Someone suggested I write “a letter” to my Mother.
To the mother that everyone thinks is a saintly pillar of our community:
Its been 20 years since he laid a hand on me. But you know that. You know that’s why I moved to the South. You know that’s why I ran to war torn Yugoslavia. You know why I moved across the country to be with someone I had never met and why I stayed in that violent relationship for years.
But do you know how much of that is on you? When I have flashbacks, sometimes it is your face I see.
It plays out in my head every day. You heard something on the baby monitor and walked in my room. He was on top of me and I didn’t understand why. I thought you came to help.
You made eye contact with me and then you walked out the door and closed it behind you.
When you sat me down in the TV room to explain my punishment, my spirit died.
“How would you like it if you saw *** on top of me like that?”
What did you mean? Were you jealous? That is disgusting. Both of you are disgusting. And you made me disgusting.
I still feel it. Him. Physically. . .there. . it is him I feel but you who I see.