I see this as a follow up to my last post.
By losing connect with my body, I thought I had lost touch with my heart. Only it never left, it just hid.
Always hidden, scared, I had something close to a soul.
In this piece, I want to write the dangers and goodness of having that soul.
As I learnt to stop crying, learnt to not expect help from the outside. I went into my heart, and whispered to my soul.
Before I know language, I spoke to that part inside me that made me feel I had a reason to live. I express nothing but an unspoken fear, saying nothing but I don’t want to be alone.
But, I was alone.
Alone as I grow to realise that my stepdad would stare at me. He look at every inch of me. I was his object.
As I learnt the use I was to be put to, I had so much desire to die.
I die as his eyes made me become his sex robot.
I die as I try so hard not to know his hands and mouth was polluting me.
I die as he called his special little whore.
Only as I die, my soul was desperate to live.
It cried as it could not stop the regular sexual abuse. It cried with frustration. It cried that I would not allow comfort in.
My soul was crying, but I could not listen.
Only, slowly I felt a small warrior resisting inside of me.
My soul place on armour, pick up weapons, and resisted.
I resisted as I did not show emotions to my stepdad. I resisted as I refused to touch him. I resisted as I knew I hated him.
My soul resisted, placing me in so much danger.
I remember so clear, my stepdad only let loss his hate, when he thought he did not have complete control.
“I want to make you go mad.”
This he said when he thought no-one would hear.
I knew “mad” meant destroying my soul. He wanted to own me so I had no thoughts, no hope, no idea there life outside what he show me, and I would lose my heart.
He failed, and he hated me for out of his control.
I kept my soul, putting myself at risk.
He forced violent porn into me, hoping this would destroy my essence.
Porn terrified me. Porn froze me to the core.
But my soul increased it resistance.
Seeing the images of torture, seeing the eyes that had given up hope – my soul screamed with grief.
In silence, I listen my soul screaming and howling.
I thought I was dead, but my soul was fighting for life.
As I being taught that the images of porn was my future, my soul gear up it’s weapons and resisted.
It give me happy dreams of murdering my stepdad. My soul show me worlds where no adults were allowed, where everything was safe. It give a brief escape.
My soul kept telling this can’t last forever.
Only it so hard to imagine an end.
My soul was battered from all sides, but it refuse to disappear.
This was never more true than when I lived in sex trade and world of violent anonymous sex.
I had no reason to live then. The only reason could be my soul forcing life into me.
My soul could only watch. My soul could only cry. My soul could not stop the violence.
But it could prevent my essence being destroyed.
As my stepdad hated me for not being destroyed, so the hate increased as men raped and tortured me.
I was beaten, raped, tortured and made into nothing – but I was never owned.
I never let any man know me as a person. I refused to make eye connect. I refused to be kissed. I talked as little as I could.
They would not have my soul.
As men poured all their hate into me, as they should of made me lose my sanity – I resisted.
Now I felt my soul was coming to it strength.
My soul would not allow my mind to snap. My soul would force my body to be detach, holding me in a safe space.
Only as my soul was strong, I could feel the fear overwhelming it.
I felt my soul was in a deep sense of shock.
As men find more and more ways to torture me. As my mind could not believe that men could imagine such things, my soul went into shock.
My soul into shock as it saw too many uncared wounds on my body. Wounds that my mind refused to remember where they came from.
My soul was shocked as even it could not imagine a better future.
When my soul was in shock, I thought it must be the end.
I had always cling onto my soul, looking fo the light at the end of the tunnel.
It was an oncoming train.
In the end I was saved by my soul. I was save by my body collapsing.
After too much violence, too much hate, too many people disppearing and too much of too much, my body decided to stop me by becoming paralysed.
It was the only way to stop me.
As I could not move, my soul could be heard.
My soul forced me to live. I wanted to die so much. I thought I could just die, then everything would alright.
But my soul refused to die.
I knew to live, I had to run away from the world I lived in. To live, I had to know there was hope.
My soul give me the will to leave male violence. To know I was worth something.
Only, living in a world without constant male violence is hard.
It should be so easy.
But I never the rules of a “normal” life. I never learnt to have self-respect.
My soul is slowly teaching me to have pride.
My soul remembers my loves that were never destroyed by male violence. My loves of classic Hollywood, football and reading. I have them back, and remember who I am.
My soul allows to have sexual feelings without hate and pain. My soul allow me to have control. My soul has place no into my mouth.
My soul has allow me let friends into my heart. It has given me the space to give and receive love.
My soul has show me that I can be caring. Caring to cats . Caring to the good parts of my family.
My soul has let me find that I can believe. Believe that there can be happiness. Believe in my private faith.
I write this, for to me it a clue to why I lived.
I am grateful to my soul for never letting male violence destroy me.