Sunday, October 23, 2011

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.

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