To read the introduction and reviews go to www.gentlerecovery.webs.com"Woe to those who call evil good and good evil, who put darkness for light and light for darkness, who put bitter for sweet and sweet for bitter. Woe to those who are wise in their own eyes, and clever in their own sight." Isaiah 5:20,21
It hurt so bad. It hurt my mind. It hurt my body. It changed the way I moved in the world. I stopped being free. I needed to cover all of myself - my body, my soul - even my mind. I couldn't be seen.
I was too scared to let anyone look in my eyes. If they did, they would see the shame, the badness, the horribleness of who I was.
My body is bad. I can't be seen. To be seen means to be hurt: raped, punched, beaten. Being seen hurts too much. It means being forced to do what what I don't want. Hold your breath. Don't move. Then no one can see.
It hurt so bad. In hurt my mind. It hurt my soul. I wasn't good enough. I moved in shame. I moved in apprehension knowing the slightest look, the tiniest hint of vulnerablity would result in an unwanted attack. 'Don't touch me. Don't look at me.' I feel dirty. I feel less than human.
Beaten and shamed, I deserved what I got. That's what he said, his fist shoved in my face. I held back tears that wanted to pour out of me, but I knew if they did, they would never stop; my soul would be flooded and I would drown in their torrent. I need to fight to survive. I need to fight me, to hurt myself to stay alive.
I have become my abuser. I need to punish myself because they are right. I am bad. So I cut into my soul and I cut into my body, trying to rip the good out, tear the bad apart, desperate to be accepted.
I watch the red life force stain the sheets, the bed, the floor. My blood. It tells me I am still alive. I can go on fighting. The demons rage in my head, fighting for my soul while I stand on the sidelines waiting to see who the victor will be.