Can anyone ever be whole after something like this?
It's something she asks herself everyday now. Something that haunts her trembling footsteps. Everyone – from her husband, to her Counselor, to the people online – tell her she's so strong, so brave, to tell people about this, to go to Counseling, to talk about it. You're making leaps and bounds, way beyond what we thought you would be, they tell her. Her husband says, "you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I'm so proud of you", as he hugs her to himself.
But I'm not proud of myself, she thinks, even as he hugs her.
She doesn't feel proud of anything about this.
No, she looks in the mirror, into her mind, her memories, and sees only an ugly Truth and the horrible Effects that still impact her daily life.
Sees how she struggles to even go outside to pick up the mail.
How she can't even stand to volunteer at the Hospice anymore, because to fake being okay is so tiring.
(She's even more tired than before…can't she lie down and not get up?)
How her heart flutters and freezes at the mere thought of grocery shopping by herself.
How she hates herself for that weakness.
She looks into the mirror every day, and most of them she almost sneers at herself. I hate you, she almost says to her reflection. And she's not even really sure why she wants to say that. She knows it wasn't her fault…but…maybe…somewhere deep down…she doesn't believe that.
We haven't even started, she thinks, wanting to smash her head against the wall and scream, and already I'm breaking apart. How stupid am I? How incredibly weak!
She disgusts herself, quite honestly.
(and, yes, she knows that's wrong to feel, but there you are, she's disgusted with herself)
She could have fought harder. She could have reached out, said something, anything – heck, called 911, said nothing, and let the police come to check at the suspicious, silent call.
But…She threatened her family. Threatened anyone she so much as spent more than thirty seconds with.
That man was nice, She'd say to her. That woman seemed to like you.
But what She really meant was You're attracted to him, aren't you? That woman is prettier to you than I am. (even though she's never thought of any woman like that before or after) You're thinking of running away from me. Do that, and I'll kill him, I'll kill her, and their family and friends. And it'll be your fault.
So, she didn't say anything.
She kept silent.
I know people in Italian Mafia, She teased constantly, but there was always that certain gleam in her eye that said I'm not joking. I will use that means, if you run. Everyone can be bought with money. No one will be able to keep you from me.
And that kind of power still scares her.
It's what makes her afraid to go out in public alone, even to get the mail.
Yes, everyone says She is a coward, but…there's always going to be a But that no one seems to understand.
How could they?
They never had to feel those Hands touch them.
They never had to hear the vile, cruel Things screamed at them, as tools, books, anything was thrown at them.
They never had to silently cry because there was no one to turn to, no one to stop what was happening.
No one who could hear her breaking so slowly that by the time anyone thought something might be wrong, she was already throwing up in the shower and not even eating, not even sleeping.
And all this while her body was also slowly being torn apart by Lyme Disease.
Yet another thing She took advantage of.
For when she told Her 'no' one too many times, She took her to Physiatrists, forced her way somehow into every session, and then got Them to prescribe high dosage medicine that made her unable to fight those Touches.
So, no, everyone doesn't understand.
At all.
They never had to fear that tonight might be the night that things went too far and they would die.
They've never started to hate themselves, and not know why.
They've never had nightmares so bad they wake you up, and you're almost screaming, and you can't quite remember what they were about, but It. Was. Bad.
They aren't slowly remembering a dark figure leaning over you, holding you, touching you, and never, never, letting you go.
They've never wanted to be with their husband, but utterly failed to do that, because every intimate touch and caress is now tainted and only makes you think of Her and Pain.
I hate you, she thinks to her reflection. You hide behind reading stories, embroidery, sewing, and smiling fake smiles. If you were really brave, you'd get it all out and move on already. But no, you're a coward. You're shying away from the Really Bad Memories, like the weakling you are. You're hurting your husband, but that doesn't matter enough to stop and get over this.
She ignores the tiny voice that reminds her husband told her he loved her more than any intimate thing she could give him. That he signed on for this and he's not going anywhere. How could he not be hurt, by her even remotely comparing his actions to Hers? How can she not be scared, because he says he's confident she'll be well on her way to be healed in months, and she wants to ask "but what if I'm not? What then? Will you force me too, through guilt?
And that's yet another thing she hates herself for.
Her husband's never once given her reason to think these things about him, to doubt him. Not once.
But…she's been burned too many times by people who were supposed to be on her side to really trust him.
I hate you, she says to herself. You're such a weak, sniveling, selfish little coward.
And she truly wonders how she's going to come out of this "stronger", like everyone says.
She hopes they're right.
But she fears they won't be.
