Child .. invasion.
But not being able to describe the sensation.
Of being or having no control over what is happening to your body.

It’s not shame.
Even though those honkies say that’s what it is.
It ain’t.

It’s not breathing.
Not being able to take a breathe.
That’s fear.
Fear of dying.
For real.

I feel no shame for something someone else chose to enact on my body.
My body.

I feel fear.
Hot burning fear.

Translating into hot burning rage.


3 thoughts on “&

  1. That lack of control is something that leaves a huge scar; forever more we are looking for the first tremors of losing control again, we do anything to avoid feeling that way again. We tightly control our whole lives, and the lives of our children, so we (and they) will never have to feel it. Although it isn’t quite a ‘feeling’ is it? It is too all encompasing to be termed just a ‘feeling’, it isn’t something we feel, it’s something we become and never want to become again. In those moments we are not feeling fear, or even terror, we ARE fear.

    • It’s an incredibly heinous huge scar .. something I can’t quite comprehend sometimes.
      You’ve described it quite succinctly ..
      It’s a continuous prelude .. to everything .. & just when I think I have one thing sorted or managed it creeps on into something else.
      Noone wants to feel that way. There’s whole essays and books written to avoid feeling that way or to push on through it ..
      But this is different ..
      It is everywhere at once, in everything, through everything.
      It’s horrid.
      But its normal.
      It’s wretched.

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