To The Friend Of A Victim: What Her Silence Is Saying

My silence is screaming at you.

Please stop.

I love you, but you’re still talking. Talking at me. Talking through me. Talking about me.

I know exactly what you’re trying to do. I lived with the devil; I learned to see through the smoke screen. You’re no master.

You look at me, and see a broken woman. A victim. A recluse trapped in her past.

The solution? Social outings. Cheering up. Letting me know you understand.

You don’t.

I refuse to move on. It’s not a solution. It’s an escape.

You want me to take a scalpel to my history. Remove the tumor that you see. I can return to normal; the me that existed before he ruined everything.

That’s how you think this works.

Stop giving credit to him for the woman I’ve become. He wasn’t a cancer. He didn’t ruin me. I’m not a victim. Nor am I a survivor.

I didn’t stop becoming my own person when he entered my life. He didn’t make me a generic statistic.  I’m not a label.

I am hurting. In ways I don’t even know, let alone understand. Don’t tell me you know how I feel. In fact, don’t tell me anything.

I have questions. They won’t make any sense to you.

I have doubts. They will seem ridiculous to you.

I have fears. Fears that would scare you.

I am not broken because he changed me, and changing back won’t fix me.

This. Right here. Right now. This confused, stubborn, quiet woman is who I am. Your cheering up missions won’t change that. It’s not that I quit enjoying life. I just enjoy it differently.

I enjoy solitude. Depth. Honest truths. Beautiful details. Harsh realities.

I have developed a compassion you cannot comprehend. You believe you’re the one in the position to understand. Yet, that’s what proves you don’t.

I still love you. I love that you try. I love that you’re still here. I’m not angry, I’m just tired of being alone in my realization of who I am.

Please listen. Stop talking, and listen. I am waiting for you to be strong. I want you to know it will hurt you. It will be ugly. I have learned a raw honesty, and you will have questions. Questions you never considered to be unknowns.

I will not chase you. I will not force you. I will not manipulate you. Come to me only when you’re ready; when you’re ready to accept that who I’ve become is not the result of damage.

Until then, I will wait.

Silent.

 

 

*What is your silence saying?  Comment below.

I Raped Myself

He said it, so it must be true.

Everything he said was true.  Nobody else liked me.  Nobody else could love me.  Nobody else saw me as worthy.

“Do what I tell you, or else.”

The or else was a scary thought, so I did what I was told.

He paid for my lunch.  He drove me around.  He did me favors.  So, I owed him.

He never let me forget it, either.  I tried to leave.  I tried to get out of his mandated obligations.  I tried to just disappear, and hope he would forget me.

Sometimes, I thought it was working.  I could walk by him, and he wouldn’t acknowledge me.  He wouldn’t even give me that look of disgust.

Did that make me free?

I wasn’t sure.  Before I had a chance to understand true freedom, he was back.  He apologized his way back into power.  He disguised his dictatorship as democracy.

I bought my own lunch one day.  I realized how little I paid for it when I used money.

I asked for help.  More like, a definition.  I was told that I deserved my situation.  I was told there was no definition.  I was given the “get up and move on” speech.

Did everybody agree that I was worthless?

Or, did my own belief in my worthlessness give others the right to treat me that way?

When he said I owed him, I paid.  The payment felt exactly like or else.

He doesn’t deserve my favors.

I buy my own lunch now.

 

~Post from 2014.  In response to a prompt.