UNJUST PROSE COLLECTION
Unreal
I will not forget
The unfair, unbelievable, terrifying and most satisfying (14)
Once upon a star I had a wish of having a loving family sharing the caring. They loved me unconditionally and supported me. I was enough. Just being me. They taught me empathy and compassion and believed in me. I stared at the moon and stars every night until my eyes hurt; quartermoon, halfmoon, fullmoon. Twinkles, crawling spiders and shooting stars. Nothing for me. I wished and I dreamed. Many dreams during the day, the night, in the bathtub, in class, everywhere, one more fantastical than the other, but it always felt just out of my reach. Untouchable. Like I didn’t deserve happiness. I could not for the life of me correlate what I wanted so desperately with what my eyes saw in front of me or change the way I felt. I waited for something or someone to come and save me, inspire me, invite me in from the cold. Nothing happened. No one came. My hopes and dreams became eclipsed in me, slanted and darkened, diagonally drawn.
I remember how he made me feel. The overwhelming feeling of loss and inadequacy, the queasiness at the pit of my stomach tying a knot, my inability to breathe deeply, fearing that the tiniest thing might set him off on a rampage. Shouting and screaming and swearing. Spittle-bubbles forming at the corners of his mouth as his face turned red and he lost control and stomped around like a madman. He let his demons overtake him completely. He fucking terrified me. I always carried an inhaler with me, fearing that the next panic attack might kill me when I feel my throat start to itch and constrict, when I coughed and struggle to breathe. I always kept a brown paper bag as a back-up. I tried to be a quiet little mouse disappearing inside of me. I would chew my fingernails and scratch the skin on my face, arms and back. Always scratching at an itch only I can feel but never able to ease. My shirts always hat bloodspots on them. They still do. With only one word he could strangle my soul. It was the way he said my name. Leigh-Ann. A bit nasally, deeply sonorous and ominous with simultaneous aggression and dismissal. He stripped me of my dignity and belief of any discernible good in mankind. He stole my youth and my wide-eyed wonder. He made me feel like nothing, like nothing I said or did matter, like it didn’t matter if I was here or not, and no one will notice me or care if I disappear.
I felt so angry a lot of the time. I felt like exploding, punching the wall, punch his face, knock all his teeth out, put my hands around his throat and breaking the bones in his neck, squeezing tighter and tighter constricting it like an African Rock Python, squeeze the life out of him as I watch the light leave his eyes, then bring him back and do it all over again and again while he beg and plead and ask for mercy just like I did. I will remind him lest he forget how he made me feel. I want him to feel the way I did. I want him to be unsure and anxious all the time, shudder when I am near, his breath catching and getting stuck in his throat, speed up and jump out uncontrollably when I raise my voice. I want to see goosebumps crawling under his skin. I want to crack his mind and see him struggle and suffer. I will pretend to be surprised by his dislike, fear and judgement of me. I will play the victim and admit to no wrongdoing.
One day I had enough courage and I finally left, but the struggle was not over. It is a daily journey through the murky underworld of doubt, misery and make-believe, chasing lost dreams and what I thought I could be. Even as I heal and move on, develop and grow, my vision will forever be tainted, and my memories embedded in me. I will keep on trying. Do the right things. I don’t want to feel like I don’t have control and circumstances, childhood, religion and fear is holding me back. Maybe one day I will feel like I deserve joy and stop being surprised if good things happen or someone is nice to me. To help me with this I started to play a game, a mental rehearsal of what life can be like, in an effort to normalize the visualizations so it feels more realistic and less like a pipedream.
We must learn from our mistakes and past experiences, no matter how painful and debilitating, then at least it will mean something. Sometimes we cling to our pain and wear it like a badge of honour to show what we have endured, so others can take notice and have pity on us. They will share their own pain and you will, collectively, continue to keep company with misery instead of breaking free. I say no more, let’s leave the past behind and move on.
We must never allow anyone to make us feel like we are insignificant or entertain thoughts not beneficial to our mental well-being. Our negative thoughts corrode us, leading to overpowering emotions with no space for anything else, causing only our weakness to remain. Even the most broken can be healed by care and compassion, if they choose to be.
I am not a victim or a survivor. I am powerful, a little bit vicious, and I will not forget.
Personal Note:
Trauma does something to people; it unlocks a part of them. When you learn to survive in the darkness, a part of you will always stays there. It enables you to claw and scrap out of hopeless situations, but also to occasionally push the boundaries a bit too far. It is sometimes difficult to know when to stop and say enough.
I recognize the ones like me instantly. Shared trauma leaves a mark. Old eyes in a young face. Eyes that have seen too much. Eyes that say: Don’t fuck with me, I will hurt you and laugh about it. Uncontrollably.
For a very long time.
Dumelang bohle!!! African Greetings!!! Please support me so I can continue to do what makes my spirit feel alive and feeds my soul; and that is to express myself through words and photos every day.
Ko-Fi
https://ko-fi.com/leighannsteenkamp
I do not currently qualify for the Medium Partner Program due to country location; South Africa.
