Right
now I feel like running,
I’ve
nothing to stay here for.
I
lie awake at night with tears
Streaming
down my face
Like
a waterfall from my eyes.
The
salty drops I’ve come to know,
Come
to fear,
Come
to love.
My
only friends.
The
only ones that know me;
Know
how I feel.
My
heart beats.
Not
because it wants to,
Not
because I command it to;
It
just does.
I
can’t stop it – I wish I could.
The
beats echo in my mind
Like
a marching band.
It
lingers on and on.
Oh,
how I long for it to just
Stop.
Last night I
dreamt
About a place
called “Here”
The land was
fertile
The grass,
luscious and effervescent.
The flowers
were plentiful;
Almost
meadow-worthy
The trees were
smooth and the branches
Low enough for
my fingers to caress.
The sky, as
clear as the crystalline water
The brook,
cascading down the hills
It was
mesmerising
It’s melody
playing directly to my soul.
The birds that
dipped their beaks from the posy-ridden banks
Their happy
chirping a perfect accompaniment
To the gushing
water and delicate breeze.
The sun, a
bright dazzling ember
Looking upon
me as a doting mother
Admiring her
newborn.
The fragile
clovers and buttercups
Covering the
grassy slopes,
Tickling my
bare feet as I wander aimlessly through
Endless time
and space.
No deadlines;
no diaries; no sand
Slipping
through my fingers as I clasp them around
The stem of a
dazzling daffodil
Dew drops
glistening on its full and bright trumpet
I pluck it
from the ground and bring it to my nose
Breathing in
its bittersweet aroma and I know,
It cannot
last,
This world of
paradise,
I am not ready
for this place yet.
I replace the
flower
Like a suction
pad upon a wall of tiles it re-attaches
And begins to
thrive once more
For in this
land of plenty, there is no death; no limit.
I hear a
familiar ticking and I know
My time here
is almost over.
I sprint
across the meadow, my eyes scanning the scene
Taking a
mental photograph,
Trying to
memorise this paradise that I can feel
In each of my
senses.
I awake to a dark,
misty morning,
Four walls
enveloping me and a ticking clock beside me
I long to
revisit that Utopia on the other side of my eyelids
Until that
day,
I have only my
memories and
My dreams.
I’m Fine
All Is Well
No Problems Here.
My face tells you
the easy version
The
go-about-your-day version
The too-long-don’t-read,
Pass-me-by-and-say-you-did-your-best
version
Pat-on-the-back-and-sleep-soundly-all-night,
Don’t-look-too-closely-and-see-the-cracks
version.
I’m Fine.
But don’t come too
close.
All Is Well.
Or so I want you
to think.
No Problems Here.
None that I can
tell you about.
I don’t have the
energy
To get into it
Don’t have the
strength
The mental capacity
So,
I’m Fine
All Is Well
No Problems Here.
Fix your smile
Adjust the mask
Make sure the
truth is covered
Neat and tidy
Spick and span
Nobody likes to
see a secret mess
Nobody needs to
deal with real-life truths
Protect them
Take one for the
team
I’m Fine
All Is Well
No Problems Here.
Hot coffee
In my cup
Black
Deep and dark
My cup or my
soul?
Swirling,
whirling
Stir it up
Trouble is
brewing
Darkness approaching
Steam, like soft
tendrils
Falling up
instead of down
Upside-down world
Where wrong is
right
And good is bad
Day turns into
night,
No dusk
No dawn
No clouds
No milk
Just empty black
sky
Everlasting
Is it real?
Can I touch it?
Where am I?
Am I flying or am
I falling?
Tumbling down the
stairs with no parachute
Do I exist?
Is this real?
Hot coffee
In my cup
Steaming
Black
Bottomless pit
Don’t fall in.
