F*ck Power, I'm searching for Peace.

Note: I wrote this free verse poem to try and capture a glimspe of the raw, blunt, and harsh reality sexual assualt and domestic violence survivors have to endure. Our dark stories don't have to define us, and when some choose to share their stories, it allows us to see that we aren't alone in these intense and oftentimes debilitating emotions. I wish I could console every survivor and hold them until they feel whole again. A piece of my heart is with every one of you. I hope one day your eyes glisten again with your spark, because the fire inside doesn't have to just burn; it can glow, filling your soul with renewed Hope.

...

Why didn’t you report it?

I had a million and one fears of what he could and would do to me,

Just like the other million and one things he had already done to me.

It was three years ago, shouldn’t you have moved on?

I fucking wish but I can’t help the flashbacks.

The flashbacks that spring on me even with my soulmate now, and I feel so guilty because why is my brain remembering him when I’m finally happy with someone who has shown me what love is supposed to be.

I always see him on top of me, taking advantage of me;

when I’m driving, when I’m at work, when I’m doing the most random thing;

he’s fucking there. Like always. On top of me.

A psychologist and EMDR therapy and pelvic floor therapy and I STILL can’t stop the flashbacks.

Oh, why don’t you face him, take your power back?

What fucking power, the power I already lost?

I don’t care about power, I just want peace.

I want my mind to be free.

You’re letting him live rent free in your head.

I CAN’T control the flashbacks.

It’s a long journey to heal, to be free.

And sometimes you’re doing better and another emotion pops up that you didn’t realize was there or still is there or always was there.

Like anger.

Anger at still thinking about it, even though I’m happy now.

Anger because he doesn’t think he did anything wrong.

Anger because there’ll never be justice.

Anger because it’s my fault there won’t be justice.

Not to make excuses, but I was simply scared.

I didn’t want to give him a reason to hit me again before I could escape or for him to destroy my mental health more with his manipulation and mind games.

I was just paralyzed in fear.

And I’m not sorry for that.

I was surviving, that version of me did the best she could just to find a will to stay alive, not knowing if that’s all “love” was, not knowing if there was a better future for her, not knowing if life was even worth it because she wasn’t worth it.

What did she do to deserve 8 months of that abuse and one night of that assault;

that she still blames herself for because all she wanted was to experience a nice night drinking for the first time.

She didn’t know he’d go as far as to take advantage of her.

But then things were blurry,

And her head felt weird,

And how did she get on this bed,

And when the fuck did her leggings get ripped off?

And why does his blurry face look like he’s trying to conquer her?

Why is he holding her down?

When she asks what’s going on,

Why does he say shut up?

And why does it fucking hurt?

And despite the alcohol, she’s fighting as best she can, but she’s weak and he’s on top.

And when he’s done, he gets up and leaves her there,

Used. Shocked. Paralyzed. In pain, in more ways than one. Unable to piece it all together.

And the nightmare didn’t end there.

And it still hasn’t ended three years later.