Terrorized (Nonfiction/Memoir)

(I wrote the first draft of this in 2002 as an Undergraduate and later revised it in 2008 in my MFA at VCFA).

“Who dares to call the child by its true name?
The few that saw something like this and, starry-eyed
But foolishly, with glowing hearts averred
Their feelings and their visions before the common herd
Have at all times been burned and crucified.”
-Goethe, Faust. 589–593

Terrorized

Relax my friend, sit back. I have a story I think you are really going to enjoy. There have been a few things I have really wanted to talk to you about and now seems like the best time to share this with you. I’ve adjusted the lights here so that you won’t have any trouble seeing, and the temperature has been turned up so that you wont be cold while you hear this. It’s important to me that nothing distracts you from this tale; it’s taken so long for me to be able to figure out how to tell it. I want to make sure that your feel at home while I share this with you.

Before I proceed with this story there is a word of advice I need to give you my friend. Whatever your answers to the questions the story may bring out in you, please do not answer “yes or no”. Instead I implore you to listen, no matter how many questions you may feel you have about this story. Please listen until the end of this tale. I think by the end of the story all questions will be answered. This story is about neither questions nor answers, but I’m sure you will see that as the story progresses. In the end you will survive the journey.

Take a deep breath in, relax your shoulders, and sit back in your chair.
There you go.
You look like you’re ready to hear the story I have to tell.

Now let’s do something about how comfortable you’ve become.

What do you see when you close your eyes at night? When you lay in bed, in the dark, in the shadows? Do you hide? Do you pull the covers high? Does the darkness begin to transform as your eyes adjust? Does a pile of clothes on the floor become something else? Do you regret leaving the closet door partly open? Who do you think is behind the door? Do you ever ask yourself why you’re so afraid to lay in the dark, alone? Do you reach over and grab your loved one and try to bring them close enough to protect you, or does your arm find air and you realize there is no one to protect you?

Do you lay there in the dark and wonder if you forgot to turn the oven off, if you left a candle lit, or does something worse run through your mind? Do you wonder if you locked the doors? Do you think someone’s already crept in and that they are just waiting for you to go to sleep? Do you run through in your mind all the things in the room that could be used as weapons? Are there weapons scattered around the bedroom, do you hide them around the house? Is there a knife within hand’s reach from your bed, a knife on top of the dresser, knives hidden under cushions, hanging on walls, in the bathroom underneath the towels? Do you lay in bed at night, in the dark, and rummage through your safety list? Are your feet upon the bed, are your arms far from the sides, could you escape in either direction, does your bed face the door? Are there fresh batteries in the flashlight? Can you use it like a weapon if you had to? Or do these precautions only keep you from remembering why you need them? Are you afraid to return to the bed, did it cut too deep to return there? Who are you protecting yourself from? Who’s coming for you? Are they coming back tonight, or have they never left you?

Was that the door handle? Is someone turning the knob to the bedroom door? Do you hear footsteps in the hall? Is that the cat, the dog, or someone trying to walk quietly to your bedroom? And what’s that ringing in your ears, the swirling spiral in your head? Why are you ever so sensitive to any noise? Can you could hear every click from your watch across the room? Do you hear a breath drawing close? Or is it the sound of someone coming home that you fear the most? Did you wait up at night for when they came home? Did it make you feel safe when you heard the keys in the door, the sound of wood pushing against carpet? Or did you lay awake hoping the sound would never come? Did you grow accustomed to the stagger and stumble up the steps, down the hall, the sound of keys hitting a table, a jacket thrown against a chair, and those tired feet, growing closer, growing closer, growing closer; did they ever seem far enough away?

You okay my friend? There’s no one here. I’m sorry, let me continue…

Were your prayers ever answered? Or did you finally realize that there is no salvation, there is no redemption, and there is no Holy Father? Did you remember to pray for your family, for the peace, for the night ahead? Did you beg for the quiet and sleep you never got? Did you remember the priest’s words, are you a Jezebel, a whore, are you damned, is hell waiting for you with its rusted iron gates flung open? Are you waiting to go there, or have you arrived? Did you start to take comfort in being a bad child? Have you accepted it’s all your fault? Do you dress in black, do you like ghost stories, and are vampires your friends, the things that appear in the night before your bed? Do you believe you are Evil? Did you believe the things they told you in Sunday school? Do you agree with Nietzsche: “God is dead!”

Do you still smell the soured whiskey breath in your face, the dry putrid stench or Marijuana on the side of your head, warm on your ears? Do you still smell the foul stench of breath upon you, does it never leave? Or do you still bury your head in the pillow and hold your breath in fear? Do you check that you can breathe; do you take in long slow breaths to make sure nothing is choking you? Are you surprised that you can breathe? Do you remember the nights of suffocation, holding your breath, pursing lips tightly, holding not to taste? Those sweaty nights where your mouth was blocked and your nose ran and tears rolled and you thought there and then you would go blue and die? Can you still taste the warm flesh upon your mouth? Or the thick lips upon your own? Or the hairy arms across your body, holding you in place, holding you down, holding you frozen in place?

