to hide his gun from me.
As he touches me, I can't cry out, so I leave my body. Let him play with the doll that is my body, but my soul will float free. He can't have that. And besides, it's always easier to pretend that it's happening to someone else, so I vacate and float from above until it's over...
In the world of my childhood, Daddy's protected their tender naive daughters by teaching the lessons to them before the nasty little boys could. I told myself that he really loved me and tried to understand how this was for my own good....
The sunlight pierces my eyes again and the pain is excruciating. I am back, but yet I'm not. Nor can I ever truly be in the world of the here and now as the past pulls on me like a magnet. Hot tears roll down my face. You hear me and hold me closer wondering what the source of my obvious pain is. But I pull away and cannot look into your eyes. Something inside me says that your face will become his and I won't be able to stop screaming.
After long, tense minutes of tender comfort, I tell you of the lessons. It causes you so much pain that you don't know what to say. That's okay, because I, myself don't know what to say. I tell the story with the non-feeling prose of a news reporter. "Just the facts, ma'am". There is not much feeling in these words as they are merely an account of what happened. To admit feelings would be to show weakness to the enemy. He is all around me every day, watching and waiting for any sign of weakness or vulnerability. He is the carrion feeder in the wild habitat that is my world. This creature waits to see the sick and wounded fall so that he can feed. I choose to let him starve and so give myself the chance at another day.
So I curl back up into the warmth that is you. I have opened the door just a crack so that you may peer into the mystery that is me. Some day, perhaps, I will invite you to come in and see this private room. I have so many treasures and belongings to show you. I will give you the tour and show you the champagne bottle, the torn pink flannel nightgown, and the yellow bedspread with the incriminating stain. I keep them here among the porcelain dolls to remind me that I am a survivor. Let him play with the dolls, for although it is broken, he can never have my soul.
We are embarking on a journey. One that I hope will be a long one together. Daddy dug some potholes and laid speed bumps with precision, but if you can endure the pitfalls in the road, we will reach our destination. There will be times that I cry for no apparent reason. There may be times that I turn away from you. But as I do, my soul is crying out for you to understand and join me on this long voyage that is the life of the doll with the fractured soul.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
It is estimated that one in three females in the United States has been the victim of sexual abuse. What kind of world is this? I choose to make it the sort of world I can survive in. For that is true strength and power.
Caress
