Precious Pain

My title is aptly derived as I watched the movie,"Precious" yesterday. Yep, it took me 2 years to get the nerve up to watch this movie. I was sure it would open old wounds for me and I feared that like the scared child that hides inside. I still don't know if I could  adequately defend the viewing of this movie. The only thing I can tell you is ...you must! 


First let me give a quick synopsis for anyone that might not have heard Oprah tell us all about this story or watch Barbara Walters interview Monique about her part played or watched this unknown young actress, Gabourey Sidibe make us cry for her journey that the talented Sapphire wrote. Yes, it was a book first and more to the point this was one woman's life. Even more to the point, is that this is shockingly so many women's lives.  
http://www.rainn.org/statistics
Did you know that 1 out of every 6 American women have been sexually abused? We can't even tally the atrocious numbers that might come from other countries that have not gotten women's rights to the place we are even at. 44% of women sexually abused, raped or assaulted are under the age of 18. Even worse, 93% of children abused know their attacker. With statistics like these this movie must be seen and talked about. These children, that hopefully survive and become women don't. We don't talk about it. Instead it becomes our reason for distrust, our shields that keep us from fully loving. 


In light of Sapphire's story, I'd like to step out of the shadows and say I was abused. It came in many forms and continued throughout my life until I realized my soul was untouchable. That I could keep that part of me clean and free no matter what anyone did to me. I still struggle with the demons. They come to me when a man looks at a woman, or worse a child in a certain way. They scream when I see a woman dressed scantily and I worry for her safety. When an older man has a penchant for younger women I am driven back to that place of fear. Reasonable or not, I become that victim again, only in my mind. This is what abuse does to you. 


Childhood abuse alone is such a devastating crime. That person, the thing that decided they could take a childhood away from a kid will never fully understand all that they did in that moment(s). It doesn't go away. We will forever be scarred from the event that changed the way we think about other human beings, oftentimes, men in particular. I have heard opinions openly expressed that victims should "get over it".The thing is...we do, everyday until that moment we are reminded. It can happen with the things mentioned above and it can happen with a movie.


I could tell you my complete story and give you graphic details but instead I would like to give you the only good thing that came from my story...my ability to write:

Ripped Bandaids                                                                                                                                          

When my demons stir from their secret places

They claw their way out, over the barriers

I long ago constructed

Snatches of buried images creep in…

Flash!

Dad’s hands sting me with love

Crash!

I hit the floor

My mother’s words, “it’s for your own good”

Echoing in my now burning head

Bam!

My baby sister’s body blurred by his shape

Methodically being conditioned that all men should win

My mother, our saint, idly wringing her hands

It is her face so devoid of all life that threatens the rage to bubble up so I must bury it again

The rocking….

Ahh,

I remember it well

After he touched me with his silky malevolence

“shh, you’ll wake her”, he says with a finger to our lips

Creeping out, once again

Leaving me alone in this personal hell

Struggling to figure out how to make the shaking end

I rocked all night in that lonely chair beside my bed

Casting shadows from a childhood(Ha! What is that?)

I laugh with a maniacal reverie

Long since I took the pillow

I promised her we’d forget

Closing the little girls eyes

I smothered her with no regret

But now, I am woman. Standing strongly on my own.

Only in the dark of night will you see my hands clasped

Praying my knight will hear the wailing of this forgotten child

Were you but there

I would have clung to you and begged with my child‘s eyes to save me

A broken thing cannot fix another, can it?

How clever you were to deny me pen

For the words would be blurred and stained

By these errant tears

That refuse to be caged again.

Searching for Sanity

My goodness I've been out of touch again...with my life, the things that make me proud to be me-Writing! I allow comments or even lackof, to influence me far too much. I know I write well because it is always from my heart and that can never be truly wrong. Frig that sounds like some Budda rhetoric, nevertheless I believe it. I have always believed that the only wrong in the world is the intended wrong. In other words, intentions are the deciding factor in my world, as to what is wrong or right, valid or futile, worthy of light or to remain in the darkness.

I'm here announcing I'll try again. Back on the horse, to write everyday or at least more because here is where my soul lives. Making sense of the world in words and thoughts is how I keep insanity at bay. 

Pain

Pain comes in so many forms. The basic modes are: physical and emotional. In recent months I have a new one to add and that is the fear of pain. Hard to believe but this one might be the worst of them all. This all applies to my current bout with pain. I am finding that there is a limitation as to the patience of people around me, specifically to believing and having sympathy for my pain. This leads me to feelings of guilt were I suppress the need to let anyone know I'm in pain for fear of reproach. The general consensus is if you can't see the injury on a person then the pain isn't valid. I'm here to tell you that pain comes in many forms and when you limit that, you take away a person's ability to fight or have hope of healing.  

With physical pain, we can take medicines to negate it. In addition, as I'm learning, there comes a point when you become use to the physical pain and your threshold increases. There are home remedies, massages, machines, and many more ways to relieve physical pain, including my favorite, sleep. 

Emotional pain is a tougher nut to crack. I have had more than my share of this type of pain as we all have. This one my be a bit dull in the physical realm but its lasting effects are devastating. The funny thing is you never know when an old memory may resurface freshening the pain. However, even then, you learn to distract yourself with goals, projects and heaven help us new relationships. 

All things being equal, they are not. I believe the fear of pain is the worst kind because it not only attacks sporadically but it can take form in the way of physical or mental anguish. In the physical realm the worrying, anticipating of a specific pain may actually cause headaches, stomaches, ulcers, etc.almost as if self-fulfilling. Emotional fear of pain can limit your world in the guise of distraction, moodiness and feeling of depression that  in itself may as well be hurtful all on its own. 

In conclusion, I would debate anyone that there can be limitations put on the definitions and parameters of pain. No matter which pain we each find most valid, to that person with the pain, theirs is real.