Old pictures are not fun when you have grown up like I have. Old pictures are reminders of things that have happened and things that you never had. Some pictures are reminders of all the things that are hidden behind the smile. Things are so confusing and There are so many feelings and emotions wrapped into one picture that someone took to remember a moment, so many of those moments hold memories and parts of stories that sting like a million little stingers all going for your heart. The one in the living room, where that brown chair is . The one where he was sitting there with his headphones on, his leg over the side and my mother kneeling in front of him, making him happy. I was the one crying alone in pain and she was with .him the one who was the reason for the pain. I was in my room in pieces he has raped me and I couldn't stop crying, I was lost somewhere between needing the tears to stop and feeling the pain of what was done. I was left so my fathers needs would be taken care of. I knew there was no one that was going to save me, there was no one that was on my side. There was not a place for me to be safe and sound. Just keep quiet and do what your told. And why in the world did I even know what was happening in that chair ? I wanted to run to him, make him proud that I never said a word about what he had done.
The picture that was on your wall as child. The one that was in your parents wedding. The picture where you would get lost and pretend to hide behind the rocks and the building looking for someplace anyplace safe. Everything looked so fun, so bright and there were flowers everywhere of all different shapes. All was well with the world in that picture , when everything in my world was being torn to sheds. I would get lost in that painting as I was being raped by my monster of a father, pretending to be so far away, pretending that I lived in a picture like that and I was safe to play.
The kitchen were my mother stood, at the stove as I was assaulted for the first time by Albert. Right in front of my own house. I hid behind the screen door, wanting her to notice, wanting her to come and look for me. I was so close, I can remember watching the steam and thinking him too ? Why another man and still no one to see me and keep me safe ? One rapist was enough in a little life of 5.
The living room where I was gang raped and tied to the couch. That room felt so much bigger back then, as I laid under the fan repeating their names over and over. Don, Chris, Steve Mike and Andy. Andy was the kind one, often not taking his turn. Sometimes he would pretend and for that I was grateful. He was the one who ended up untying my arms, finally standing up to Don. In hell he was the ounce of kindness; I truly believe the reason that I was alive.
The fireplace where I used to pretend to be wonder woman, and I would have on my under-roos and for a short time pretend like I was able to save the world. I would spin and spin wanting to make the bad guys go away, wanting to use my lasso and catch the monster keeping everyone safe, Such an imagination, I just wanted to be free and safe.
The dining room table that I had to climb on ; where I had to lay down and pills were shoved down my throat. Well he tried. His scratchy nails so ragged tearing my throat to the point it was bleeding. But that day was a small victory for me. As hard as he tried, and as I fought laying on the table, he couldn't make me swallow them. He was beyond furious, and finally let me off the table. I didn't even use the chair to get down. The more he tried , the worse it got. But that day I won. I never did swallow those pills. I was quite proud of myself, looking at the half melted capsules melting in my hand. My throat was sore for days, but there was a piece of me that felt victorious and I enjoyed every second.
You see these are what pictures can do when you grow up in the ways that I did. Today my heart is not ok. My heart is broken that the little victories that I felt were moments of mere survival in a life filled with so much unimaginable. So here's to the pictures, the ways I survived and for no one helping that little one that only wanted to be loved. Fuck all of you. Fuck you.
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