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I remember now
My heart is breaking and mourning the life, before, that at some point I could no longer remember; But am now able to recollect and recalibrate with care. I can’t believe you were there.
Every part of who I was is a fragment of who I am; Am I betraying myself?! Would I be proud of myself?! Am I who I thought I would become?! That little girl I once was— remembered everything— she knew what to do, at all times— way before her time. How do I rely on her now? She’s not a child.
The fragment of glass you gave me reflected only one perception of the moon; Whilst yours reflected your own. When the sun rose there was a different type of light; Bright and transcendental. The colours were so beautiful and the glass even more so. Thank you for the peace; I slept well because of you— until they forced me to wake and bleed. Until I knew what they did to you too.
Every night— every waking day; Every breath of joy— every moment of tranquility— every feeling, knowing, thought, and connection of love— all that I loved had to be hidden. Whenever they would find it they would try to take it away; They would try to destroy it and project instead their own hate. They tried to force me, you, the people we loved and still love; The people we never knew, or had a chance to know, and innocently, desperately prayed for.
Yet, god and Jesus never could protect any of us— because it was never real. Those men were the devil they ‘feared’ in front of others. Until they felt glorified by it, when the crowds of victims were drugged; They created god for their own protection. They created Jesus for their own inspiration; To cover their tracks and hide their lies. Until they spoke of them again with a grin on their faces, with jokes they kept repeating; That they knew were distasteful to their wives and psychopathically fulfilling to them and the men they enjoyed doing it with.
They were all men; They were all grown up men and they were all angry; There were many of them and our little bodies couldn’t fight all of them. But, they were also young boys and growing boys who enjoyed what they were doing; Who also praised what they “had to look forward to”. There were many women; They were also grown up women and they were all angry. But those women could never hit, refuse or cover the little bodies the way those men did. It’s all a blur for many of us I imagine; But I know what I remember. I know what I did to fight back even when my legs and arms were still too podgey. When they called me weak, laughed and hit my mummy; I saw her cry many times. I saw my older sisters, friends, family, cry too— each time they were raped and bruised. I saw them fight for me too. They fought back; Because no child wants to be treated that way. No young girl or boy wants to watch the people they love be treated that way. I too would do the same for my baby sisters.
Life has become much of an illusion; At least that is what they were trying to force me to believe. I’ve lost count of the drugs they forced into me. The grooming they were repeatedly trying to weave into my mind; The metaphysical prisons they were pushing into my subconcious mind; The blackouts they thought I, and many other children and women were having. Yet, I remembered it all until I chose to walk blind with love— the knowing, and remembering everything, whilst being forced to look them in the face each day, “like nothing happened”, whilst there were other children who forgot everything; It became a strength until it became too heavy. I didn’t choose the easy way out, I chose a life I had no other choice but to experience because of the constraints that also exist for children and women— also born outside of a cult. It happens too often for it to just be considered “another cult”.
Much of what is forced onto women, children and men who choose differently; Is caused by patriarchy. Society is not an illusion; There are laws in place to protect children and women, that are not always protecting children and women. Young girls, like I was once, grow up to believe they are at fault for being abused by young boys and men. But it is not just the reality of the world children and women are being forced to live in; It happens to also be projected all over TV and considered ‘normal’ because “it isn’t as bad as it used to be”.
But how do you know that? Do you remember all of it? When you sleep— do you sleep well? Who has access to you? In the night— why do you feel unsafe? Do you wake up feeling raped? Are your dreams actually dreams— or are they flashbacks to what happened to you; By your “loving mother”, “loving father”, “loving friends and family” and their “loving community”? Does the way you feel correctly connect to what you remember happening to you? Are things as they should be? Who is grooming you to believe otherwise whilst you know what happened to you— was not your fault!?
I’ve had more peace living by myself than I have living with other people. I know now what it feels like to sleep safely, unharmed. I know now that what I’ve remembered other people doing to me whilst I should have been safe to sleep; Is not my fault, nor could it ever have been my fault. The women were also plenty, who gave those other men and women access to me; There were a lot of familiar faces who kept “re-appearing” to rape and torment me. There were people there I thought would never wish to harm me; I guess it explains why they were so passive aggressive in their second hand reality. They were just mimicking the rest of the abusers they were inspired by.