Go to sleep
My beautiful girl
Sleep now, and
forever
Because this
world is not safe for you
Sleep, sweet girl
And stay away
from
The poisons all
around you
Shh, now
It’s time to lie
down
Close your eyes
Drift away and dream
Of a better place
Where nobody
knows you
Nobody hurts you
Dream of a land
where you are free
Your wings are
full and untampered with
Fly away
To this land of
no return
Where you can
smile
Without your mask
And, no,
Your fragile face
will not shatter
That was a lie
A myth told to
you by those
Who would keep
you in danger
You don’t need to
be afraid of them
Go to sleep
And find your
refuge
Rest your aching
eyes
Nobody will see
the pain in them anymore
Sleep now, my
love
In a bed you’ve
shed no tears in
Nothing is coming
You’re all alone
You’re safe now
Sleep, my darling,
sleep.
I’m out of words
My jar of
vocabulary is empty
Hollow
Void
Like my heart
If only my mind
would join the party
Switch off and
allow the thoughts to drain away
The feelings I don’t
want to feel
The memories that
make me want to
Scrub away at
myself
So hard that my
skin disintegrates
And I am nothing
left
The blood, circling
the drain
Like a crimson
tornado
Round and round
My very essence
Being drained
away
Giving life to
others
My body is not my
own
After so long I was
foolish
Naïve
I thought I finally
owned my self
But I don’t
I never have
I’m just an
object
A prized
possession
Kept hidden away
Until I’m needed
And used
And put away
again
Until next time
There’s always a
next time.
Do you believe me
now?
Can you see the
truth?
You deserve this
life
Wretched
Wicked
Prison
It’s all your
fault
Don’t look
anywhere else
There is no other
blame
But you
You put yourself
in these positions
Where there is
only one
Possible outcome
And then you play
the victim
And feign
surprise and pain when it comes
The inevitable
You deserve this
Nobody cares
You bring it on
yourself
Every single time
Every single person
They just want to
Use you
Hurt you
Kill you
And you let them
Because you’re
weak
And they can
You let them
You’re not a
survivor
You’re not a
victim
You bring this to
yourself
And you allow it
to happen
They all hurt you
They all abuse
you
They all hate you
Why can’t you see
it?
Why don’t you
hate yourself yet?
There's a girl in the corner
Sitting across from where I am.
I see her through the window.
She looks broken
She looks devoid of colour;
Of sentiment; of feeling.
She looks up.
Her eyes bore into mine
Black
Nothing in those eyes but
Black sorrow
She looks away
Flushed
with Embarrassment
and perhaps,
Envy?
Her eyes examine the room
Girls are chatting
Comparing their outfits,
accessories,
UGG boots.
They go about their lives
Without the slightest idea of
anyone else's
Problems.
She looks on at them,
Yearning.
Desperate for a slice of their
lives.
Perfection.
She picks up a pen
And looks back into my eyes
She holds my stare with her
coal-like gaze
And I feel
Uncomfortable.
She presses the pen into her
hand;
Piercing the skin
Mixing ink with blood.
I am startled and yet I cannot
look away.
Her eyes, still trained on mine
I feel a prick in my own hand
I look down and see the crimson
blood.
I stand.
I try to find the girl sitting
in the next room
She has gone.
I am against the wall
I look back through the window;
My eyes searching the room
Through the sheet of glass
At last,
My eyes rest upon the familiar
Coal-black circles
And I realise
The window is a mirror.
I'm testing out a new theory...
 |
| Still from Drop Dead Fred, 1991 (Polygram Working Title Films) |
I'm sure that many of us heard the news about Manchester United player, Mason Greenwood, today.
Greenwood, who plays in the Forward position for the Premier League club has been arrested on suspicion of rape and assault after his ex-girlfriend, Harriet Robson, shared several posts detailing the abuse she suffered at his hands, complete with photos and even sound clips. I feel it necessary to state here that I do not condone "trial by media" and it is not my place to opine on the personal lives and trauma of others.
These posts are hard to see, particularly if you are triggered by or have personal trauma associated with these types of abuse.
Which is what brings me here.
I wasn't going to post about this today - my plan was to go along chronologically, but in solidarity with all men and women who have been in our shoes, I felt it necessary to share part of my story prematurely.
Here goes nothing.
