IT HAPPENED TO ME!

Yes it did. And for the life of me i could not fathom what I  had done to deserve such cruelty. But no! No one deserves it. No one deserves an attack upon their person, an invasion of their privacy and a violation of their peace of mind no matter what you did, unless you are the scoundrel who hurts, abuses, steals and kills for own personal gain.

CRIME! No matter how small, how minuscule, how irrelevant it may seem to the next person, the victim carries the scars of shame and guilt for eternity. The "what-ifs" torture and torment their soul and leaves them fearing the worst. It doesnt matter how many times you've experienced the humiliation, the hurt and the violation, the memories of every encounter never really leave you. Years later, the scars disappear and the wounds heal but the memories remain. With every blink of the eye, every night in the silence of ones thoughts, one is forced to relive the torture. Not because one wants to but because such things are engraved so deep in ones being that it becomes impossible not to. Forgetting is not even a possibility, more like a rare fantasy. Moving on is essential though. The tears dry and you learn to sleep with the lights off and sometimes you can even fake a smile but the event on its own never leaves you. It stays. The criminals live and forget about what they did to you but you, the victim, you are forced to somehow go on.

Support groups and therapy and all similar prescribed rubbish all tell  you the same thing, that you must be thankful he didn't kill you. They tell you to stop crying and appreciate that you're still alive

Really? Are you sure that's what you want to say to me? He didn't kill me? I must be thankful I am still alive? Don't you see? No, I'm not alive and yes he did kill me. I close my eyes and I see his face. The door shuts behind me and I scream with fear. What kind of life am I living, if one at all?
Who and what have I become?  I am afraid of the dark. I am afraid of my own laughter because I know that if I get too happy someone will want to take it away. So, don't you DARE tell me I should be thankful I am still alive. You weren't there, you didn't see what I saw, you didn't feel what I felt. Its shameful that we share a society with such beasts.

I am angry, I am hurt. I have been violated. Don't you see? You don't have the right to tell me it will be okay because it won't. You don't know how I feel.

Society has become numb to such intimate invasions. We have categorized these heinous crimes and placed them in order of what we see as important. HAS SOCIETY LOST ITS MIND???

An attack is an attack. No one asks for these things to happen and when they do then everyone else is suddenly an expert. We are women and an invasion of our space and privacy is no less important than that of the previous or next person.

I am a victim of crime! I am a victim of invasion of privacy and violation of my fundemental right to safety.What happened, you may ask? Does it matter? Does it really matter?

IT HAPPENED TO ME!

Now I sit and cry. Don't you dare tell me how to feel. This is me! Go tell him how to handle women and their belongings, but not me. Don't tell me how to handle my feelings.

IT HAPPENED TO ME!
Is anyone hearing me? Is anyone understanding what I'm saying? ME!!! It wasn't a book I read, it wasn't a television drama, it wasn't  a story I heard. I was there. It happened to me.

Just because I am strong and I can somehow handle it doesn't make it okay. You have no right! This is me! Who the hell do you think you are doing what you did?

IT HAPPENED TO ME!

I saw it, I felt it, I heard it, I lived it.

Apparently I am lucky I am still alive. HA. HA. If this is alive I want very little of it. The fear, the constant worrying, the verge of tears I live on, the "what-if-its-him?" mantra I sing in my head when I see someone who even closely resembles the beast. Is it not enough? Listening to my own heartbeat is scary. I am terrified of being alone.

I am scared out of my mind! Why? Because I know what I'm talking about. It happened to me!

DEATH DO NOT BE PROUD

Death do not be proud. Do not boast and say you have the last laugh, do not be conceited. Your reign lasts only a short while, your hand a mere passage way to eternity. Death, you are not victorious. Death, you have not succeded.

What to say to a friend who has lost a dear family member? When is "I am sorry" simply not good enough? Can you honestly say you understand what they are feling and going through when you did not, could not, grasp the depth of the relationship they shared? Are you then a bad friend for not speaking when they came to you for confidence?

I swallow my own tears and begin to write.

How do we deal with death? Is it even possible to accept the fact that the one person who knew you so well, who carried you when you failed and who rejoiced with you in times of triumph, is simply gone?? How do you say "rest in peace" and "I'll make you proud" with a clear heart when our minds are full of doubts and questions? Why does it happen the way it does? Why does death come at a time so least expected and in a manner so unfathomable? The things we see on television, a terrible reality today.

Death, do not be proud. You have not succeeded.

The Bible gives us instructions and teaches us how to deal with such eventualities. We live in a cruel and harsh world. We are forced to deal with the fact that death is not something for the grow-ups. It is a reality. Our reality. A cold, harsh and bitter suitor we live with. It isn't fair, not one bit. The questions the survivors are left with, the financial expenses, the emotional turmoil the children go through, the grief, the pain, the suffering, oh why??

Is it perhaps something we have done? Is it perhaps our fault? Do we deserve it? How can we fix it? Can we turn back the clock and fixed where we wrongd before it happened? But we were good, surely the heavens know that? So then why all this pain and suffering?

Oh death, you are so cruel.
Did you not see? Do you not realise that you have taken a gem, a rare and precious jewel, the heartbeat of the family? A father, a husband, an uncle, a brother and a friend. All that, now gone!

Death, do not be proud. You have not won.

No amount of words can truly express how sorry I am to the bereaved family, friends and colleagues. Death is never an easy topic to talk about. It is, among other things, painful to the core and scary beyond comprehension. I am truly sorry for your loss and I pray God comforts you and gives you peace in this time of emotional turmoil.

