Last night I suffered agony that quite literally dragged the life out of me. Long before I was lying in a small smear of my own blood and comingled with despair so deep it made an endless tunnel of void inside me. I wish so badly that I could slash the painting in my mind like once used to slash my wrists as a troubled 16 year old, but I simply cannot garner the strength to raise a dagger the nightmarish collage of the evening’s proceedings. I indeed feel shattered beyond repair.
My life is over. I felt it seep out of me as a monster tore off my delicate raiment and clawed its paws into my skin. My spirit died within me as this beast forced its way into my secret garden and ravaged me shamelessly like Trojan soldiers after the spoils of war. I tried so hard to fight, to push it off, to fight free, to tighten the walls of my violated form so it wouldn’t enter- but alas the vain efforts of my struggles like chaff in a mighty desert sandstorm.
I trailed into the hospital corridors barefoot and almost naked, my will to live stolen from me, my life shattered that I had once, in fact only hours ago, loved sincerely. Now I fathom firsthand the full extent of the infamous saying: the mind is a dark place where demons do dwell; for these horrid creatures have made a sure abode within me. They taunt me and play cruel tapes in my head that force me to relive with numbing pain the tragedy that befell me.
I don’t know how I am still breathing. How I am able to feel the suffocating heat in the room and the dark cold in my desecrated body. I only know that last night, after having to recount, recollect and repress more anguish that is worth any woman- wrench or lady- I died. Not once like others, but twice like the thousands, Lord forbid millions, of women and girls like myself who have had their lives robbed of what dignity hope and the desire to see another day break.
Last night I died before my captor had made true his vile mission; and then after when he left me in a dark alley, 7 minutes from the hospital bed in which I breathing but lifeless. I’ve heard that you never really forget. That the nightmares are not sure to stop. That you remember how easily it could have failed to happen. That the self defense classes cannot in some magical way turn back the hands of time so you can get away before it is too late. That statistics show that it is usually someone you know well, rather than a stranger that you have never met. That he could show up at your doorstep on a bright afternoon when the neighbourhood is full of people walking by. That it is probably your fault and that you must have sensed that something would happen because a woman knows these things. That the drunken demons that ruled his mind that fateful night, are to blame. That it could happen to anyone. That it could happen again. All I know is that I cannot possibly be alive, for last night I died. I am only the figment of cruel imagination.
July 31st, 2011