I find that I cannot cry.
Instead it goes into my body. I don’t enjoy this, I find very awkward and embarrasing. But I am growing to learn to accept that part of myself.
I think I may of cry as a small child, but I feel I learnt at an early age not to cry. I learn though experience not to show I was hurt. Not to show I may be scared.
I learnt not to be vulnerable.
When I was a baby, I would cry in my cot. I was normal. But all that happened was the light was switch off and the door was shut.
Crying was a waste of time.
As I grow, I learnt crying made my mum turn away from me. I kept quiet, hoping against hope she would love me.
Once, I fall over cutting my knee open on a stone. I cried. I think I was round six. All I heard –
“Stop crying. Don’t be a baby.”
So I stopped. Only I stopped so well, I forgot how to cry.
I never cried when my stepdad abuse me. I just went still. Holding my breath to stop any fear or pain that may of brought about tears.
I was too stunned to cry.
I never cried when seeing hard-core porn. I was frozen to my core. I could not even imagine having tears.
I never cried when had nightmares. Instead I wet my bed. Only I was confused whether the wetness was from me, or had I dream that it from my stepdad.
I just cleared the sheets under my bed and slept on the mattress.
I would not think about the wetness, as I firmly shut my eyes.
And, I could not cry when I enter prostitution. By that time, I forgotten that tears existed.
As men manipulated my body into their fantasies. As pain hit me from every angle. I became empty of tears.
I showed nothing on the outside. My insides were disappearing, unable to cope with the endless tortures.
Sometimes there were moments when I saw myself from a distance. I saw my body being forced into acts that my my mind would not imagine.
I saw and somewhere in the distance I felt I should be crying. I should be screaming.
I saw how silent I was, and I long to cry.
I knew to be safe, at least relatively safe, I had to show no vulnerability.
I knew if I had cried, it would of made the men happy. I knew it could to farther violence. It could make them go on longer torturing me.
I knew they did not like that I did not cry or scream as they pour pain into my body. I taught myself to still and quiet as my anus was rammed over and over.
They did not like I did not show fear. I froze myself as they suffocated me. I did nothing as they strangle me. I learnt to disappear when I was gang-raped.
But, I would never cry in front of them. I would not give that much pleasure.
To survive I had to lose any grief. I had no time or space for sorrow. To survive I had to empty out all those emotions.
Now for the first time, I think I in a place where I have time and space to grieve.
It comes though my body.
It comes as pain in the places where the worst abuses occured. The abuses that went on for years and years, until my body could not feel them any more.
Now I am safe enough to allow that pain to be felt. It is awful, but it is the past.
Grief comes out as heat. I sweat, and my head burns like I was in a sauna trapped. No tears, just a river of sweat.
Grief come as I cough . I am choking with grief. Often I will cough until I am sick.
I feel the poison forced into slowly coming out my body. I feel their hate gradually leaving my body.
After being sick, I can feel some peace.
All this is very hard, it is very exhausting. But, I know it is allowing me to live.
More, it is allowing to feel for the first time.