I was fifteen. Andrew was a 17 year old friend within a small friendship group and he made it very clear that he had a crush on me. I wasn't interested. He wasn't my type and I just didn't like him like that.
He was incessant. He even went as far as to tell his family that I was his girlfriend - this came out after he had an argument with another of our friends who proceeded to "out" him as gay to his family. His mother replied, "No he isn't, he goes out with [me]". The issue of his sexuality, I'm sure, will come up again at a later date but it is relevant to mention here as you'll see in a little while.
A little while later, I was having a sleepover at our friend Janet's house. She and another friend brought Andrew up again and asked why I wouldn't go out with him. I explained, again, that I wasn't interested. I was heavily into rock music and he was what we would describe back then as a townie, frequenting raves and dancing like a pilled-up loon to bass-intensive dance music. Social groups weren't as fluid back then as they are now and, frankly, I wouldn't be seen dead going out with a Townie! They suggested that I give him a chance. Just a couple of weeks and if I didn't feel anything, I could at least say I'd tried. I wanted to go to sleep so I said OK.
The first week was OK but there were red flags almost immediately. We went shopping to town with our friends one weekend and I arrived for the bus in my favourite ripped jeans. I had worn these jeans several times before but suddenly they weren't acceptable attire for his girlfriend to wear. He nagged and ridiculed me the entire way there and then marched me to a shop to buy something more suitable. I never wore them again.
After only a few weeks he began nagging me for sex. I told him I wasn't ready. I wanted to wait. I knew he wasn't a virgin and he was known within our friendship group for having slept with a lot of people, including a young teenager who lived just around the corner. She was 13 at the time.
Things continued for a short while and his advances came every day. He would up the ante by saying things like, "I might as well just be gay with [our gay friend] if you're not going to have sex with me" and emotionally blackmail me by saying, "I might as well kill myself" and "If you loved me you would".
I'm ashamed to say that I allowed things to progress more than I wanted to, just trying to appease him.
One evening in June or July, we were all staying at our friend's house - we often slept over in the living room on a weekend - Janet was a couple of years older and had a baby and a fiancé so her house was the place we hung out at. Andrew and I were asleep on the living room floor and two of our friends, Keira & Kelly, were asleep on the sofas while Janet was upstairs with some of our other friends. We had been drinking. I was drunk and asleep on my front when Andrew began to pleasure himself. He knelt over me and pulled my pyjama bottoms down to look at my underwear, as he had done several times before. The next thing I knew, he was on top of me, forcing his penis into me. I remember croaking a "No, stop" and tried to crawl away, still on my belly, but I couldn't. I knew that our friends were asleep on the sofa, just inches away but I didn't want to wake them.
Thankfully it was over in less than 30 seconds. He pulled my pyjamas back up, stood up, adjusted himself, and left me on the living room floor while he ran upstairs to tell his friends what he had done, as if I was some prize trophy he had just won. Then he came back downstairs, got a packet of Wotsits from the kitchen (which were for Janet's son's lunch the next day) and sat down beside me to eat them, singing "[my name]'s not a virgin".
After that, I felt so ashamed. And scared. Growing up in a Christian household, I wanted to wait until marriage. My mum had always told me, "Your dad was my first, and that's how it should be". I believed that I was trapped and would have to stay with him forever otherwise I would be sinning. He, of course, took it as permission. We had done it now, there was no reason not to continue. If I'm honest, I can't say there was ever a time I enjoyed it. He was experienced but he didn't really know what he was doing and all he really cared about was satisfying his own lust and proving to himself that he wasn't gay.
He proposed the day after my 17th birthday. We had gone for a meal and he had already told my parents and grandparents. I knew it was coming and I felt I couldn't say no. I went to the bathroom and cried. He probably thought they were happy tears. I don't consider it a real engagement as there was never an intention to marry me; he just didn't know what to get me for my birthday.
