I had a nightmare last night about a time I hadn’t thought of in quite a while.  Since this blog is, if nothing, written to help survivors, I’ll do my best to write candidly.

There’s nothing quite like the first time someone enters your body without your permission.  I’m speaking of the physical body here.  I just can’t say the more technical words involving this particular type of abuse.  As a child, it was horrifying to me, but it felt even more disgusting as an older teen.  My leadership training ended like that.  Five men standing about me, and I was tied to a sacrificial altar wondering what they would do to me.  They took turns, and after a while, I didn’t even try to resist.  It really wasn’t worth it.  I knew there was no way I could get away from them, so I just drifted off in to my world.

They hadn’t touched me like that in over a year, but when the first man took his turn, I literally threw up.  They take something, every single time they do that.  More and more of you drains away.  It’s a violation like no other.  It’s your space, the space that no one is supposed to get to without you.  Once they’ve taken that, you have nowhere else to go.  You’re not safe internally or externally.  They’ve got you completely.  No part of you is untouched.

I still feel disgusting, no matter how many times I’m told it wasn’t my fault or that it won’t happen again.  The nightmare brought those feelings back.  My skin is quite literally blistered in spots from the shower this morning, and I can’t get myself to feel clean.  It will pass, and the darkness surrounding that memory will go back in its box.  I just have to push through this spot and in to the sun again.


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