Death is only a phase. A passage way to eternity; a place where it has no more power. Its hand rules over this life, a mere short while before it is rendered powerless in the next world. Death cannot be proud for it lives off the misery of others. It is controlled by, as many a poem have said, misfortune, drugs, illness, age and fate.

Death do not be proud. Soon you will be powerless as there is no place for you in the afterlife.

To my dear friends, I am sorry I had no words of comfort. I am sorry I could not hug you and tell you it was going to be okay. I felt I had no right to say things I had no certainty over and I did not want to lie to you. I am sorry for your loss. I will keep you and your family in my thoughtsand prayers always. I pray for peace and comfort in this time of worry and panic. The Lord is forever in control. Trust in Him always.

"...hard working hands at rest, God broke our hearts to prove that He only takes the best..."

He raised you to be the best you could be and watched you blossom into strong, intelligent young men. Go on and make him proud, he is counting on you!!!

Growing Pains

Sometimes I wish I were a songwriter. It looks so easy to put your feelings, thoughts and fears into a song.

"Therapy" they call it. Oh well, it works for the then and then intensities.

So, here I am .Its almost two o' clock in the morning, I just put down an amazing book I've been reading for a little too long, and over and above that; I'm left alone in the darkness. So I shove in my headphones, grab my laptop and begin to write.

I guess it burns more when you switch on the lights and realise that it isn't the physical and tangible darkness that terrifies you, but its the ghosts you carry around lurking in the crevices of your innards.  Its not the loud and random bangs that make you jump but rather the silence. Its not the fear of seeing someone else behind you in the mirror,but that of looking and seeing yourself. An empty shell, a shadow, a mere reminder of what used to be.

Its not the fear of people seeing you cry, it is the knowledge that you are all cried out and you cannot cry no matter how much yo wanted to.

The only thing worse than feeling itself, is the lack thereof.

The terrifying and bitter cold that your spine has long gotten used and even made friends with, the violent whirlwinds of flashbacks and memories that encompass your mind day and night, the emptiness that clouds the base of your stomach. It is the kind that cannot be filled, the kind that makes your toes curl and your eyes itch. No, its not hunger, its not sadness, its not anger, its not frustration, its not depression, its NOTHING!!

I haven't written in a long time, not because I had nothing to say, but because I had so much it was impossible to structure it properly. So many nights I lay awake until the sun came up, wishing for something different to happen. So many mornings I'd fall asleep and meet the same demons I so badly wanted to bury.

The memories, the flashbacks, the people and places.Whatever happened??

The little girl who would stay up late playing cards with her grandmother and discussing literature with her grandfather. Where is she? The bright spark who did crossword puzzles and word searches with her mom on Friday evenings. What happened to her?

I miss the girl who had dreams of becoming a vet an author. When did we decide to grow up?

I use the word 'decide' with extreme caution. I honestly believe growing up is a decision. One made by uneducated and over excited teenagers, but a decision nevertheless.

You can wake up one morning and realise you are totally different from who and what you were last night. Baggy eyes from all night texting? That's not even half of what I'm talking about!!

You look in the mirror and discover that growing up isn't half as exciting as you thought it would be and had imagined. It's almost as if things changed overnight, or even closer to home; that you changed overnight.

Its a terrifying and bitter sad reality.

So when does this rapid growth begin ? When you finally agree to do what everyone else id doing even though you know with every fibre in your entirety it is wrong to the core?Is it perhaps when you start wearing make-up and noticing the opposite sex?  Well, answers differ from each individual to the next.

I realised I had grown up when I saw the first line of blood on my wrist. It was the 21st July 2008 and I was 14. The winter was bitter and the wind was painful. I sat with my stepbrother outside and watched him smoke. I remember feeling absolutely NOTHING!!! I didn't want to tell on him, I didn't want to try it out because of curiosity, I simply didn't care. I didn't care about him, about me or anything else for that matter.

I had bought the razor blades a few days prior, but I had been flirting with the idea for months.

I walked inside the house house and locked my bedroom door. I don't think I wanted to die. I think I wanted to believe that I did. I just wanted to scream.

I had made so many decisions, been in so many situations, saw things no child my age was supposed to. I knew i was going to drown. I needed to scream, I needed to cut. And I did.

The blood seeped through and I knew I wasn't a child anymore. I couldn't have been.

Where I come from, children didn't speak of death. It was the greatest taboo ever. But there I was; not thinking about it, not talking about it, but actually wanting it. Or at least a little piece of it, if possible. I had made my bed and it was time to lie in it.

I could've stayed a child for as long as possible, but it had to happen some day. I CHOSE to expose myself to things I knew would mess with my mind. I knew the difference between right and wrong and still I chose to do wrong. I CHOSE to grow up.

Now my decisions haunt me. Years later, the consequences won't let me rest. The guilt, the shame, the foolishness. Oh please, let me go!!

I could cry and until I'm blue and purple and say I want my childhood back, but yeah right I can see how that is going to work out. So what then is the solution? For myself and those who share a story similar to mine? Well, there isn't one really. We are adults now. Perhaps a little too soon, perhaps too late but it is what it is.

We had the strength to step away from childhood, surely we have the strength to walk in big shoes. Nothing is ever as it seems and sometimes the wrong wrong decisions lead us to the right places.

I found an opening and I used it. I found my escape and I'm getting there slowly but surely. I found a way to truly smile without pretence.

Do I know what I'm doing? Nope! But I do know that I'm trying and that's enough for now.

As I switch off the lights and wish my demons and ghosts a good night. They are mine now, I made them.