My mother has the prettiest hands. When she isn't hurting me with them.
Long and slender with perfectly manicured nails. Her fingers always seem so skilled to cook, sew, and play the piano. Those are the things she does when she isn't so crazy and angry.
Today I'm a dirty girl. He has left his stinging warmth behind and it must be washed away. Shame has a color and it's red. I try to hide it but she sees. I can't pretend that she doesn't already know but it's the game I have to play.
Look at you... what a dirty girl... you are getting blood on my bath mat... you disgusting whore.
Her words sting just as bad as he does. I wish her hands would help me. Comfort me. Love me. I stand in the tub of water waiting for her to tell me when it's time to sit. Her calloused hands touch my shoulders as she forces me backwards onto the tiny corner of a ledge where the tub meets the wall. My head hits the tiles and my eyes burn with tears.
I am sitting on that little ledge as her beautiful hands force my legs apart at the knees. Her slender fingers no longer feel so slender. Her manicure is razor sharp as she plunges into my shame. I shift my eyes and work to melt into the calm, white tiles around me.
Look at me... watch what you make me do.
Her manicure is red as she writes my words on the tiles.
dirty...
whore...
I tear my eyes away and feel flush with those tiles. I sink even further as those cold, white tiles become my greatest comfort. I feel her hand but only as a glancing touch. I hear her screams but only as a whisper. I watch that little girl so far away and I am numb to her hate.
I wish that I could stay this way forever.
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6 comments:
Jennifer, sometimes I'll just have to say that I've been here and read you. There is little else I could say that would be in any helpful except that I'm listening to you. And supportive of you.
Such sick cruelty in a mother makes me gasp. Thank God you've survived your demonic parents, even if you've had to remove yourself with dissociation. I long to go into the scene and rescue that dear child.
I imagine it was shaming and abuse that shaped your parents. With your honesty you've broken the cycle, to the huge benefit of your new family. That is incredibly hard to do and I hope you can take comfort from it.
Hands. So much happen by way of them. I have blogged about this often. Journaled about this often. Think of this...often.
Keep getting it out. Get the toxic shit out. May you be filled with a new reality as you do.
Journal of Healing.
Deborah, sometimes listening is the perfect thing to do. Thank you.
Deselby, I'm trying my very best to not be them and change things for my daughter. Thanks for your comment.
Journal, thank you. Writing really does help doesn't it?
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