If my memory was an elephant, it would be an African sub-Saharan elephant. Large and specific, unrelenting.
I remember the self-loathing, who was I? "You did this to yourself, only have yourself to blame." I remember the burning condemnation, it dripped out of your gaze, steadily and sure; Pops and I still aren't the same around each other. I remember the blame, my young back had never carried such a weight. I remember my constant habit of wearing sunglasses, I couldn't stand anyone looking at my eyes, lest they detect my grief for the parts of me left back on that patio. I remember my sister's llores, "I'm scared, tell me what's going on with you NOW."
If these walls could talk? Try if these walls could bleed. they bled my heart, my creativity, my clarity of mind all over it's natty-spotted carpet; my youth was dumped all over it, my ankles steeped in what was no longer there.
Victim, survivor, thriver. It's a three tier succession, founded in dark circumstances, and can take years in a life to succeed through. I climbed to the top early, with the help of someone Higher.
Try and touch me now, but know it's already been done.
And I'm still here, standing.
Thank you, counselors that I had. Your whole purpose for existing and working to help those who endured a sexual/traumatic crime has released a healed individual back into the world.
-Jul. 14, 2011