I had to hold his cross

 

All this time later, this is a thought, feeling memory that seems stuck.  The guilt that I felt, the horror I experienced, and I was the one who felt responsible for having to hold his cross as he raped me. It was my fault that I had to hold it, you know.  We couldn't wake anyone up. I was just a little thing; my arm was so cold.  I hated that cross and everything that it stood for. As he raped me, hurting me, tears flowed down my face. Waiting for it to be over, I held his cross so it didn't make any noise. I was maybe 6 or 7.  The shame in that and the fear for my mother when they went into the bedroom, and I would hear that same cross.  I was afraid for her, sorry that he was hurting her too.  I didn't realize that she was an adult and I was a child.  I just knew he did the same thing to both of us.  I understood her need to keep secrets, I understood, her fear the only difference is that she was an adult able to make choices that I was not provaledged too. 

I sit here, my stomach is in knots; where is this coming from today.  I have talked about it before, I have cried I have felt, such intense shame that I even knew what was expected and today this year I turn 50 and it makes my stomach quesy.  I can feel him after all this time. I close my eyes and the pictures are so clear, so vivid.  The look on his face, his eyes were closed; he was getting enjoyment from what he was doing to me. What a fucking monster.  Hold my cross as I rape you so no one hears the chain around my neck. I took in every second, every millisecond, trying to make sense, trying to understand, wishing that he would be done soon. That makes me want to run forever and smash things. It makes me want to do whatever is necessary to get that memory, that feeling out of my head.  It's one of those devastating moments that is crushing.  How does a person survive that?  I am on the other side and all these years older, but it replays just as clearly as it was in the present.  It isn't in my present, and not often does it even come to mind, but when it does, it is just as hurtful, just as painful.  I was just a girl. 

Sure, go to church, they say; believe in god, they say.  Do it because it's just the right thing to do.  This is not the right thing for me.  This is not a god that I want to believe in.  This is not something that I believe is going to save me.  I don't need saving; I need to stop being raped. I look around at where I am today, and that little girl never imagined anything different.  She never imagined a safe place; she never imagined a place to call her own where no one was ever going to do those things to her. I can't and won't believe in a god that lets such things happen.  A little girl holding something that is supposed to be sacred, as her body is being degraded and used in the most unthinkable ways. Yet, I am supposed in that kind of thought?  No, I do not and never have.

I have gotten myself here where I am and fought for everything. I can remember a woman who commented on a Facebook post that I had made it because of GOD.  I thought for a few days, and responded I understand your views, but I am not here because of any god that I know.  I am here because I chose to survive, I chose to fight, and I chose to make sure that others after me have better care than what I was given. I was unfriended by many that day, and I am not sorry and will not apologize. I am not going to pretend or keep my thoughts to myself.  I made it because I knew I wanted more.  I made it because even when things were at their worst, I wanted better. 

Someday, I hope that the pictures aren't vivid, clear, and hurtful. Someday, just not today. 

I heart your heart.