She was ashamed, she was scared because she couldn’t tell. This one repeated event would be the tools to build her decision making skills.
Decisions would forever be rooted in shame and fear. “No one could ever know” Her shameful whisper would shrill. I want to tell my mom, but her disappointment would hurt me again. I know she loves me, but how can I be worthy with what I know happened to me.
I feel responsible for what my cousins did to me.
I wish I were invisible.
I feel lonely when everybody is looking at me.
Like the rings in the root of a tree, I keep creating the same circles as I grow. My circles are identical and naturally painful. I keep creating the same abusive scenario.
I tell myself, “I will do better the next time.”
Next time I will speak up for myself. I wont smile in the face of someone who hurts, steals and takes advantage of me. I wont disregard my own presence. Next time I will take the importance off the appearance and place it on the specific occurrence.
I remember having similar thoughts at 5 years old. “Next time I will say no don’t do that to me.”
My promises turned into to a lie from that day to this.
Each time the circle gets larger than the last. I recognize it in every aspect of my life.
They’ve taken advantage at work. I’m consistently forgiving a jealous & sneaky girlfriend. I’ve stayed too long in a relationship I’m not happy in. When will it end?
I have learned to open up and let the voice out that was silenced as a child of five.
Now that I speak on it. I thrive.
Read the journey again. Originally shared, September 1, 2009
This wounded woman shares her secret thoughts stemming from her stolen innocence.
I woke up this morning wanting love for breakfast.
I wanted to roll over into an embrace. I wanted him to look at me as though I could never be replaced.
I wanted to spread my legs and be feed.
I felt lust; but I wanted real love today.
I missed the intense scent of a man. I gripped my legs shut as hard as I could stand. I miss my lips being kissed and my face being caressed. I need my body to excrete its sensual excess.
If this is a spiritual test, then I won’t pass the celibacy class. I would rather be without food, than to be love starved. I’d rather die than fast.
My bedroom, it’s too hot in here. The temperature makes my ‘heart beat fast. My pressure rises, in anticipation of relief. I’m deep breathing, clutching my breast for release.
My sensations have no climax, no context so they morph into of stress. I suffer from pure frustration. It’s causing my faith to hide and my circulation of lust to thrive.
No simple thrust would allow me to survive. I need real love in order to feel alive.
I am married, married to want.
Want rejecting me every time. It’s like all I’m entitled to have is a home, and financial security. I feel forced to roam the streets and find somebody to satisfy my sexual truancy.
I love myself and I won’t allow myself to be nasty and used. Still, the love that I miss fills me with self loathing, I’m confused.
Sex with someone unknown can be exhilarating.It’s you knowing that can be morally suffocating.
Still I can’t masturbate because an orgasm is not all that’s wanted. “Playing in your ass! Nasty girl,” I believed those voices, I’m taunted.
Never will I forget the undetected abuse experienced as a child. “Has somebody’s been messing with that baby girl?” “No.” Beguiled, she would smile.
Now I answer “yes.” My cousins are no longer protected.
I’m still haunted by those childhood memories. It’s no wonder why my sexuality is so affected.
My soul hates me for being so neglected.