TRIGGER WARNING: This article or section, or pages it links to, contains information about sexual assault and/or violence which may be triggering to survivors.
It has been scientifically proven, that the “bad” memories stick better than the good – simply because our emotions influence how we process the memories. In other words, “the bad overweighs the good” but I think it’s because my body hates me.
Memories are generally prone to distortion over time.
But not this one.
I remember this one like the words to my favorite song, except, it’s not my favorite thing in the world.
I remember it, more like that one party my mom dragged me to when I was thirteen and I cried all the way there, and still didn’t have fun like she said I would.
That party is still going on to this day.
In my head.
It’s still going on.
His voice calling me from afar is the music I force myself to dance to, a beat that makes my body flinch when it drops.
Nobody hears me screaming, no, or maybe I’m just not loud enough. I still say it before the party even starts. I am the party.
My body to this day has never failed me so. I am running out of breath already, as he drags me from my arms. His grip tightens, I am on his thighs and his lips are on mine. See, the mind likes playing games, and the most f*cked up one, mine has ever played on me, is having me believe that I will never remember this day after it passes.
It’s been ten years.
The brain, or maybe just mine, has a fascinating way to remember the most boring details. Like his checkered beige button-up shirt, brown pants, and the smell of his Marlboro cigarettes all on my face. His hands are all over me now.
I always remember it at night, when I’m at my weakest. It’s easier to give in. I am nine all over again, so I count to ten as he asks. Maybe this will pass.
One//Maybe he’ll let go of me now
Two//He doesn’t
Three//My legs playfully try to escape his grip, but it only gets tighter, I feel him on my skin.
Four//I’m choking on my tears, my “no’s” are still not loud enough.
Six// He orders me to hold still. “stop being such a bad girl” he says. Lust spelled in his eyes. It was the first time my tiny body learned how to hate.
Seven// My mind logs out. maybe if I don’t think of it, it won’t happen.
Eight// He doesn’t go all the way. Maybe God heard my prayers. His hands are off my thighs, loosen their grip, I can finally walk away.
Nine// I am awake. Drenched in sweat, I run my hands on my cheeks and feel the dried saliva. I try my best to hold my breath so I wouldn’t inhale his cheap smoke.
But he’s not there anymore
He’s not there anymore.
He can’t hurt me anymore.
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