Occasionally I go to your Facebook. I look to see where you live, if it still says the same place as the last time I read it. I scroll through your posts, the ones I can see to see if there is any hint of any new information about you. I study your pictures carefully, remembering the shape of your eyes, the creases in your face.

It isn’t that I want to remember that smirk that you make, or the way you sound when you speak. I don’t want to remember how you smell or how sick I get when I even think of your name. In fact, I don’t want to remember you at all, anything about you. But I have no choice. 

You gave me no choice, no say. 

I struggle to remember every day things, but I remember everything, every little thing, that you did. I remember like it was yesterday. I have no choice but to remember. 

I try to forget, I honestly do. I can’t. So if I can’t forget and I can’t live a normal pre-rape life, then I’m going to etch every inch of your face into my memory. I want to prevent ever seeing you, or you seeing me. Look at that, you even took my sanity. Just when I thought I hadn’t lost almost every bit of myself to what you did to me, I find another part of me that you took. You made me crazy. I try to get my pieces back every day, but you’re holding them hostage it seems. 

I need to know, how do I get my pieces back ? 

❤️ LAFMommy


4 thoughts on “[in]Sane

  1. You don’t get ‘those’ pieces back my love. You don’t want to be broken forever.
    There is a comfort in knowing where he is. I did the same for several years. Then one day I realized that I couldn’t stay in that place a moment longer. I deserved the grace God was trying to give me. I wasn’t guilty. I was a survivor.
    Breathe, just breathe. Put that part, those pieces away. Don’t try and fix what shouldn’t be there anymore. You have a new life, a new child, love, love, love. Write everything, and I mean everything down that you know about him, what he did, what he’s doing to you now. Then hold your husbands hand and burn it all. Start over. You can. You don’t have to be tied to that monster. You can live again. You can.

    Liked by 1 person

      1. It scares you because it’s normal. It scares me because it’s normal-we are normal women who’ve been dealt a terrible blow to our hearts, souls. I remember leaving my room so I would know I wasn’t alone after I was raped, then going back to my room, closing the door and laying in the darkness on the floor. The feeling of melting into the carpet I curled up on. I didn’t deserve a bed I told myself. I deserved the cold and dirty floor. The more I thought of him the worse I got. Then one day I realized it has stopped. It just wasn’t what mattered. It took months, months unending. But I went a day without the feeling of self disgust. Then it was a week, and after 20 years there really and truly are months on end that I’m not s victim, not s survivor, but just me. Mom. Wife. Me. Time is our friend, and as cliche as that sounds it’s the truth of our circumstances. Time heals. Self compassion heals. Be kind to yourself. Everything you feel, felt, think, say…I did those things, said them and felt them. I still do like the last few days especially. There will always be triggers, but the less I try and change others, their perception of me, the more control I had, the better I felt. I stopped scrubbing my vagina until I bled and cried. I still have scars. I did for years especially after being touched there by a man. You know what stopped it? I stopped trying be everything I wasn’t meant to be my love. I wasn’t the fixer, the do gooder or the people pleaser. I was fucked up. I wasn’t me. I love people, I love feeling needed. But I felt unworthy of giving that to myself so I projected it on everyone else I met. One day I looked in the mirror and I saw the same reflection, cracks, and I realized that under all that bullshit and pain and anger I was still there. I didn’t want to be the woman that lived within my mirror, broken. I wanted to live here, even if all I got was a smile now and then, I allowed myself that. ‘Smile. I made it today. I’m here.’

        Liked by 1 person

      2. I feel like you are me or I am you. It’s as if I wrote everything you just said. All of us: the victims, the survivors, women; were one in the same. I’m glad that I have you with your kind words, my internet friend. They mean so much to me. 💜

        Liked by 1 person

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