photo by Patricia
A deep sadness has invaded along with the usual chronic tiredness. A sadness of how I am and why. The deepening sadness makes movement cumbersome. Present issues mimic the manipulations of abusers, and the rest of the family. During and after the sexual attacks 60 years ago they all stood in solidarity against me to shun me into submission and silence.
Wanting their cleanliness meant washing off what was done to me as if it hadn’t been done… manufacturing a little girl mute. A shell of girl whose body grew, but all other components were left behind.
A child born lighthearted, speaking outright about injustice, made voiceless. No rights. Nothing. A body separated from my mind, from emotions, and most life threatening, my very own spirit or soul. It is a tenuous workload just hanging on.
I no longer existed. I am trying so hard to put the pieces together, but nothing fits, each part sliding away from the other as if sliced in half, more so shattered.
A life spent picking up the pieces…