The Crush.

Most cases of rape that can be found on the popular news channels are about strangers that randomly pick the victim, drug her, attack her and even murder her. It’s a fact that 1 out of 5 women have been sexually abused before their 20th birthday. But they don’t talk so much about all those cases of it being your best friend that does it, your husband, boyfriend, colleague…Family cases are brought up but; is it more about the shock factor, the horror factor than the actual news?
Do they publish it just to make you worry about wearing that skirt you bought last week, to make you think twice about being the independent woman that you are and walking home alone, living alone, to make you hold your child’s hand just that little bit tighter and trust a little bit less…Or do they actually give a damn?
Out of my circle of feminine friends, I admit this to be a small one as I tend to find myself more comfortable in the company of men (ironic considering…), maybe only one or two out of all the women I have had the pleasure of being close friends with have never admitted to have been violated in one way or another. Note the tiny number in that sentence and bear in mind that they could have suffered an event like the others but prefer not to tell the tale. That means, let’s say I have 12 female friends for example, 8 of them have been abused or raped, two have been victims of attempted rape or abuse and the other two we make no assumptions about what or what not has happened.

The part that makes my stomach drop, no matter how many times a similar story is told to me through tears, is that these people, the ones that have taken these women’s dignity, their privacy, their right to say no, the ones that have soiled that body that society already makes so damn hard to love “just the way we are”, making it impossible to ever see it the same way again, those people, are nearly always someone so close to them, you’d never suspect it. Why question that she’s quiet around a co-worker all of a sudden? They probably had a problem at work, what about her boyfriend? Maybe the love has fizzled… A husband? Money troubles!
There shall always be a reason she could be quiet, subdued.
But those people love her, right? They care for her, right?
She thought that too and that’s the devastation, right there.
How can you ever trust a person again when the person you’ve trusted the most is the one to crush you in the most intimate way…

 

There’s always going to be someone worse off than you but that isn’t a reason to belittle your pain or quiet down your story, you too are a survivor and that’s something to be proud of, not ashamed.

Countdown.

I really don’t know how much longer I can do this.

I used to brush it off, it was just a bad moment, it would pass.
That’s what people must think when they shout in the snow covered mountains… Just a moment of insanity and an avalanche was born, they suffocated.
I’m suffocating now, with forced normality, forced calm.

The world seems to grate a lot harder on me than on others, I used to think I was strong, I’m not anymore.
Like a rock turned to sand over time by the gentle caress of waves, their dancing foam slowly washing away everything that made me, me, just like the rock, I can’t recognize myself in this sand I’ve become.
Made of glass and bone, swept along, unable to be what I was destined to, waking up is painful now, just knowing I have a whole new day ahead of me, I can’t face it.
I’ve alienated all of those around me, been called crazy, a monster, maybe they’re right, I don’t know anymore, I don’t know me.

They tell me I’m hurting them but they don’t want me to leave yet it hurts so much to stay.
Is is more selfish of me to want to leave or of them to want to force me to stay?

I can hardly breathe, I wish I wasn’t anymore. I wish it would just stop, go dark and the pain would turn into numbness, unaware, I’d be free and freedom sounds like the loveliest thing.

The pacive part of me is turning to active, each time there are less reasons to stay, more to go. All I do is hurt people, wouldn’t it be better to hurt them in one go and then them never suffer me again?
Surely it would be preferable to a lifetime of annoyance, leaning my weight on them.
Surely they know nothing when they ask me to stay, why say it’s for them when they earlier said I only hurt them?

Do they only want me to stay to liberate themselves of guilt? The “I could have helped her, I should have…” the “whys” and “what ifs…” for the rest of their lives…?

I’ve began to think that way, each time more and more.

I have so much to give you world but my time is running out, I can feel it.

I feel myself slipping, my hands reaching for the medicine drawer, each time I care less the dosis I take, I only waver thinking of the consecuences if I fail.

How absurd is it that for trying and failing to take your own life you will be sentenced to jail… ? Your body in shreds along with your mind and all they think of is punishing you, instead of trying to give you help long ago needed. The world is fucked up, surely it isn’t just me that feels it, that can’t stand it… I can’t be alone but no matter how much I scream out, it seems to be in vain, for loving ears turn deaf to things they aren’t ready to deal with.

