This has been a pretty bad day. Time spent with my stepfather this morning was arduous. He had a hard time making his body work the way it should and he says it's my fault. I am not small anymore, I am not as sexy, I am not good at my job. Nothing I did with my mouth was as good as it used to be- I got cuffed for that. Nothing I tried on for him worked. Not until he decided I would talk baby talk, did things start to go the way it always has.
After, he ordered me outside with an old push broom. It is long and heavy and I have a hard time finding a rhythm. A blister opens up and starts bleeding. After glancing all around, I finally sit and take nips of the crackers I have hidden in my pockets. I am thirsty too so I chance a trip to the water spigot around the side of the house.
The house is situated on a quiet intersection. Many people stop here to ask for directions and today there is a truck idling in the road. The man behind the wheel is looking down, proably at a map. I know how to help him, I do this all the time.
He waves me over, just as I am about to ask him if he needs directions. I usually I don't have to go to near a car, but he cups his ear as though he is hard of hearing, so I approach.
He says he wants to know how to get off. I start to tell him that I have never heard of that place when I see that he is without pants and his penis is stiff and long. Before I can turn to run, he has me tight by the hand that I had placed on his open window. He wants to know where I am going so fast- I haven't helped him to get where he needs to go and that is not polite. I find my feet moving as the truck begins to accelerate. Soon I am running along side the vehicle and when I can't keep up I fall and he hauls half of my body into the cab. My face is in his lap.
Time slows. In a deviated place in my mind, I think that perhaps this is a valid option- to go with him. Perhaps he will take me somewhere where I won't have to do chores. Maybe he is actually nice. Maybe he has a beautiful house and horses and cats and dogs. For the first time, I realize that I hate my life, I hate that my mother never talks to me, never holds me. I hate that my stepfather is never happy. I hate the things he makes me do and I am dog-tired of the chores. So I hang from the truck, legs limp, contemplating this impossible choice in a microcosm that has slowed down for just this implausible moment.
He slows the truck a little as we turn up a dirt road. He has just enough time to mash my face into his putrid crotch and like the cornered animal that I am, I lash out. I struggle and scratch, kicking my legs all the while. His arm comes down to protect his goods and I bite down as hard as I can. In this scrambled moment he loses his grip on his precious prey. He steps on the gas and I tumble like a log in the gravel, feeling every lodged pebble and each place where I know a massive bruise will rise up, colorful and then hideous. I roll into the culvert and listen for him, but I only hear his wheels throw dirt as they spin out and grab the pavement onto the main road above.
I lay still, accounting for each part of my body- what might be bleeding, broken or just bruised. There is damage, but I have felt worse. I climb out of the ditch and run home. I am only relieved to be here because it is familiar. Still, as I see my stepfather glaring at me from an upstairs window, I wonder if I have made a mistake coming back here.
Now, loving my life as I do, I feel very lucky that I am alive after this incredible moment in my life. Here are statistics on abduction:
Child Abuse, Sexual Abuse, PTSD, Anxiety, Self-harm, Depression, Survivor, Survivor of childhood abuse, Post-partum depression and psychosis, OCD, Recovered memories, Repressed memories, Spousification, Stockholm Syndrome, Suicide, Teen Suicide, bullying, drug abuse