Wednesday, January 6, 2010

Angels

*I wrote this along with Nobody.  We share this experience, with her carrying the bulk of the hurt, so it's only right to let her write and share her part as well*

Dead angels.

I have heard that screamed every day and night for years.

There are three of them.  Three dead angels.  I was bad; a whore to be exact.  Tiny orange pills were to keep me safe.  Green ones gave my body a break.  I did not take the pills like I should have.  They made me sick. 

After one dead angel I was supervised.  I became the master of the hidden pill.  A bitter taste swelling under my tongue was worth the deception of a calm stomach.  I didn't really understand the mechanics of the orange and green.  Had I known, perhaps the nausea would have made sense.

Sinner... whore... murderer... hell... bloody images...

Their words, their signs, their chants, their pictures; they seared my young heart.   Perched on a metal chair, next to my angry mother, I really had no idea what to expect.  The room was filled with other anxious women, a few boyfriends, out of date magazines, and somehow all eyes followed a crooked path to me.  I did not belong.  I was just a kid with a really big secret. 

It was my turn as I blindly followed a nurse behind a swinging door.  With a hushed and hateful whisper my mother sent me off alone. 

You disgust me...  I know.  Me too.

In another metal chair I said that I understood what had happened and what was going to happen.  My mother's hurried signature allowed them to take care of my problem.  No one seemed to care how old I was and no one ever wondered how I got into this mess.  They knew what I had known for years.  I was a whore, no questions asked.

Two dead angels later, I knew what was going on.  Tired of metal chairs, The Christians, flimsy gowns, and whispered assumptions, I hid this one.  With no real plan I dressed a little bigger and prayed that something would save me.  And save the angel.

His wandering eyes and hands caught me this time.  She refused to take me.  She refused to be humiliated again.  It was his turn. 

This time it was different.  He was caring and concerned.  He rubbed my back and I was scared.  This angel was older and this was not as easy.  Pain... more bleeding... heavier sedation... stay home from school... I pretended not to hear these medical suggestions.

Quietly the room began to shift.  The walls began to twist and soon I did not mind the flimsy gown, the bright lamp, or the gasping machine.  I was not alone this time.  He stood next to me and stroked my hair.  I closed my eyes and another angel died.

In the car, we did not go home.  I waited in the car and he checked us into a motel.  Relieved that I did not have to go back to school this time, I closed my eyes again and woke up in a musty room, naked on a tortured bed.

He was sitting next to me and as my eyes focused, I could squarely see the reason we were there.  He stroked my face and placed his hand upon my cramping stomach.  The warmth of his hand felt good against my pain.  He pressed harder and leaned in closer.  The care had left his eyes and though I searched, all I could find was lust and selfishness.  I wanted to go back to school.

I closed my eyes again and wished for more sedation.

*I(Nobody)  open my eyes and he is fucking me.  He likes the sloppy remnants of the day.  In and out until his eye squint and lurch up into his head.  Bastard.  He fucks us up and now this.  I fucking hate him.  I am Nobody and I have taken her place.  Enough is enough and now he gets to deal with me. 

He is finished as he withdraws and with a sneer he says that he doesn't have to worry about knocking us up.  What a nice day for him.  I feel like shit so I close my eyes to rest. 

I awake to find his stubby hands running up and down the body.  I try to ignore the pain but it is not going to go away.  In he is as I wince and grit my teeth with pain.  He thrusts harder and I don't know how long I am going to be able to hang on.  With my hands I twist the scratchy sheets to cling to something.  In a quickened moment he is out as I feel the body's insides collapse into the void he left.

In one more moment his face is buried between our legs as he forces them further apart to make more room for his bastard body.  He is there, at the near-center of the pain.  We aren't the filthy one; he is.  I am becoming more and more upset.  I don't do upset but this is just fucking awful.  New secrets are being born today, those that I will have to keep for myself.

