Tuesday, December 09, 2014
A broken verse
Every day I read news about gender violence and sexual assault. It is easy to feel empathetic towards the victims and equally difficult. Sometimes, I wonder what it is like to be a survivor.
Memories. Memories. Bad memories. Horrible memories. They leave me raw with pain. I wish I could show you how wounded I was, but I don't want you to go through what I have survived. I am not even sure if I was a victim.
I say to myself it doesn't matter now. Maybe it doesn't. The putrid stench of their lust can't touch me. The scars from their bites have faded. It was a long night. Of violation and humiliation. Of my naked body lying in the cold by the road before someone found me and covered what was left of me and my dignity. Like a diseased animal, I was left to die. 'Why didn't they kill me?', I kept asking.
I tried to, so they kept me on a suicide watch. 'She has lost her mind', they said. No, I was sane. I was just trying to make a rational choice to end the struggle. Then I thought to myself: I am stronger than this. An accident will not define me. I will not end my life with such a miserable turn. My body is battered, but it will heal. I will have to help my mind. A bunch of drunk savages won't decide my fate. This is my story. I will write it.