Ed. Note: I have been thinking about this post since yesterday. I wrote it earlier this afternoon, but I didn’t publish it. Why? Because it’s pretty damn grim (and I say that full-well realizing that I have posted several grim entries), and I wasn’t sure I wanted could stomach having other people read it. However, I have decided, with much trepidation, to publish it. Fair warning, it’s graphic. And, I may pull it at any time.
Last warning: Very grim. Proceed at your own risk.
A girl of seven is pinned to her bed. She is wearing a white flannel nightgown, and she is thrashing as best she can. Her black hair is cut in blunt bangs, so it cannot cover the fear in her eyes. She is mouthing something, but it’s not audible. She can’t move her legs at all, but that doesn’t stop her from trying.
He is on top of her, one hand grabbing each of her wrists.
“Don’t move,” he orders her, trying to get her to be still.
“No, no, no!” She wants to scream it at the top of her lungs, but she knows better. Instead, she whimpers it softly, hoping he doesn’t hear her. He does. He shoves her wrists against the bed and presses his full weight upon her. He puts his lips to her ear, making her wince.
“Don’t say no.”
He has his cock pressed between her thighs, and he is pushing it into her. This time, he will not let anything stop him. No matter how much the girl struggled, he continues. When he is all the way inside her, he stops. Then, she almost blacks out from the searing pain.
I had been holding off the latest flashbacks for weeks. Every time it would start to play, I put the brakes on pretty damn quick. I knew what was next. I knew the logical progression. I could not handle it, so I put the blocks back up. I was at taiji yesterday, and I cannot keep the shields up and practice taiji at the same time. It was during chi gong that I started flashing back. The above came to me in movie-form. There was no off button or mute button to mitigate the effects. It’s the same as always. Late at night, in my bedroom, dark, but able to see what it happening. Then, the flashbacks continued while I practiced a few ba gwa moves. Thankfully, I was practicing my straight-palm strikes so I got to hit the wall during the following. It wasn’t nearly enough. The only saving grace is that the following came to me in still-shots and not movie-form.
The man is on top of the little girl. He is holding her down by her wrists as he fucks her. “Don’t move.”
The man is on top of the little girl. She is crying. He has his hands on her face as he fucks her. “Don’t cry.”
The man is on top of the little girl. She is trying to scream. He has his hands around the base of her neck and is squeezing as he fucks her. “Don’t make a sound.”
The man is on top of the little girl. She isn’t moving or crying or screaming. He has his hands on her shoulders as he continues to roughly fuck her. “Don’t you ever say no to me.”
That was the moment he killed that little girl’s soul. Everything that she was, everything that she might have been–gone. He broke her wings deliberately so she could no longer fly, and he didn’t even care that he had broken her.
It eats away inside that he did this to me without even thinking about it. Usual caveat about not being 100% certain that the actual memories are real, but that is fading with each flashback.
He took something beautiful and innocent and twisted it into something ugly, rancid, rotting, and toxic. He might as well have poured a bottle of acid on my soul and called it a day. Corroded. Rusted. The prototypical mold tossed in the garbage. No replica or duplicate can quite match the original, and each incantation is a a simple shell of the previous one.
Shame. Rage. Anguish. Despair. Hopelessness. Numbness. Unrelenting pain. It won’t stop. I can’t stop it. I don’t even know hot to assuage it. The ugliness of my soul mocks me. There was something irrevocably lost in the violation, and I can’t even mourn the loss because I don’t know what it fucking was.
I wish the tears would fall. I wish I could just grieve and let it go. I wish I could scream and rail, which might also afford me release.
Instead, I retreat further and further into my shell. My edges are so raw that the tiniest pressure sends white-hot flames coursing through my body. The heat of actual fire comforts me even as it burns me. I busily erect new walls and defenses so that I can try to not feel the enormous pain/depression/anguish/what the fuck ever that threatens to take me over. In my previous post, I talked about Eros vs. Thanatos, and I wasn’t clear that I hadn’t made a decision yet. It was, at that point, 90%-10% in favor of Eros, but the pendulum is wildly swinging the other way.
Thanatos is calling my name, and I am willing to listen if it would just mean the end to the memories, the flashbacks, and the unrelenting pain. I may even try to stuff the new me back into the old me’s corpse. I don’t see the point in remembering all of this and experiencing it once again; I really don’t. The little girl I was is dead, and nothing is going to bring her back. May she rest in pieces.
Addendum: JC’s Hurt is still my theme song.