CHAPTER 6
After the Attack
After the attack he walked away with a clean conscience and dirty hands,
While I crawled painfully in dirt.
I begged, he laughed.
He taunted, I screamed.
I fought, he won.
He was victorious, I died.
After the attack he was left with satisfaction and hate filled denial.
While I was left with a desperate reality to deny.
I pleaded, he punched.
He hit, I hurt.
I struggled, he oppressed.
He was victorious, I died.
After the attack he stood and walked easily away with a grin,
While I was left to walk without ease covered in his sin.
I detested, he loved.
He adored, I hated.
I begged, he deafened.
He was victorious, I died.
After the attack few words were spoken but horrendous thoughts threatened,
While I lay in silence and neighbors listened.
I tired, he strengthened.
He overpowered, I cried.
I decayed, he replenished.
He was victorious, I died.
After the attack he began a new loveless challenge,
While I contemplated my new loveless existence.
After the attack, he was victorious... as I died.
And now I am no more than a small broken i.
August 1999
19 years old
If only my sad words had been able to adequately express how I had really
felt that day. If only those sad words on the tear-stained page could have adequately expressed the absolute anguish I had felt. If only I could’ve told people what that day had really been like for me. But I didn’t have the words for the people. And I didn’t have the words to write on paper. There were no words I could write to adequately express that day. And there were no words I could speak to give voice to the horror of that day.
People tried though. People tried to help me.
My parents stepped up and offered help. The police offered help. The Doctors offered help. The therapists offered help. Everyone offered assistance but I couldn’t be helped.
I was gone.
*****
Looking around my garage I’m disgusted with myself. I stink and I’m dirty and I should really stop this. This doesn’t change anything. Opening another pack of cigarettes doesn’t change anything. Reading another page doesn’t change anything. Nothing changes anything. I know I should stop, but I just can’t.
Walking back into my home, I use the little washroom near the front door and scrub my filthy hands, but I refuse to look in the mirror. I don’t want to see this sad Sadie. I am married, and wonderful, and smart, and an excellent mother. I am not that young Sadie anymore.
Microwaving another coffee, I flick on the outside light and stare at my yard. The pool is closed up for the winter and the backyard looks lonely without all the furniture on the deck. My backyard looks lifeless. Funny, my back yard looks a little like I feel right now.
I’m missing something.
When the buzzer sounds, I grab my favorite coffee and slowly make my way back to my garage.
Stopping I decide to make sure. Checking all the locks on all the windows on the main floor feels good. I’m being secure. I’m taking care. I’m being smart. Running downstairs, I double check all the bars are in place and all the windows are locked by unlocking and locking them again just to hear them engage. Looking at the closest of 8 main panels in my house, I see all 42 lights are red. Everything is armed except the door into the garage from my home. Everything is as it should be.
Now, I can proceed to my lounge chair.
Opening my smoky garage I decide to open the side door, just a crack. I know I can’t be seen unless someone walks way down the
side of my garage, just inside the fence gate. I know that, but I’m still nervous someone might.
I cannot have someone see me smoking in my garage. I can’t have anyone see me like this. I know I don’t look the same right now, and that’s okay. It’s okay to not look the same when doing this. I know
I don’t really feel the same while I’m doing this either. I know that, and I’m okay with that. I think I’m rational enough to know that anyone under these circumstances would look and feel a little off. Anyone would feel tired and gross when finishing this. I rationally know it’s okay that I probably don’t look very good and I’m okay with that right now, but I still don’t actually want to be seen looking tired and gross. That is not okay for me.
My Dear Str
anger IX
Last night my dear stranger came to my bedside once again.
Waking from a light rest, my attention was drawn to His eyes- eyes so lovely and filled with hope, instantly my own eyes wept. Instantly, i reached out for Him, as His arms drew me tightly into His embrace.
As time passed, my stranger did nothing but hold my weeping body. A body so recently damaged and brutalized, i had thought i could never recover. But then He came for me.
But my
mind began a whirl-wind of questions. Questions i didn't speak but mentally obsessed over. i wondered if He knew what had happened, and if so, i wondered how much, or how little He actually knew. i wondered what He had felt when it happened to me, or what He felt when He had found out.
i wondered what He thought. i wondered if He had bled as i did, or if He had screamed when my body screamed. i wondered if He felt the sadness and humiliation i did. i wondered if He felt the desperation and horror i did.
i wondered if He felt the same about me now, as He once had.