My throat is sore for begging, I don’t want to do this, I want help, I’ve spent years od my short life asking for it, screaming for it, how can nobody listen?

It terrifies me to contemplate the amount of people that have felt this way, lost in the system, ignored by the world for not being like them, silenced by the air that gave them life. All my life I’ve wanted to help them and now I can’t even help myself.

I beg of you, if you really love me, if anyone really cares,
take my hand, take me to a doctor, someone who will listen, I’ll go, I have a story to tell, I need to tell or surely it will kill me.

I won’t fight you, you claim to want me to stay, we’re on the same side, I’m fighting  for this too.

I always thought I could save myself but how can I save myself from…me?

I’m losing a battle that will determine the outcome of a war, don’t let me lose.

Please, somebody hear me.

Welcome to The Runaway Cafe.

30minutes.
Day two.

 

She sat on the couch, quietly gripping her coffee mug.
She heard a noise, or was it the silence that was deafening her? Making a drop of water seem like a thunder clap, the solitude was suffocating, yet she was the one that had cancelled all her plans… Again. Outside the sun was shining, too bright for her blue eyes and sad soul. No-one would believe it was nearly November.

She lived five minutes from the beach, a beautiful white beach that stretched for kilometers… She craved the feeling of sand beneath her feet, between her toes, her hair crazy in the wind, waves washing away her shadows…
But… That meant going out.
Out there.
Her soul sank with the realisation of what that meant, and she hadn’t even touched the water yet.

She could do it.
Biting her lip she took a deep breathe and unfolded her legs from under her. They trembled slightly as she got up, her head spinning. It’s hard to believe how something so simple can be so hard.

She peeled off her t-shirt and strolled to the shower, letting the cool water cascade down her body, at that moment everything seemed better than it was, always a waterbaby, it was her favourite place in the house.

She sighed and reached for her towel. You can do this! She thought to herself, pushing herself to the wardrobe to search for something to wear.
Finally after searching she found what she was looking for. The biggest t-shirt she had. Pulling it over her head she reached for her shorts and stopped.
No… She was fine… Wasn’t she..?
Her heart started beating like that of a hummingbird, her body suddenly jumpy and sweating… She could hardly swallow for the ball in her chest.
Her head pounding she slid to the floor, taking deep breaths, she could do this today. She wanted to go to the beach, so why why why did she feel this way? Why did this always happen?!
Tears sprung to her eyes, once again her body was giving in against her minds tricks.

She couldn’t find the strength to make her legs work.
The room that five minutes ago was filled with a beautiful afternoon light, a breeze running through the house, suddenly felt menacing. It started to close in around her. The light taunted her, the breeze had gone. The light was no longer beautiful but burning, scorching her pale skin, she could feel her skin screaming for mercy, her heart beating faster… Faster. The comfortable tee she had pulled on was strangling her, restricting her breathing… Too hot… It’s too hot. She could hardly breathe, her eyes swimming in and out of focus…
The soft material was scratching at her, pain striking all over like needles, she gasped and tried fruitlessly to release herself from her material prison…
And in a flash the fury arrived, like a lightning bolt through her body, the control of her limbs lost to her, her knuckles struck wood and bruised instantly, the pain only making her angrier.
-You’re WEAK, this was STUPID. YOU ARE STUPID! What a stupid idea! The beach? Yeah, right. Why would anyone want you there? They’d just stare at such a weirdo. Her mind snarled at her, the flow of insults spinning around her head.
Yanking the tee over her head she made herself into a ball in a dark corner, hating everybody she could hear in the street. How dare they pass by here laughing? Taunting her suffering?

And just like that the anger dissapated. Gone before she could control it, control herself… And in its place was the darkness it fed off… Her insides a hollow, cold, echoey place where the black dog that had her soul lived.

She reached for the door to help herself up but couldn’t even raise her hand anymore…
And so she gave in, the tears rolling down her coloured cheeks, her eyes grey, the blue bled out. What was the point in trying? She wondered how long it would be until she would see herself again, until he let her go, and for how long this time..? Surely this couldn’t last forever… Could it?

They say after the darkest hour comes dawn…

So there she sat, hugging her knees to her chest, in the corner of her beautiful room, waiting for her sunrise.