Published July 4, 2013
There are things that I wish I had the power to easily blur out of my mind. I read my scars carefully like the verses in my bible. There are things that still hurt to talk about, but it is always easier to write it down. Maybe because I can better camouflage my sadness behind metaphors. Sometimes my bones still ache and sometimes my skin still crawls. I get sensations of him lightly rubbing his hands up my legs. I can feel him breathing heavily on my neck. Like a million poisonous spiders crawling on my skin, my hair stands up straight. My eyes widen, my heart pounds; it feels like a weight is crushing my heart, and my chest, and my legs. I am motionless.
Most nights my thoughts are louder than my shaky voice, dying to be heard. No one wants to hear my story anymore. No one understands it. Sleep is so unfamiliar to me. I still have nightmares about April 19, 2012. It was one day after my twenty-first birthday. It was the beginning of a new year for me. But it was also the beginning of wandering hands and scars that have yet to fade. There are still bruises and scars, both inside and out, worn like trophies. They tell me I am strong and can conquer all evil through God’s love, through writing, and through therapy. They are marks and reminders, like a ribbon around my finger, telling me every morning when I wake up that I am a survivor.
I’ve begun to no longer feel emotion behind the tears that I cry. I have become numb to the screaming thoughts that I have trapped inside of my body. My bed has become haunted and so I sleep beside it on the floor. But I am not the only one who has ever felt forgotten and burned by others. I am not the only one who has realized that I am no longer safe from the touch of a hand, because that hand has the power and the intention to hurt and sting. I am a shattered pane of glass, lying on the floor in a million sharp, hopeless pieces. So broken that I can no longer stand, and so weak that I can no longer fight back. I am so broken that I have lost hope in ever being put back together again.
I don’t want to remember, but sometimes my shallow cries remind me. They barely leave my lips and are never heard. The cold, treacherous winds that come in the winter remind me of you. I carry with me the guilt and blame, always being asked why I didn’t fight back harder, scream louder, or scratch deeper.
I carry pepper spray and a whistle with me, everywhere I go. I am constantly looking behind me. From this experience I have learned how to be cautious, how to be graceful, and how to be forgiving. I have become smarter. I no longer allow “toxic" people into my life. For all that I have lost, I gained a lot more.
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141,687 Literary Works • 675,575 Reviews
Dr. Strangelove here. I have a review for you!
This is a fantastic piece showing emotion, and how you are strong to fight past it. When ever I see the word sexual assault, I think "The Accused." No, you are not being accused of lying nor you are Jodie Foster, but it is one of the strongest stories I can think of. I love the description, and how you can be strong! I personally carry a knife and a rape whistle when i go night walking
Dr.Strangelove gives it
9.1/10
FANTASTICO!
First, and foremost, GREAT piece! While it was very sad, it was equally as beautiful.
My favorite line of the story is this metaphor: "I am a shattered pane of glass, lying on the floor in a million sharp, hopeless pieces." I think it really conveys a lot of emotions into one sentence.
I really can't give you that great of a review, because I'm being 100% honest when I say that this is an amazing piece.
I love how you explained so much of the protagonist's life after the attack in such a short piece. For example: "My bed has become haunted and so I sleep beside it on the floor." This is a great piece of writing too. I mean, how in the world did you think to integrate this into the piece? I love that sentence, and it explains so much about the protagonist. I believe that this sentence shows that the protagonist (sorry I keep repeating that boring word) is not willing to resume living the way that she was before the attack. She is fearful (metaphorical statement referring to the bed) but she will live beside that fear, instead of running away from it (metaphorical for the action of sleeping besides the bed).
Brilliance, I believe, is found in a few worthy individuals, and rarely seen or given proper recognition. So here's my congratulatory statement on your brilliance! We should totally throw a party to celebrate your brilliance.
Anyway, I also love the last paragraph, and how you've gathered most, if not all, of the statements of worthlessness and guilt that the protagonist feels, and explained how she has moved on with her life.
Great piece!(:
With Love,
Paige
This piece left me very speechless. Speechless because of two things. One, the beautiful way it has been written and second the events that unfolded or the way the first person is now. Such experiences are very painful. Very wonderfully written! This no review, just my salute to you!!