Such a whirl-wind of questions, my heart broke once again. And though i had desperately wanted Him to come to me, i must admit there was a part of me, a very small part, which felt resentment toward Him.
Why had He not protected me? Why did He not know of the events and stop them before i was left to scream? Why had He not come sooner? Why had it been nearly 2 months since His last visit?
Such a whirl-wind of questions and resentment, my mind lost consciousness.
After nightmares of the brutal events, my body lay battered and torn on my sheets.
Healed bruises ached and invisible scars bled. My heart raced as my tears and sweat collided on my face. And during this panic, my dear stranger watched.
Once i collected myself and focused my tear-filled vision, i saw in the corner my stranger's face looking somewhat sad, and yet still so filled with peace. Looking i was astounded.
Looking, i suddenly became enraged!
How could He looked sad yet peace-filled at the same time? Did He feel sad for my torn body but filled with peace for His own flawlessness? Why did He look at me so simply?
Finally, i screamed...
'What is it? Why are you looking at me that way? Where have you been? Why didn't you help me? Why didn't you SAVE me?!'
Tears poured down my face and my lungs gasped for air. But my stranger just watched me and said nothing in reply. A few minutes passed and slowly He walked back toward me.
As He sat on my bed, again i collapsed into His arms and wept. With my face buried deep in His chest, He rocked and soothed me into silence.
Minutes later my stranger kissed any trace of my tears away. Within His warm embrace, all my anger and sadness faded away, as i was slowly filled with the security He had always given to me. Slowly, a peaceful calm engulfed me. And in that moment i knew i was still alive, and the world remained audacious.
Resting in His arms, i knew in moments such as these, during His visits, i was safe. No brutality would threaten and no hands would savage. Knives could not graze my skin and my panic would eventually settle. My stranger was here and for the first time since the attack He would protect my body and my mind.
His visit was once again thrilling, yet it was completely different from all His other visits. i didn't crave His touch, and i couldn't be with Him sexually. And with no words, He understood not to touch me intimately.
Hours were spent as i wept away the memories until i fell soundlessly asleep- a sleep which i knew would lack the horrific realities i had lived through while His arms held me tight. It was a sleep of dreamless unconsciousness...
When i awoke this morning, i felt warmed and a little more stable. Sadness carried less weight and my humiliation slowly turned to anger. i felt lonely and i actually missed my stranger’s embrace, but i was happy to feel a little stronger. Breathing in the morning, i know my dear stranger will wait for my return into our world, just as i will await His next visit.
October 1999
19 years old
*****
I remember that time. I remember what I felt like. I couldn’t talk to anyone anymore- I trusted no one. To be fair, my friends did try for a while. They put in the time. They made the calls and they attempted a few visits, but I refused to see them. I refused to talk to them. I refused everyone because I trusted no one anymore.
He was my friend. And he was vicious.
He said unbelievable things as he hurt me. He made confessions of love. He confessed his insanity for me. He said every single thing every single woman ever wants to hear under different circumstances, in a different situation. He loved me. He adored me. He was
in
love with me. He wanted to have a life with me. He wanted us to be together. Forever.
He was my friend. And he was brutal.
I think that’s what I struggled with the most. The act was brutal, yes. Within any reality being forced is brutal, I know that. But it was the brutality in which he took me and the instruments he used, the scars he left, the injuries he caused unnecessarily, all while telling me he loved me.
And that was my struggle. He was my friend who I trusted and I have been encased in my confused shame ever since.
I could never understand what I did to provoke it. I was a good girl, and I treated everyone well. I was fun and young, yes. But other than hugs hello or goodbye, I never touched anyone or allowed anyone to touch me. I never dick teased or flaunted any sexuality at all. I hung out with friends. I drank and danced and laughed and had fun. But I was a good girl. I was
always
a good girl.
He was my friend. And he was deadly.
He was a friend I trusted, and he did the unthinkable. He confused our friendship with love. He confused my simple hugs with a want for more. He equated unrequited want with the need to force my love. He was confused, and I became lost.
And so I pulled away.
I didn’t discuss what happened with anyone after the first day I lived with it. I told the Police about the factual events. I told the doctors and the nurses about the factual physicality’s of the events. I told my family the basics. And then I never discussed it again.
I lied to the Police and said I didn’t know who he was. I told the Police he was waiting in my apartment. I told the Police he was an unknown intruder because I didn’t know how to discuss what really happened. I didn’t know what to say, and I was afraid of telling the Police the truth- I had opened the door to my FRIEND. I had allowed my friend into my apartment
because
he was my friend. But I didn’t want what he did to me.