What’s it like to be a survivor? When life is grand, I guess one could say it’s OK. But when life is bleh, one questions why? Why did I survive? Why did I survive to live this life? Why must I suffer over and over? What is the point? I don’t understand. But it’s not up to me. Thy will be done. It’s up to my Creator.
I wrote the following on January 1995. I actually wrote it for a creative writing class I was taking in college…
Her eyes of emerald, brown and specks of gold reminded me of a forest with the sun peeking through. But there was something else about those eyes… they seemed to look right through me, like a laser beam burning a hole deep inside, but there was no pain! I knew she was concentrating on something for her teeth were clenched down on her lower lip.
Her eyes clouded over like the skies do just before it rains… I wanted to say something, anything, but the words froze in my mind. What would I say? What could I say? I was at a loss. She just stood there and stared. Her eyes began to mist with collected tears, and I thought of the ocean… her eyes were like little wells for no tears cascaded over her freckled cheeks.
I was puzzled, confused, dazed. Why wouldn’t she let the tears come? Tears help loosen the pain, but she didn’t budge. She reached into her purse. I thought she would pull out a tissue, but she did not. She pulled out sunglasses and covered her eyes. I was embarrassed for not saying anything, so I shrugged and walked away.
She collided with the devil on November 11, 1988. He appeared as an angel, but not now. He stole six hours of her precious life that she would have thrown away before that Friday. Her eyes witnessed the entire event, but not her. She was not there. She soared through the heavens with the almighty Father, thinking of her family, friends, pets, and memories. Memories, she might not ever live again.
A sad day, true, but for her, it was the longest day. A day she still remembers vividly, although six years have passed. She touches her throat, and the tears start to build, but can she let them run their path? She fights to hold them back and does not even utter a sob. Tears equal death. That’s what has been imprinted on her soul. She feels the cold tip of the knife that rested on her innocent flesh. The tears… silent tears of pain… the tears that only come at night… forever at night.
Rape. The word sounded so harsh, but not as harsh as what it felt like to be humiliated, boundaries crossed, purity lost, an innocent, forgiving, and trustworthy child she was. Naive to believe that anything so mean could deceive her and leave her to bleed. Physical pain? No! Mental pain? Yes! It’s as though the insides of her body have been ripped out, into the open, allowing the world to see her… see her for the fool she was. Vultures devouring her flesh, her mind, her heart, her soul.
Humiliation. Pride gone. Love wasted. Life – what was it? Do unto others as you would want done unto you, honesty, truthfulness – all just a dream… it wasn’t real! Shadows of skeletons buried deep come out to haunt her… Life as she knew it, taken away from her so shamelessly. Forgive and forget is what she was taught, but how do you let someone who stole a part of you so sacred and true walk away?
Flashbacks. Nightmares. Knives turning in the silver light. Black clouds. Twisting heads, whisper…whispering. Shadows moving, look around, no one there. No one! Lost… Body and mind severed… Escape! Flying high and feeling, just pain!
In memory of Friday, November 11, 1988 from 5:00 P.M. to 11:00 P.M.