I don’t understand myself anymore. I’m scared a lot of the time. I see his face. At night I hear him coming. At times I feel him in my body, the ripping pain, the unknown, the fear, no way to quell the pain, no way to speak out loud about it.
Every noise in the night. From a car door slamming, voices carried in the wind, a barking dog. I’m child like. Fearful. Vulnerable.
I hate it. I hate this weakness.
I’ve looked after my daughter everyday because of her broken arm. I bathe her, I help her, I tend to her needs. But I’m so brutally aware that no one did that for me as a child. In my time of need, I was never comforted, reassured, nurtured. I feel a deep inner sadness of loss and grief of something I never had but something I’m determined for my children to have.
I’m such a burden. I feel my mood swings are out of control. I’m angry, sad, hopeless, fed up, frustrated, torn between a young confused adolescent me and a mother, an adult trying to keep her responsibilities. Yet I want to be cared for, but I don’t want to be touched, I want to be loved but not pitied. I want control of everything but I’m so tired I can’t think straight.
You win again.
You with your cold steely eyes. You took me once and you still have your grip on me. My body is still not mine. We are still intrinsically connected. I know I was just a piece of meat to fuck for you. A need, a release, something available. But your memories of me are strong and still vivid. Too vivid for time passed. Is this what you’d hoped? I would still live under you? Relinquish my power, my identity?
People say I’m courageous. But I’m not at all. I’m weak. You know that though. You saw me at my most vulnerable.
I will never break free of these chains you bound to me.