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diaryland
(Happy Birthday to me?}
{2003-09-13} {10:26 a.m.}
I remember as a child wanting to persue dreams of almost any nature. That hustle and bustle of fantasies. I also remember Christmas and birthdays. Nothing really great about them to tell you the truth- honestly I always dreaded the holidays. Sure we'd put up the Christmas tree, enjoying the fun of it- but the fun always ended just as fast as it began. Asshole Tommy would come home from work in one of his award winning foul moods. Strange how he always took his frustrations out on me. He hated me and I knew it. He favored my lil sis. She stole his heart- not that I thought he ever had one. He was always taking her places and letting her do things, while he pushed and beat on me. Even after him screaming at me that only whores wore make-up he went out and bought her tons of it. I was jealous, and I hated him. My mother and him both worked in Atlanta- the heart of dixie as some would say. I still remember my 1st ride downtown, riding through the cingested traffic, seeing wals ans miles of faces pass by; people in their bust mecganical mode of going to work. I often wondered what my career would be - I wanted to be so many things and ended up being everything I'm not.
I also remember my 16th birthday just like it happened yesterday.
September was a time of schorching heat, and the heat would steal the oxygen right from your lungs the minute you stepped foot in it. Summer, that vicious green bitch would always flex her muscles and flatten Georgia. It didn't take much. The town I lived in had been nothing but a dusty fly- speck on a map anyway. Flat land and red clay- never did amaze me when a farmer couldn't prosper- it was always amazing when they did.
I'd had a long, hot, tiring day at highschool that day and I was actually calm in the thought of going home. I would get to steal some peace and traquility before the bastard got home. He always got home before Mom. The pity of it all. Oh well..
I got off of the bus and landed right into the stealthing heat of the day, down by the train tracks. Trains were always propped up there on the tracks as if they were a prop in a play of some sort- seemed like they would sit there for eternity. So I confirmed my 20 minute walk home as the wind, hot and stiffling, blew across my cheeks, I even tried to allow my lungs to suck in the heat; and failed miserably. The heat was a little more than I cared for in the South. The smell of tar melting on the roads, hot rising gusts of wind that bit your skin with dirt. You knew it was scorching and the temperature was well over 100. Damn weather man.
I would often spend those minutes walking alone thinking thoughts, daydream about nothing, or curse the fact the ass was going to be home soon and I had to have my chores done before he came home. I hated the driveway, that stretched on for like ever making you feel like you walked a good mile before you even placed your foot on the first step.
I let myself inside, let out a massive sigh and prepared myself for the usual shit that would take place just as it did everyday. The screaming and hurtful words. I knew I had to do my chores or I would have hell to pay... and I had paid planty on them before. But not on this day. It was my birthday and I would be damned if I was going to do a god damn thing and I headed down to the creek behind the house. I figured I could sit on a log and listen to the water. There's something magical, so calming watching water ripple over rock and stone, forming a life all its own as it traveled off into nowhere... and endless now here and I fell into the rythmn of it. I was mesmerized and lost myself in the quiet sound of it all, even the rustling of the wind blowing through the trees. I was lost in something, and I closed my eyes and drifted off to sleep.
Waking to a smack across the face was far from what I had intened to wake to. As soon as my stomach muscles untightened, I gripped myself for the fear that was setting in. Looking up all I could see was hate rippling through his eyes, and muscles tightening over his face with his jaw set, and his teeth clenching. He said to me in a hot voice that sent shivers down my spine, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"
Fear waved over me, and began to make me feel nauceous "I just wanted to sit here for a little while. That's all. I didn't mean --" The flash of his hand pounded me, and I felt a sting in my eyes starting to form. Fighting back and swearing I closed my eyes. He wasn't getting any tears from me. "Bastard" I mumbled, and I scrambled to my feet. Then he laughed, low and quiet, and edged closer. When I saw the intent in his eyes, I opened my mouth to sream. His hand whipped out, grabbed a hand of my hair pulling me backwards. The yanking had my scream gurgling into a gasp. His free hand hand circled my throat, squeezed.
"I always take what I want. Even whores"
I hit him, slapped, bit. And when I drew in air I screamed. He tore at my shirt, pawing at my breasts. And I began to cry, silently. The first quiver of fear pierced through the pain. All I saw was the water and the thick black cluster of leaves. I tried to scream, but choked on tears.
"I've had my eye on you. I wondered how soon we'd get together like this. Romantic, isn't it? And we're all alone, you and me. All lone. Let's have sex"
Paralyzed with fear I closed my eyes and wished for everything to fade away. My stomach clenched and rolled, and tasted the sickness on my tongue. It wasn't really happening, it couldn't be. It wasn't real.. but he came closer, gilded by a fine sheet of sweat and smelling of madness.
Slick with sweat, his body rubbed against me, doing things I didn't want to believe could be done to me. My weeping was mindless, my body shuddering at every touch. His hands were on me, squeezing, stroking. And my mouth. Hot, frighteneing tears were sliding down my cheeks as his mouth cloved over my breats.
"You want it. You want it" The breathless chant rolled over the dull throbbing in my brain "Whore"
"I want you to watch. Ready?"
"Please, please, please," my mind screamed. "Don't do this to me. I won't tell, I won't tell, I won't tell"
He was mad. I could see the gleam in his eyes, the drunken flush on his face. In that instant fear turned to terror.
"Bitch! Whore!"
I tried to gain my feet, but he hit me again, using his fist this time so the pain radiated from my face, through my body. Dazed, I began to crawl. There was blood in my mouth, sweet and warm.
Sweet God, don't let him do this to me
His weight was on me - and the stench of him. I kicked, called for help "Don't! Don't do this, please!"
But he yanked up my skirt, I knew no amount of pleading, no amount of struggle, would stop him. My face was white with fear and shock, and raw from the blows of his hands. Helpless- as he pounded out his fury. "This is what all of you want. Whores"
Thrust after thrust, he raped me. Forcing himself into me until his breathing turned to short bursts grunted between clenched teeth.
I was crying by then, huge choking sobs. But screaming, too.
"Shut up. Damn you" and he rammed my head against the floor of the ground.
Help me. Mother of Jesus. Help me
I slipped off into a world of vast blackness, as he did his disgusting nasty deed.
Who was I going to tell? My mother would never believe me at all. I was stuck in a place of terror and hell. No way would she never believe her own husband raped her daughter. And I never said, I never told.
That was beginning of my breaking. And on every birthday I have- this is what I remember. Summer, stenching weather, birthdays, alcohol, and - rape. Some brithday rememberance, eh??
I guess I've damned myself. No one ever knew- my sister, mother, friends, therapists or you. And they never will.. but you do. Do you understand why I have such compassion for others when they hurt? I can relate. Don't ever come back to me and tell me I don't know or don't understand, because I know plenty. I know how it feels to be robbed of your innocence at young stages of your youth, I know what it's like to die inside from the touch of someones' vengance. And I know pain and heart break, sadness, fear, joy and rape. I've dealt with more than my share on more than one occassion. So don't tell me I don't know how to feel.
Even though it's my birthday, and I should be happy for other things- I'm not. I can't be when I'm still haunted by things.
Happy birthday to me.. *sigh*
All I want for my birthday is a bouquet if hugs; as many as you can spare. And if you can't- a virtual one is just as good. Damn the world for people like him, for cursing bodies like ours.