Hello, readers. I published a post a bit ago about writing a book that exposed the thoughts that may go through a rape victim’s head. I have written a short, rough, draft of Chapter 1, and pasted it below.
My thought is to start with the thoughts of a woman during a rape pondering her relationship. So, let me know if any of what I wrote resonates with you. I am writing it from my experience, so this is what went through my head.
Any and all feedback is welcomed. I watched a movie about a poet earlier, so it’s a little abstract.
Inside Her Head
It’s not physical. Rape, that is.
I can’t feel it. Only numb tingling where there should be an explosion. My head is where the pain lies. Snipping the synapses that lead to my skin. Telling them to release their hold on my senses.
To just let my body escape this moment. I can not stop it, but I can refuse to feel it. It is the only strength he cannot take. The only resistance I have left.
It isn’t him who I resist. Who I despise. Who I wish had never walked the earth. It is me.
Me, the one too weak to stop it.
Me, the one too stupid to see it.
Me, the one too proud to leave it.
He is only human, after all. Only feeding his carnal desires. He doesn’t hide his games. No, he rigs them. Like a fixed race I am forced to gamble on and lose.
Like an addict, I cannot quit. I cannot walk away. What if he changes? If he’s truly sorry this time? If I need only love him a day longer? What if…?
These thoughts are the ones engulfing my mind. I don’t even notice when he is through. When he is satisfied. His needs are not met by me. They have nothing to do with me. I am here, only as a symbol of his power. His validation that he has some control in life.
Is this how I love him? Is this how I will save him? Do I sacrifice my body like unto a thirsty god? Loathing my own life so much I would lose it for him?
And what of forgiveness? It is not him I need forgive. The blame is squarely on my shoulders. I am the stronger one. I am the one who is changing him. The one in control. The one who can’t leave the unloved man alone. He is my pet; my project. If I fail in loving him, I have only proven my uselessness.
Where is there from here? Alone, I am nothing. A plate of seconds for an already full man. No normal person would take me as their first. Yearn for me as they do that very first bite that drops into an empty belly.
I am used. One would consider me as they would a pair of shoes in a thrift store. Only the most desperate opting to dirty their feet with the filth of a stranger.
So, I stay. I am determined to love. His love would mean so much to me. A fulfillment I cannot describe. The key to unlock my desire to live again. To explore and laugh and drink up the sun.
Perhaps this is why I keep going. I keep loving because I think he is the same. I believe once my love is good enough for him, then he will be free to be the good in himself. The angry, domineering man would melt away into the one behind the facade of strength.
Is this why I feel like I have failed? That he has not changed- because my love isn’t true? Am I really the useless woman he says I am?
I must be. I can’t even love a monster.
And then there’s the pity and the judgment. “You’re too good for him.” “He doesn’t deserve you.” “Why don’t you leave him?”
If I was too good for him, wouldn’t he be a changed man? Wouldn’t my love have made a difference? If I am the great woman you say I am, why has he stayed a monster? Either he is lying or you are. And his lies are my normal.
So I stay. I live in the shadows. I work around him. Speak around him. Live around him. Nothing is done except through him. Never with him, and never intruding on his throne.
He has no god. He says he does. He says his god would want this. But he is his own god. He worships himself. He satisfies himself. He requires sacrifice and repentance, giving none in return.
How can I find solace in a god, when a god is what torments me?
How can you say this is easy? To leave the one who gives me all that I have? That is what a god does, after all. Sustains and protects. Requires much, but offers only your breath in return to keep breathing.
Can I leave that behind? Would I leave with a breathing body? Is there a place on earth free from his omniscience?
And what would I do with myself? Put the broken pieces of my soul in a bottle, and drink them back up? Watch them fade in a puff of smoke? Or perhaps inject them back into my blood in the hopes of regaining even a hint of life?
How is this easy? Who are you to tell me to leave him? You can’t hear my questions, and you can’t answer what you cannot hear. I am alone in my asking, and without a soul to help in my search for truth. I hunt quietly for it, and can find it everywhere and nowhere.
Is it the devil who wants me to stay, or God? And which wants me to leave?
I am back inside my head again, with my god inside of me. I will never have an answer so long as I must distract myself with questions.