Who?

WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO FUCK WITH MY LIFE?

I KNOW IT WASN'T ME

STILL YOU HAD YOUR AGENDA, AND YOU COULDN'T BE BOTHERED

WITH A DETAIL SO TRIVIAL AS WHETHER I'D AGREE

Just weeks before I had made a vow to save myself for marriage,

as I believed God had designed.

Maybe I'd have made it, maybe not,

but the choice should have been mine.

As many flashbacks and nightmares as I've had,

a lot of that day is still a blur.

There are a lot of holes in my memory

and then a few moments that recur.

I often replay the moment before in the park,

think how stupid I was, and resent it.

I blame myself and think of everything

I could have done differently to prevent it.

What if I was too friendly? Seemed too flirty?

I was a naive 11-year-old who did so many things wrong.

You even warned me in your own way when you mentioned "Closer,"

and I said that I liked the song.

I remember you pinning me against the wall,

don't remember how I ended up on the floor.

I remember feeling like I was floating outside of my body

and wishing someone would open the door.

I remember your dirty green braids hanging in my face,

sweat dripping off the stubble of your mustache.

At some point you walked out

and left me lying on the filthy bathroom floor like a piece of trash.

It started to sprinkle as I stumbled home,

the rain mixed with the tears running down my face.

I couldn't process what had happened, I wasn't sure if it was real,

and my mind did nothing but race.

Next I remember coming into the apartment, falling to my knees sobbing,

and begging God to take my life.

Then I remember standing in the kitchen shaking,

and I opened the drawer and pulled out a knife.

You can barely see the scar now, I had only started to cut

when I must have passed out, not sure for how long.

When I came to, I just remember feeling disgusting

and the urge to shower being overwhelmingly strong.

It seems like I was in there for hours,

the water went cold, but I stayed in just the same.

Most of the blood washed away, but no matter how long

and how hard I tried, I couldn't scrub off the shame.

WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO FUCK WITH MY MIND?

I KNOW IT WASN'T ME

STILL I WAS THE ONE WHO ENDED UP WITH ALL THE ACRONYMS

THE MDD, GAD, AND PTSD

I knew enough about how things worked

to live several years terrified you'd given me a disease.

I saw you at the mall a few years later and made up some excuse

for why I suddenly started crying and had to leave.

I didn't want people knowing, it ate me away inside,

and it destroyed a lot of my youth.

Most of my family still doesn't know all these years later,

and I was 20 before I told my mom the truth.

There were so many "unexplained" nightmares,

waking up in cold sweats, trashing around in bed.

Those were the nights I didn't lie awake

wondering why you couldn't have just killed me instead.

I recoiled every time a man got too close to me,

nauseous if they'd touch me, overwhelmed by my fears.

I cringed being near even the males in my own family,

a simple hug or pat on the back could bring me to tears.

All the various types of therapy on and off for years,

the different types of medications,

The intensive outpatient program,

the eye movement desensitized reprocessing, the hypnotization.

There was nowhere I felt safe,

and comfort became the exception rather than the rule.

Always carrying something I could use as a weapon

if I had to walk somewhere or use the bathroom at work or school.

Checking around every corner, behind curtains and doors,

every room I entered, I planned my route of escape.

Hyperarousal it's called, checking the back seat before buckling,

always looking over my shoulder expecting to be raped.

There were times when I was startled or someone got too close,

and I couldn't breathe, my chest felt so tight.

I was mentally and physically exhausted

from being in a constant state of freeze, fight, or flight.

WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO FUCK WITH MY FUTURE?

I KNOW IT WASN'T ME

I HAD SO MUCH UNREALIZED POTENTIAL

AND DREAMS THAT NEVER BECAME REALITY

The military didn't want someone who already had PTSD before joining,

so there went that plan.

I had a panic attack and quit nursing school

because I couldn't stand the thought of having to touch one more man.

Sometimes I'd even destroy my own body to make me feel as ugly

as I felt inside and deter unwanted attention.

I believed I was damaged goods, so in my later relationship

I thought I deserved the abuse and the reprehension.

Sometimes I get lost in daydreams and "what ifs"

and can't help but wonder where I might be.

Would I be successful and accomplished,

thin and confident, peaceful and sane, married happily?

Whenever I hit bottom, I wonder where I went wrong,

and it leads back to that day again and again.

But I can only image now, I can only guess,

I can only wonder what could have been.

For years I thought it was better, then they elected a rapist,

and a couple of the symptoms crept back in.

It was a non-issue to them, like millions of people

simultaneously spit in my face when they helped him win.

Then the bottom fell out entirely

when he nominated another sexual predator for the Supreme Court.

As I listened to the terrible things people said about his victims,

I was reminded why 90% of us don't report.

As I listened to my own friends and family mock her or make excuses,

the scab was torn off, my progress regressed by years.

The nightmares were back almost every night, frequent anxiety attacks,

many of the symptoms got more severe.

There were nights of paranoia when I couldn't sleep in case I had to be alert

to defend the girls if someone came through the door.

I'm terrified to have any men around them,

but it's only paranoia to an extent when there are statistics I can't ignore.

I resent living in a world where I have to train my daughters

to stay on their toes for the rest of their life.

Where I take them to self-defense classes

and give them a pretty pink pepper spray keychain and a pocket knife.

I'm pissed that I have to coach them on how to lower their chances

of getting attacked, but what can I expect

In a society where it's more acceptable to teach our daughters

how to be careful than to teach our sons some damn respect.

WHO GAVE YOU PERMISSION TO FUCK ME?

I KNOW IT WASN'T ME.

BUT IT DOESN'T MATTER WHEN I'M A SECOND-CLASS CITIZEN,

A LOWLY FEMALE, A NOBODY.