My mind drifts away as he continues his play.  I don't understand the point of this or what pleasure he is getting.  He is a freak and I want him to stop.  And now, as if he heard my thoughts, he raises up and I am horrified at the sight of what is on his lips.  I raise up on my elbows and dig my heels into the lumpy bed only to escape into the headboard.  He crawls forward and leans over and towards me.  He forces his face upon mine, lips to my quivering lips, and he thrusts his putrid tongue into my mouth. 

I feel as though we will suffocate and I begin to hope we will.  I twist my head to get away and that makes him fight even harder.  After minutes of eternity, he pulls away.  Hot tears are streaming down my face and I have lost my cool.  I have failed her.  He sits back on his heels and smiles a bloody smile.  I smear my tears away as he leans in again. 

As his lips near mine again, he tells me what I already know.

Taste your baby...

Fuck him.

30 comments:

Jupiter Family said...

Happy New Year !!!

2010 New Year's Fireworks show

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shadyrae said...

That is SUCH a horrible horrible memory. I am SO sorry you when through with that. My god you are strong.

svasti said...

What incredible evil. I don't know if I have anything else to say about this post. Sending you and Nobody big warm hugs!

sarah said...

I'm sorry Shattered. I'm really sorry. Praying for you....to be ok. Sarah

Leigh Hall said...

What you have shared is unimaginable devastation. I am so, so sorry for what you were forced to endure. They didn't love you right and you suffered greatly.. still do! I welcome your visits to my blog. I appreciate your comment and hope that my blogging will continue to help you and give you a voice. God bless you and your precious little girl. So often I think about how my ministry was born out of my mother's pain and lack of recovery. Her story became part of my story, as the abuse imposed itself onto the next generation May you be one who stands up, gives a voice to sexual abuse and makes the world a better place... beginning with protecting and loving your daughter! God bless you.

maggie said...

I'm wondering how it feels for you to write about these horrendous experiences? Reading Angels I feel shock, compassion, revulsion and love. My heart goes out to you on your healing journey.

Deborah said...

That you were later able to conceive and carry to term (I presume) a child must be something you are immensely grateful for. I read in an earlier post that the damage you suffered affected your daughter's delivery - I sometimes wonder how on earth you survived the physical brutality, never mind the psychic trauma.
The abortion I had at 18 was not a traumatic experience and although I still often wonder who that child might have turned out to be, I am not haunted by the memory. I wish you peace and release from your memories, Jennifer.

Friko said...

I simply cannot understand how nobody picked up on any of this. Children do not become pregnant several times without social services stepping in. How on earth was this allowed to go on?

I read back over all of your posts, one short sentence really shook me; you said that every time he rings you hope he will say that he admits his guilt. For heaven's sake, do you speak to him? If you speak to him why is he not in prison; or why is he not dead?

The horror of it all is unblievably hellish.

Shattered said...

Shady, I'm not really that strong; I just didn't know any differently.

Shattered said...

Svasti, he was incredibly evil. He still is...

Shattered said...

Sarah, thank you for your prayers. This has stirred up a lot in me that is really tough to manage. If I could avoid being in the same room with myself, I would.

Shattered said...

Leigh, one of the main things that keeps me going is my daughter. I don't want her to grow up with a mother like the one I had. I know that my own mother was damaged and I know that that had a lot to do with how I was raised. Thank you for what you write about.

Shattered said...

Maggie, it feels awful to write about this. It is pure poison that hurts even as I purge it out of my own memory. Honestly, I have had a very rough time since I posted this; so much has been stirred up. Thank you for visiting my blog.

Shattered said...

Deborah, it was a miracle that I conceived and carried my daughter. I never expected that I would have children; I figured that physically that would be impossible plus I thought that I would be punished for what I did with the prior pregnancies.

Honestly, I don't know how I survived. I really don't. When I read my life here in black and white, I'm sickened and overwhelmed. Like I said earlier, the "how" doesn't make sense. However, I guess some of how I managed was by shattering...

Shattered said...

Friko, I don't understand it either. I was a teenager at this point so I guess in the 90's, with teen pregnancy rates where they were, I was just another statistic.

