This is a short story in a poetic form. It is based on a true story of my interaction with a victim of sexual abuse.
Many of us would prefer to not discuss the issue of sexual abuse, especially when the victim is a man. That man's drug use was a symptom of harboring his hurt and pain about his trauma. Once he released it, he was able to begin moving on.
The minute he walked into my office, I knew his macho appearance was just a facade. His face spoke of hidden pain.
He reluctantly talked to me about his drug addiction. He said he didn't really care to be there, for he saw no way out.
We talked some more. I wanted to know. I wanted to hear him reveal where it all started; Where his darkness began.
That was when he put his head down and started to cry. I didn't know what to do. For I had never seen a man break down like this.
Then, he lifted his head. He didn't look into my eyes. He looked straight at a picture on the wall; That of an innocent boy.
Finally, he stared into my eyes and pointed at the picture of the little boy. "That is me," he said. "I've been trapped by the shadows of my past."
Briefly, I allowed my mind to wander. I began to think this man was not alone. Others had been where he has been.
Who are these people? They are children; our children. Every year, thousands of them are being sexually abused behind closed doors.
They are innocent victims of someone else's wickedness. They never asked to be born, yet, here they are, prey to someone else's sick mind.
How would we know, if we can't hear them? How would we help, if we don't know how? Yet, those voices murmur.
They murmur of pain and suffering. They yearn to be freed. For they have become prisoners of their trauma, bystanders of their future.
That little boy in my office began to heal the minute he released his burden to someone else who cared. His life had taken a new course.
His eyes were now opened. He understood it wasn't his fault. He admitted he did care to be there and he felt some hope.
That boy is now a new man. He has forgiven himself for something that he didn't do. He has forsaken the horrible shadows of his past.
I realized then, our eyes and ears we must keep opened. Those voices of pain, we must detect. Let's give those children a shelter in the time of their storms.
It's strange how a hysterical voice deep inside can be muted into shame..You're right ,there 's a path to follow if the victim wants to forgive himself or herself...treacherous as it may be.
Anne Pawlak.
Reviewed by Kijuana Henry
4/18/2004
I was sexually abused and raped myself.
Strong and Powerful poem! Brought up
emotions in me! BRAVA my dear! Way to go!
Kijuana, friend of Becca E Henry,author
Timeless wisdom and advice on the art of living for today’s young and old: The art of thinking, the art of loving, the art of working, the art of leadership, the art of growing old.
A new translation by Sergio E. Serrano of this inspirationa
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