A Question That Needs to be Asked

This evening what you will read will be different from any writing you’ve read from me before but this will allow those who read to see what that I’ve been working on since as I have started writing via a “topic journal.”

A question that needs to be asked…

why can’t i move forward?

why am i stuck on auto pilot-the same path that i feel like i’ve internally been on for the past 10 years; slowly becoming just a body that exist only to eat, drink, sleep, breath and do again the next day?

why does every day feel like i am inching closer to death-the end of my life rather that inching closer to living the dreams that are to give me my best life?

did my assault really do this to me?

in all my shouting of “i’m a survivor, not a victim” …did i allow all the shouting turn me into a victim?

have i really gave complete power over to someone who doesn’t even remember what he did?

did i really allow him to take everything that was real to me-my hopes for a lively future, my health, my true happiness that comes from the joy of finding out who you are from within?

did i really allow his love for culture steal my joy and replace it with this fear of things unknown and foreign to me? my love for my own art-because of the images of my paints scattered in a mess on the floor from that night, my brushes, my favorite sketch pad that i could only bring myself to burn afterwards because the paint had stained every end of every page, drawings that i would work until 4am until they became perfect; burned….all bringing back images that i stop myself from seeing. burn them and they will no longer be there. why are they still there?

my passion for my own body and the love i had for it as i devoted time to it to make it strong and able to carry myself through life on a womanly frame; pushing and training myself every day to go harder, faster, stronger…better than the day before…one more rep…all shattered?

the fact that i was about to turn 25 and i was really starting to learn to love myself, my true beautiful strong woman of a self -did i let him take that too? i know i did…i still allow him to steal any joy from me in this area of my life every time i begin to think i am strong-his words “I love to break strong women.”

women… more than one.

why do i ache with remorse of not being strong enough to overcome him in that exact moment?

why do break down every single time these words replay in my mind? haunting. taunting. on repeat. make them go away. they won’t because they are part of me now.

why am i unable to look myself in the eye when looking at my own image?

have i allowed him to take my own comfort at times when i am with my husband? why do i have this feeling of shame? of guilt?

why do i feel uncomfortable in my own skin, still?

have i allowed myself to hurt so much over this that hurt became normal and normal became numb and numb is what i crave now?

have i allowed him to take away my pride of being a woman. broken. he broke me. a strong woman. “I love to break strong women.”

women… more than one.

and why do i have tears right now? why is my throat feeling tighter with my hands and jaws becoming clinched, afraid of who may read this or see me?

why do i wipe away those same tears, push every one of these questions down deeper every time i reach this point and go back to being comfortably numb? why can’t i answer any of these questions?

most importantly…why do i know that i am not alone in asking these questions? why am i certain there are millions of women who are sitting somewhere right now with the darkness of these question looming inside them as they push them down just as deep as i do so they can tuck their children into bed, do the laundry, read their books, kiss their husbands, leaving the jobs to get on the train to journey home and force these same questions out of their minds…

because he said…

women… more than one.

assaulted: 3.13.2008

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