Take a deep breath in…now let it out.

Are you safe in bed now, are you older, have you learned there are no monsters under the bed, or in the closet? Can you close your eyes in the dark, in the night, and not feel a hand running up your leg? Can you open up that place inside of yourself which blocked it all out? Did you hear the footsteps drawing close at first? Did you hear the handle turn, turn, turn, so slowly, so delicately, trying not to startle you, is this how they came to you? Did you get a warning, or was your first warning the intrusion? Did you pull the covers over your head, did you hold your Winnie the Pooh closer and tighter, but the hand just kept tracing the line of your body? Did it run up your leg, around your hip, did it stroke your chest and begin to tickle your hand? And as hard callused fingers pried the covers off your head and exposed your tiny child body, did you freeze up and cringe, did you bury your face in the mattress, did you hold Winnie the pooh, tighter and tighter, did you dare think he could protect you?

And did you feel the bed dip as a weight was placed upon it and did you sink into the chasm it made? Was Winnie pried from your hands as you closed your eyes with all your might? Did you refuse to see, will you not see? WILL YOU NOT OPEN YOUR EYES? Is it too hard to see what is being done to you? Did shutting your eyes so tightly ever stop the tears, or did it make them come with greater urgency?

Please don’t leave your body my friend. You can return, it’s safe here.

Have you ever wondered if this was your last nights sleep? If this is the last time your tender feet will feel the cold smoothness of your Disney bed sheets? Is that all right with you? Did it make you happy hoping you would not awake in the morning? Was the sunlight your enemy because it signaled another day of your sentence, or have you starved yourself of daylight? Is there only night for people like you, only nightmares and dreams about the nightmare?

Did you smile when you would dream of your funeral, of being buried in the cold winter earth, of the wooden casket closing shut on you, of no one ever being able to touch you again? Could you see yourself looking down upon your pale and lifeless frame, did you smile; did you hope that there was a God who could hear this prayer? Did you hope that they would sit around your grave and finally realize the pain you were in? How long did it take you to realize no one really cared? When did you stop caring about yourself?

Go ahead; put your hand on your heart. It still beats.

Could you cry out, or did you have no voice? When you opened your mouth did no sound emerge? Was the fear upon you so great that no word could escape your lips, were you surprised by this? Did it leave you terrorized?

And when no one could hear you and no one could see you, and no one could save you, did the trauma begin? The hard lips, the fingers, the things upon you, those things in you, as you lay frozen and still, and you had not yet learned to give in, to give so it would go away…AWAY! You only wanted to be far away from there. But you had to stay there, and endure the violation of your sweet little body, your dear, dear, tenderness. As your innocence faded, and your tears became icy stares, in the time you became cold, and no one could make you feel or love, did you find relief? For as long as you’ve been living like this, was everything that was done to you, all your fault? Do you agree with him? Are you a whore, a slut, a thing, a lifeless, useless, stupid thing!

Listen to your breath…now sigh…you make a sound.

Did you disassociate? Does it surprise you that you can’t feel or love anymore? Do you remember when you could? Are you sorry? Do you blame yourself that you can’t trust, or forgive? Have you blamed the voiceless screams you let out for betraying you, did you blame your inability to fight? What could you have done, you were just a child? Do you finally realize that someone must have known, someone could have helped, but they never cared too? Who should have been there for you? And why the hell weren’t they?

Do you ever find yourself trying to convince yourself, that it doesn’t really matter, that you don’t really care? Have the years passed and you’ve found that you’ve become quite accustomed to being slapped in the face, punched in the mouth, kicked in the head? Is that how you communicate with others? Do you only relate to other people by intimidating them? Is every person you meet a threat? Can you not be in a room alone with another person when the door is shut? Do you sit there in anticipation of beating them with a fury and anger you can not describe? Do you hit the walls, do you glorify battle, and have you devoted your life to learning how to hurt others, so that no one will ever do that to you again?

Do you hate yourself? Do you tattoo, pierce, cut, slash, stab, draw on, and mutilate yourself? Do you try and make you look like you feel: ugly, unkempt, unclean, impure, unlovable, and inhuman? Are you not human any more, do the rules of being a human being no longer apply to you?

Can you drink yourself under the table; do you need to? Or is it the taste of slow death running up your arm that you long for? Do you find yourself surprised at the nameless faceless people that you sleep with? Is it safer that way, are you so content with the script you were handed, the lifestyle which has become automatic after all these years that your only sexual pleasure comes from the lack of emotional attachment you can offer? Is your only connection to humanity in degrading yourself? Does the thought of actually being loved and cared for scare you? Do you find yourself in apathetic relationships where there can not be any intimate contact? Do you grow cold and push away anyone who offers you his or her love? Do you cry? Do you shiver? Do you wish you could turn off all this fear, really internalize that they are not him, they won’t hurt you, and no one can hurt you ever again like that? Do those who try and Love you not understand why you push them away? Have you lost all your beauty, all your loveliness; is there nothing wonderful about you any more? Have you really come to believe that you have nothing left to offer anyone…your self?

