My skin still burns. The pain feels current, even though the waves of the abuse have long since washed away. Why do I still feel you? Why do I still see you? Your touch leaves a residue; a grime that I cannot scrub off. Your prescence is hiding in my closest, under my bed, next to me while I sleep. I feel your eyes on me when I stand naked in the shower, when I cry alone on the floor.
You are not gone yet.
I think this one is going to be the real kicker. This one is going to be the hardest to get over. I have spent 20’something years trying to convince myself that it never happened, that I was dreaming it. You didn’t sneak into my room to touch me all those years, you didn’t rub up my thigh when no one was looking. You didn’t sneak peaks at my body, and you didn’t call me a slut.
But none of it was real. None of it was real. I made it all up. I told myself and told myself and forced myself to unlink you from the chain of people that used my body against me. From the parade of men that taught me that I am not my own. I couldn’t let it be true. I couldn’t. And why? Why? Because if the truth was set free, and I was able to acknowledge and accept it as reality, I would have to feel the rush of every single inappropriate touch. I would have to remember every time I thanked you for being there for me. I would feel every awkward hug, every time you made me touch you. I don’t want to admit it. I don’t. Why don’t I just keep pretending that it never happened?
None of it was real. None of it was real.
But it was real. Everything has come together, and I can barely stand myself up. I shake. I cry. I scrub my skin. I remember. Everything. And I never wanted to get here. I never wanted this to come out. It will kill me. It will end me. Everything I was ever scared of, those little childhood quirks that no one took a second look at. It was all you. You. The perfect abuser.
And this will end me.
But this won’t end me. I remember. And people know. And as fucking hard as its going to be to get through this, I don’t want you (or any of the other men) to win. This body is mine. This body is mine. Mine. Someday, I will feel that way. I will believe that.
Until then, sit back, because I am gaining the courage to come for you. All of you. I will not sit back, the scared little girl, and let you scar me anymore. It may take time, maybe even years, but you will pay some sort of consequence. I refuse to let you get away with it, as I sit here and repair the fucking damage you have done. No. I cannot let that happen. I am not going to be the only one suffering anymore.
You hurt me. You stole from me.
You fucking coward.
But I will win.
I will win.
I will win.