Cornered

It has been a couple days since my last post and I have calmed down. I wouldn’t say it is because I know how to calm myself down or that I dealt with the emotions… but that just enough time has passed for me to be able to stuff it down inside again.

Yesterday at work after we closed, we do a walk through of the store to make sure everyone is out and that is looks nice for the next day. There is a section in the back room where there are rows and rows of stock that lead to a dead end. As I was walking down this section alone, I realized that I started to have an anxiety attack. The one thing I hate more then anything is not only having the sense of fear or panic, but in public where I have to try and hide it.dead-end-street

I kept walking down and noticed that the walls were concrete so if I needed to escape this dead end I couldn’t. I was trapped. Once this thought entered my mind I decided I will never walk all the way down to the end again. I will never go down that aisle and be trapped with no escape. As I kept walking my anxiety and panic were at its’ peak when I was at the end of aisle. When I was walking away from the dead end my anxiety lessened.

I have come to the conclusion, that should of be so obvious to me before, but I hate being cornered. My sexual molestation when I was six happened because I physically put into a corner. My rape happened when I was “cornered” into a car without escape. Just even thinking about that dead end corner makes my chest tighten.

I apologize but this is where this entry has to stop. I cannot write any further due to my anxiety right now. I wish and hope one day I will be strong enough to speak more.

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The Trees’ Secret

The trees sway softly and silently. All night and all day they sway softly. It is almost as if they are trying to whisper. The light comes in hazily. Slow your eyes down and just gaze into the delicate beauty. Watch as the sunlight peeks through each tree. They are trying to shed light into the twisted darkness. The trees in these woods know a secret of mine. They would like to tell you, if you will just listen.

 

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All I can remember is hot breath along my face and sharp teeth flashing before my eyes. A blur of images and not  a lot of time to react or to even think. This animal we called our own, from which we raised from birth had flipped a switch. In an instant that hot breath and opened mouth covered half of my face. Half of my face was covered in darkness and heat.

The little girl fell to the ground, covered her head in fear and her mind went elsewhere. Her mind had gone into the trees and watched as his great big nails slashed into her head. Her mind cried silently, all she could do
was watch. Her gift was to numb the precious body from all the pain.

The dog stopped for a moment and that was all the little girl needed to slip away to be able to climb to safety. The animal followed her and tried multiple times to jump to reach her. The little girl screamed from her ladder for help since there was nowhere for her to go. Blood was dripping from her face and onto the treehouse wood.

Finally she was rescued and placed in the bathroom while things were gathered. She had the courage to look into the mirror. Stepping slowly in front of the glass, bracing herself- she looked. Her face had been chewed. Pieces of flesh were
hanging from her face. Quietly she got into the car, quietly she went into surgery, quietly she hated her harsh incisions. They were so ugly and all over her face.

Abruptly she was silenced anytime she wanted to speak up about her pain. She felt so ugly. People stared, people wondered and people poked fun. The incident was denied, modified and never spoke of again. The little girl took refuge in the trees as the days passed.

On the ladder, where she took refuge that day, the blood stain was still there. The redness began to fade over time but the stain and memory did not. To this day the little girl, now a young woman, can feel the breath of the beast on her face.

She remembers the hunger in his eyes and the brute strength of his nails digging into her skull. She remembers the loving hands, that she should call mother, silenced her. The trees know another secret- this wasn’t the first attack on the family that was silenced by those same hands.

Quietly the little girl remembers, quietly the woman hates.