Wrap your arms around your body…there is good touch.

Do you still see the eyes when you try to sleep, those sinister black eyes, so happy at your sorrow, so turned on by your defilement? Does he smile when you cry, when you beg? Did you become accustomed to seeing those eyes? Or do you still live in fear of ever having to seem again? Do you find you watch the clock at night until 3:30 comes and then you know that he has indeed gone to bed? Or do you lay there frozen and hear your soft child voice cry out “no daddy no”; does the adult in you scream “help me”, does the thing inside your head that you’ve become scream, “NO! NO! NO!”

Your hands are clenched into fists. Release them.

Do you ever lay there and wonder, is it easier to jump in front of a train or jump off a bridge and drown? Are you afraid of suffering too long? Do you think if you pulled the trigger that you would survive and things would only be worse? Do you really believe if you leapt from a thirteen story building that you would survive, and then you would have to spend the rest of your life, crippled in bed, unable to move, to get away, just like then, just like then? Have you survived your own self-destruction? Nights on the street, fights no one should have walked away from, and situations where you were certain the end had come? Are you pretty resilient for a thing, for something meant to be amusing, for a toy? Is there no escape from your past, from the memories?

When you come home, do you pet the dog, watch the Late Show, eat double stuffed Oreo’s, and fall asleep in front of the TV? Does the light from the TV make you feel safe? Why don’t you go into the bedroom and sleep like normal people do? Why can’t you put your arms around the person next to you, why can’t they love you, why do you panic when gentle hands touch you? Why do you think about hurting the person who touches you, they cant hurt you like that, no one can hurt you like that ever again? Do you still want to run away, does it ache at your heart to escape, to get going while you can? Do you find that you have no home; there is never a safe place for you? You think its best to stay on the run don’t you; to keep light of foot, in case you need to escape.

You can cry now if you need to. I know this hurts.

Do you cry at the movies? Do you cry in the morning when you first wake up? Do you long to lay your head on the lap of someone you can trust and cry all night long? But what did he tell you about crying? Do you know better than to cry, better not to tell, do you know the value of silence?

Are you comfortable in the presence of the children of the silence? Do you look into their empty and emotionless eyes and share a bond so deep that no words are needed? Are you brothers and sisters in arms? Do they understand your pain because they have been there, they’ve been abused and hurt, and left so empty that nothing can fill them up? Do you see the looks of sadness in the eyes of some and want to hold them and tell them, “It will all be okay, you’re gonna make it, you’ll endure, you’ll smile again, you’ll see through it”? Do you fall apart when they fall apart, when they give in to the life they’ve been handed, when they repeat the trauma, when they talk about hanging themselves, when they get high, when they drink themselves sick, does it anger you? Do you wanna scream, “FIGHT DAMN IT! DON’T LET HIM WIN! DON’T GIVE HIM A FUCKING INCH”? Why don’t you follow the same advice, why did you stop fighting for yourself, when did the siege end? Did you wave the white flag or were your walls breached? How long could you have endured the onslaught? Do you long to lead the survivors to safety, or are you so far gone that it’s best they stay away, is it better if you stayed on your own?

You had no power then; I know you didn’t realize it then.

Have I made any sense, have I touched the chord you’ve been afraid to hear? Will you never sleep again, or do you think you can finally slumber now that the light has been revealed? Do you realize that the reckoning has come, that it’s time to face the jury and hear the verdict? Did you know you never deserved to be on trial, you were innocent before you presumed you were guilty? Did you ever think that you were never guilty, it wasn’t your fault, you were powerless, what could you have done? It wasn’t your fault; you know that don’t you?

It wasn’t your fault.

Will you finally be free from the prison you’ve made? Will you ever ease your mind? Will your soul heal from the fingerprints and scars that have never gone away, though you tried so hard to hide them, to wipe them off? Have you been running your whole life so that you would never have to face the hurting of childhood through the eyes of an adult? Do you still feel like a child though you’re twenty, thirty, and forty? Do you speak with a child’s voice, do you surround yourself with a child’s things, toys and stuffed animals? Do you realize you’re not a child any more, that time has passed and you’ve grown, you’ve survived? Are you a lot stronger than you ever thought? Or do you still sit there and leap far away from your body, growing numb, growing cold? Do you still hate yourself because of it? After all that you’ve been through, do you still hate yourself? Do you ever wish none of this were true? Do you wish this was all a game in your head, that you could so easily let it all drift below the surface, to drown in the heart of the tempest, and never have to come up for air? Or do you ever wish you could finally find safe land and calm seas? Do you wish you never read this, that you didn’t have to face this? It all seems too much for you. Do you feel as if you are about to break, to lose your composure, to cry for your self for the first time in years? Do you wish that there was some easier way to get through this? Do you wish none of this was true?

I do.