When I was 18, we bought a house together. I didn't want to move out of my mum's house yet but he said that he wasn't going to buy a house and still have a girlfriend who lived with her parents. I felt I had no choice. We argued almost every day, about everything. He had very high expectations and I was an 18 year old sixth form student who couldn't meet them. I worked part time at British Home Stores so I had a small income but he wouldn't let me spend anything without checking with him first. He would complain if I had filled the bath up too much, or spent too long in the shower. He didn't let me see my friends because he didn't trust them. He didn't let me visit my family because he didn't like them. He wouldn't allow me to wear the clothes I liked or listen to the music I liked. He hated the way I acted and would tell me to "grow up" every time I tried to have fun and join in with my family and friends. He would pick a fight and demand to know who I was meeting and whether I was sleeping with someone when I had been at work or church.
I spent five years of my life with Andrew. Five years where I should have been learning how to be a grown up, making silly mistakes and lifelong friendships with my school friends or uni cohort. Instead I spent those precious formative years being controlled and abused and raped, and I didn't even realise until it was too late.
Five years, for some people, flashes by in the blink of an eye, but for me, I'm still reliving those days and reeling from the trauma I endured at his hands.
And I never told a soul. Because, what proof do I have? And why would they believe me? And surely if he was my boyfriend, it was his right and he didn't have to ask consent, right?
Wrong. Oh, it couldn't be more wrong.
I wish I had spoken out.
I wish I had evidence.
Speak out.
Maybe it's not too late for you.
Until my last
breath
My face is a
mask.
I replaced my
own smile
With a false
one.
A permanent
fixture
Upon my happy,
bright face.
My whole life
is a lie
A lie that
cannot be untold
Sometimes I
wonder,
"Do I
even exist?"
Or is
everything I know
A falsity?
I am mostly
unaware
Until the lie
has been
Uttered from
my lips.
It's like a
part of my brain that
I cannot
control
I cannot
reason with.
The brain
refuses all compromise
And when he
wants something
He will make
it happen.
Sometimes the
lies are so small
They're
unnoticeable
Even to me.
These are the
worst ones;
The ones I
start to believe.
There are some
lies that are monstrous
They consume
everything around them
And as soon as
the words have escaped from
Their prison
of my mouth
I ask myself,
Why?
My life is a
lie
Created story
by story
Day by day
Year by year
Until now;
I cannot
remember myself
The ‘Me’ I am
supposed to be
Is lost
Behind the ‘Me’
I am trying to be.
As we've established, I have absolutely no idea who I am, past the usual, "wife", "mother", "resident of earth" stuff, I draw a blank. So I'm starting a list.
One day at a time, I'm writing down things that I know to be true about me or those which I have tested and they've proved themselves to be true.
For instance, yesterday's truth discovery was that I like coffee. I actually just enjoy the taste of it, probably even more than tea. Nobody else is telling me to drink coffee, and in fact, most of the time I drink tea as I'm making it for my husband anyway. I was averse to coffee during each pregnancy and then breastfeeding meant I didn't have it often. But I like coffee. I've always liked coffee. But now I know that I like it, for myself.
Today's was that I like Yellowcard. Ocean Avenue is my favourite album of all time (some days I will deny this and claim it's an Evanescence album, just FYI), and not because anyone else is suggesting it to me or because it's the socially acceptable thing to like. I actually only know of two or three other people who like Yellowcard at all. But I love them and that one album is the best album in my world.
The reason it is so important to establish these truths is because, if you're anything like me, its so easy to be led by another person's opinion or suggestion. Knowing our true selves is difficult because we can be changed, moulded, and directed so much that we lose all track of who we are and where we've come from.
Your truths have to be organic. They have to be facts that you know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, have come from only you.
As an example, I love ready salted flavour crisps. But when I follow that right back as far as I can go, I have a memory of home brand value crisps from a budget supermarket multipack. The ready salted ones actually tasted the most like the flavour they were purported to be, but the real reason they were my favourites was because nobody else favoured them and so there were always several packs left at the bottom and I just dealt with it.
It remains a truth that I enjoy ready salted crisps, but it's not an organic truth about who I am and my own likes/dislikes. It came from necessity and a desire to make other people happy by letting them have the flavour they preferred. I need to do some further flavour research before I'm ready to commit it to The List!
