TW: Sexual Abuse; Child Abuse; Trauma
Context: I’ve been struggling with these intrusive daydream-esque memory reels of my abuse and decided to record them.
…
It feels like a grotesque daydream.
I’m lying beneath a pile of dirty clothes; my breath, shallow, escaping from my lips in an attempt to avoid the unpleasant odors.
.
So vividly can I picture the rather ordinary laundry room; two white doors, a white washer, a white dryer, the ever-present mound of clothes in the corner
and a small girl, praying to a God she didn’t believe in, to end this twisted game of hide-and-seek.
…
The lengths I would go to to avoid That Place.
Measuring, slowing my breath to mimic the deep sound of sleep,
“Maybe, if I’m asleep, He’ll go away” “Maybe if I’m asleep, He won’t touch me”
.
Sitting, methodically crossing each and every finger and toe together in order to summon the most powerful wish:
“Please let Him forget to pick me up today”
.
Feeble attempts in hindsight. A child playing make-believe with fate.
…
She always said I felt like a different person.
That when I returned from That Place, my demeanor would shift significantly.
I wonder sometimes if I was a different person back then; two halves of a whole, switching places to survive.
…
The scent of bleach filled my mind, hands and knees burned in the vile solution. My tears bitterly tumbled down my face as I finished the task at hand.
.
That such a young girl could hate so violently, That Woman who had locked her in the room.
…
Extraordinarily Ordinary 