Please Be Mine, Again

 

artwork by (link: http://instagram.com/madampeanut) instagram.com/madampeanut

This was a post that I wrote a while ago, but this remains as part of me and will always be. This memory continues to haunt me and suffocate me in my sleep, and also the reason for me to keep fighting for myself. 

RK

@rkkaaay

“Your trauma made u stronger” No, my trauma made me traumatized, it made me weak, gave me sleepless nights and memory loss, it gave me feelings I’ve never wanted. I made myself stronger, by dragging myself out of a dark place and dealing with consequences that weren’t my fault.

* * * * *

I've been thinking for quite some time now. About all the things that took so many years to process, digest, and accept. 

The story of my past clings on to me like a shadow I have to drag with me wherever I go. It has no voice, but it's always there. 

To care and love for yourself is not always easy, especially when you tend to get clouded with your own self-judgment, and when you also have the tendency to self-sabotage. It's a constant battle of staying grounded and letting yourself drift away in those moments where you just don't have the energy to fight. How can darkness be so comfortable sometimes? 

I was too young when I first wrote about my experiences as a victim of molestation and sexual assault. I was naive and was still very much scarred from it all. I thought I knew what I was going through. When it happened, I had no one to talk to. I kept it to myself for years before I was able to write about it. Even my mom only found out through that blog. 

It has been 15 years since that posting, and yet here I am today to tell you why that part of my life still bothers me most. Although I am barely remembering the details of the occurrences, I believe it all happened from when I was 9 - 13. In the beginning, it seemed like a harmless, friendly gesture. Like how you'd come up to a little kid and pinch their cheeks because they're cute. Over time, it became uncomfortable. It's when his firm hand grabbed my tiny hand and placed it neatly on his lap. This became a habit of his. Years, my hands had been on his laps and way too close to his private part. He watched me turned into a teenager. I was going through puberty and my breasts were growing. I could never forget that afternoon, he went to my room to grope my breasts and locked me with his arms. I could never forget my scream that felt so quiet and deafening at the same time. I could never forget breaking down to my knees with so much rage and anger that I decided to hate myself for such a long time. 

I was so angry at myself when it wasn't my fault. I was so angry at God for making me go through such an awful period of my life. I constantly wanted to die. I did not want the body I had. I was fuelled with negativity that I stopped looking at the brighter side of things. I was wasteful of my own youth. 

On top of it all, I was full of fear.

Fear of intimacy, attention, and love. I wore layers of clothing just to hide my skin. I couldn't look at myself in the mirror because I hated my reflection. It's as if my body was the cause of it all. I ruined relationships that could've worked out because I couldn't give pieces of myself away. I said I had none. I said it didn't belong to me. A slight affection and intimacy could trigger everything for me. I was traumatised. 

I honestly thought that was it. Just this fear and trauma that kept haunting me, but what's worst was how it messed me up completely. Realising this, I felt fucked up. As much as I was afraid of intimacy, I craved it. There had been days when I would feel aroused and wanting to be touched but the major part of myself knows the moment anyone lays a finger on me, I'd probably freak out. I didn't even want to touch any part of my body unless I was taking a shower.

When I wanted to heal myself through self-care, self-love, and mindfulness - I thought it was enough to just work on my heart and brain. I thought it was enough that I could work on my mentality so I could see things with much clarity and good conscience. I forgot about what broke me in the first place. I forgot about the years of extreme trauma and fears. I thought it was my heartbreak that needed the healing that I abandoned the body I've used for shelter. 

I began to question whether it was normal to love your mind, and your soul but not your body? Where would that put me? How do I reclaim this body so I could accept it? My body and skin are strangers to me that if I could detach myself from it - I would. I'd ask for another body that's never been touched by a man that I have to see so often, whom I have to constantly forgive - yet he looks at me as if shaking his hand would mean that I've been OK with everything. He stole away my skin, my body, my reflection before I could see them. How do I fix this?

While self-care and self-love have taught me to be compassionate with myself, and how to cope with my depression and anxiety, I still struggle to look at my body with the same compassion I have for my mental health. I wish things don't have to be this hard. I wish I could simply alter my mind to believe that I could be loved and love in the way that I should - fully and wholly. I wish I don't have to pause and freeze when something reminds me of what had happened. I wish I could love myself naked.

It truly sucked when someone called me beautiful cause I looked at my body first and be disgusted with it. Sigh. It's so messed up. I couldn't even bring myself to imagine what other victims who went through much scarier and unfortunate incidents had to go through just to survive the day.

I honestly don't know where this post is going to bring me but I'm trying to release this part of myself, so I can make space for self-acceptance. So I could look at my naked body and appreciate every inch of my skin, every scar that's taken too long to heal and fade. Every scar that never fades, and the imperfection of it that defines who I am. Skin, body, mind, and soul.

I want to be able to love myself completely before anyone else can. That's the only selfish act that I will never be sorry for.

Dear body, 

Please be mine again.