LJ Idol Week 2: Living rent-free in your head
There Be Monsters
Some monsters haunt my dreams. Like the Shadow Man - who came into my bedroom when I was a child. Naked. Erect. Face concealed by darkness. No name. Just the feeling of fear, of having nowhere to run.
Knowing that no one would help me. That no one would believe me.
Some days... even I wonder if it truly happened. But the nightmares. The nightmares are vivid and real.
-----
Some monsters walk freely among us, smiling and charming everyone they meet. My father is one of them; his new family, his co-workers, his neighbours, they all think he a great guy. Kind. Polite. Funny. A good father.
They weren't there twenty eight years ago. The night he stabbed my mother four times with a kitchen knife and left her for dead. Ran like a coward and left his autistic six year daughter to find her mother barely conscious and covered in blood.
To this day he won't acknowledge what happened. Some of those people - the people who didn't see - call me a liar. It's easier for them to blame me, rather than face the truth.
But I know what I saw. I know what I heard.
I could live to be one hundred and never forget.
-----
Some monsters never truly go away. It has been thirteen years since I physically saw my ex. But sometimes, he comes back. Stands in the bathroom or the bedroom or the garden, looking so solid that it feels like I could touch him.
He stares and he waits. I have to fight the panic, remind myself that it isn't real.
I can still feel his hands on me. Still remember the things he said, the insults that hurt more than any blows. The way he violated my body, leaving me sobbing and bleeding on the bathroom floor.
The coldness in his voice: “Clean yourself up and come to bed.”
-----
Some monsters live in my memories. There have been times when I have been triggered by an accent, the smell of aftershave, raised voices, a glass smashing after accidentally being dropped.
Suddenly I am back, living in whatever moment that thing reminded me of. Reliving a horror of my past; the childhood abuse, the domestic violence, the rape, the abortion.
Wanting to run but too terrified to move.
Unable to scream. Barely able to even breath.
Just feeling it all over again.
There is no escape. How can you escape from your own head?
Some monsters haunt my dreams. Like the Shadow Man - who came into my bedroom when I was a child. Naked. Erect. Face concealed by darkness. No name. Just the feeling of fear, of having nowhere to run.
Knowing that no one would help me. That no one would believe me.
Some days... even I wonder if it truly happened. But the nightmares. The nightmares are vivid and real.
-----
Some monsters walk freely among us, smiling and charming everyone they meet. My father is one of them; his new family, his co-workers, his neighbours, they all think he a great guy. Kind. Polite. Funny. A good father.
They weren't there twenty eight years ago. The night he stabbed my mother four times with a kitchen knife and left her for dead. Ran like a coward and left his autistic six year daughter to find her mother barely conscious and covered in blood.
To this day he won't acknowledge what happened. Some of those people - the people who didn't see - call me a liar. It's easier for them to blame me, rather than face the truth.
But I know what I saw. I know what I heard.
I could live to be one hundred and never forget.
-----
Some monsters never truly go away. It has been thirteen years since I physically saw my ex. But sometimes, he comes back. Stands in the bathroom or the bedroom or the garden, looking so solid that it feels like I could touch him.
He stares and he waits. I have to fight the panic, remind myself that it isn't real.
I can still feel his hands on me. Still remember the things he said, the insults that hurt more than any blows. The way he violated my body, leaving me sobbing and bleeding on the bathroom floor.
The coldness in his voice: “Clean yourself up and come to bed.”
-----
Some monsters live in my memories. There have been times when I have been triggered by an accent, the smell of aftershave, raised voices, a glass smashing after accidentally being dropped.
Suddenly I am back, living in whatever moment that thing reminded me of. Reliving a horror of my past; the childhood abuse, the domestic violence, the rape, the abortion.
Wanting to run but too terrified to move.
Unable to scream. Barely able to even breath.
Just feeling it all over again.
There is no escape. How can you escape from your own head?