Me too?

Into the mind of the victim’s story.

Written raw. It took me many years but I can finally publically write about these things.

I wish I could get into the mind of my abusers. I wish I could understand the reason that pushed them to hurt me in the way they have.

I believe that there is a higher power of darkness working through an abuser’s hands. A darkness that even they, themselves cannot control. A darkness that controls the intensity of their heartbeat. The intensity of their lustful trance.

No, no human being in their right mind would force another being. No human in their right mind would be egotistical enough, lustful enough to want to force themselves forever as part of another human’s body and life story.

The most hurtful part is that the moment itself is fleeting –  but you smell and feel them all over your body forever…no soap, no shower, no bath can get rid of the dirt, the filth, the smell of fear given off during this life changing moment. You scrub, scrub, scrub till you bleed. You drown the scars, the wounds, wash off the blood but its no use. It becomes a part of you.

Upon looking at your body in the mirror. The feeling is not the same. It doesn’t belong to you anymore. Your spirit shifts and squirms trying once more to make itself comfortable in it’s home. But it cannot anymore. It doesn’t fit.

There are many voices. There are many different narratives running through your mind. They tell different stories. There is that imp on your shoulder constantly taunting you with the story of what happened that day. You just want to shut it up but you can’t. So you smash the mirror instead. Hoping it will destroy your reflection.

I wish that it were that easy to get over it or to pretend it never happened but you will only be deceiving yourself – and then end up writing notes to yourself about taking an earlier trip to the after life. Not because it is the best solution but because it will be easier. It will be the easier solution to silence that fucking imp, to get rid af the damned filth and the dirt and the fear. Desperation has never tasted so sweet.

I wish I didn’t have to write this. But almost twenty years in and I am still wondering what life would have been like…who I would been if they hadn’t forced themselves into me. Engraved their story into mine. I try as much as I can to wash my hands and write new paragraphs daily. I don’t know if they can replace the ones that my abuser left inside of me – but since words are my salvation…then I will keep writing in hope of one day erasing the pain and re-write my own narrative.

We cannot stop abusers, but we can rescue the victims. But they can only be rescued if they know they are victims.

Love to all those who rise and fall with this pain daily. Lords knows I feel for you.

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