Child Protective Services was not good; I had multiple dealings with them growing up and with my family's appearance and then me lying for them, I guess I screwed myself out of help. I came from a well respected "Christian" family where I guess these things just could not have happened. I don't know... I have always struggled with why I was never helped.

It's a really long story as to why my father still calls me. I don't know where he is and yes, he was arrested at one point. I haven't talked to him in some time and it is getting easier to not talk to him.

It is hellish and like I have told others, I am really struggling after writing this and seeing it in black and white.

English Rider said...

I didn't sleep much after reading this last night. How much worse it must be to have lived it. Your posts often quietly mention bystanders and I always imagine a question mark, as part of the image you paint. How could others fail to protect you? At the time, that question must have been an additional hurt to bear. The answer doesn't matter any more, as long as you are not turning blame or responsibility on yourself.
Do you have any ideas on how to change the statute of limitations on abuse so that more of the silent ones can be heard?
I think your writings are strong and well written, worth compiling in a book one day. Hugs and courage to you.

Annie Coe said...

Oh honey. I am heart broken again and again by what that horrible man did to you. What evil your parents were and are. I don't believe in hell, and I am not a vengeful person, but I would very much like to see them burn in hell, actually hell would be way too good for them.
I am hoping that one day you can put it all away and behind you so you can live your now beautiful life, I don't want you to miss it.
Sending a million hugs.xoxo

Deborah said...

Jennifer, after reading your replies to the comments, I will not wonder too much if you are silent for a while. Be careful with yourself. If this outpouring is not good for you, then reconsider it. Perhaps there is a fine line between talking about things in order to purge them, or the talking having the opposite effect.

Shattered said...

ER, I do frequently blame myself but that's another story... I don't know much about the statutes; I turned my dad in shortly before they expired for my own situation bu it didn't go very far. It would be nice if there were unlimited statutes; the damage of abuse lasts a lifetime so why should the statutes be limited?

Shattered said...

Annie, I hope too that one day I can put this all behind me... or at the least, it won't torment and hurt as much.

Shattered said...

Deborah, I think I'm OK. This is the longest amount of time that I have consistently allowed myself to feel things on purpose and while it is very hard, I'm making it somehow.

This particular memory has always been really difficult to carry and even more difficult since I had my daughter. These are the days that I truly hate my father. I'm not torn right now between loving him and hating him and that's probably more healthy than loving him in denial. I guess there's no real formula for this process other than day by day. It sure does suck sometimes, though...

~a--n--g~ said...

starting to follow your blog. I am also a puzzle being put back together...keep fighting. you WILL make it to wholeness.


ang

A human kind of human said...

"...shattered into one piece..." You say you are religiously confused, that is okay with me, we all have to start somewhere and at least you are not religiously dead. Back to the quote: It immediately reminded me of the story of the potter that shatters his own creation in order to start over and make a new one. Maybe that is exactly what is happening to you. Forgive my straightforwardness, I do not mean to offend, but this thought was so strong when I read the quote, I just felt I had to mention it. Keep in mind that I am speaking out of my own position which is also a "work in progress".

Journal of Healing said...

Thank you for protecting her, Nobody. You did a damn good job.

Ruth said...

The tension between a non-human monster, and a human woman who keeps surviving, keeps giving me hope that we can survive anything.

Shattered said...

Ang, I am glad to have you here. Putting things back together is really hard isn't it? I look forward to getting to know you better. You have a really powerful blog!

Shattered said...

A Human, you are right, at least I'm not religiously dead. There is a glimmer of life there...

I like your illustration; my life feels very much like a starting over process in being pieced back together. Thank you for your visit and your encouragement. :)

Shattered said...

Journal, yes, Nobody did a very good job of protecting me. She still does...

Shattered said...

"The tension between a non-human monster, and a human woman who keeps surviving, keeps giving me hope that we can survive anything."

Ruth, I hope you are right. I really do.

Journal of Healing said...

btw, Shattered...Journal is me, ang...i just changed my name on it so that i could have more anonymity. At least when people are on my blog...

ang