Am I sane? I’ve never been more sane in my life. Did I know this was happening to me? Whilst I was woken up, drugged and abused I did; But I was drugged again and psychologically abused to forget about it, “or else they’ll kill you”; “Don’t just say it; Actually do it this time”. It doesn’t just ‘happen’ to grown men and women; It starts from the time they are born.
“It’s a cult, a dark underbelly of society; It only happens to certain people. It only happens to some women. Not all of them!”; It seemed to happen too often to children and women, of all ages, from the short life experience I’ve had.
So, who am I? I ponder this each day. I write with many causes close to my heart because they’re not just causes; They impact my life directly— day and night, wherever I go. It’s not who I am that is wrong— or at fault. It is not who I am that is to blame for being raped. It is not who I am that is to be socially isolated and deprived of life, for saying “no”, for speaking up and for being brave. It is not my sex or my body, the clothing I wore, the way I glanced or the way I spoke that is to blame for being raped, lied to, tormented, abused, dragged from my bed; Raped also by coworkers and ‘bosses’.
“Where am I supposed to go?!”
I am not going to allow my body, mind, home, privacy and human right, to be, feel, live, walk, run, write, breathe, function and care; Be abused, as I never did before. I’m going to keep writing about it.
Society is not created by illusion— it is reality. It is a reality for every person living and breathing. Including the people who are being abused and forced to live within it.
© Lois Christina
Every part of who I was is a fragment of who I am; Am I betraying myself?! Would I be proud of myself?! Am I who I thought I would become?! That little girl I once was— remembered everything— she knew what to do, at all times— way before her time. How do I rely on her now? She’s not a child.
The fragment of glass you gave me reflected only one perception of the moon; Whilst yours reflected your own. When the sun rose there was a different type of light; Bright and transcendental. The colours were so beautiful and the glass even more so. Thank you for the peace; I slept well because of you— until they forced me to wake and bleed. Until I knew what they did to you too.
Every night— every waking day; Every breath of joy— every moment of tranquility— every feeling, knowing, thought, and connection of love— all that I loved had to be hidden. Whenever they would find it they would try to take it away; They would try to destroy it and project instead their own hate. They tried to force me, you, the people we loved and still love; The people we never knew, or had a chance to know, and innocently, desperately prayed for.
Yet, god and Jesus never could protect any of us— because it was never real. Those men were the devil they ‘feared’ in front of others. Until they felt glorified by it, when the crowds of victims were drugged; They created god for their own protection. They created Jesus for their own inspiration; To cover their tracks and hide their lies. Until they spoke of them again with a grin on their faces, with jokes they kept repeating; That they knew were distasteful to their wives and psychopathically fulfilling to them and the men they enjoyed doing it with.
They were all men; They were all grown up men and they were all angry; There were many of them and our little bodies couldn’t fight all of them. But, they were also young boys and growing boys who enjoyed what they were doing; Who also praised what they “had to look forward to”. There were many women; They were also grown up women and they were all angry. But those women could never hit, refuse or cover the little bodies the way those men did. It’s all a blur for many of us I imagine; But I know what I remember. I know what I did to fight back even when my legs and arms were still too podgey. When they called me weak, laughed and hit my mummy; I saw her cry many times. I saw my older sisters, friends, family, cry too— each time they were raped and bruised. I saw them fight for me too. They fought back; Because no child wants to be treated that way. No young girl or boy wants to watch the people they love be treated that way. I too would do the same for my baby sisters.
Life has become much of an illusion; At least that is what they were trying to force me to believe. I’ve lost count of the drugs they forced into me. The grooming they were repeatedly trying to weave into my mind; The metaphysical prisons they were pushing into my subconcious mind; The blackouts they thought I, and many other children and women were having. Yet, I remembered it all until I chose to walk blind with love— the knowing, and remembering everything, whilst being forced to look them in the face each day, “like nothing happened”, whilst there were other children who forgot everything; It became a strength until it became too heavy. I didn’t choose the easy way out, I chose a life I had no other choice but to experience because of the constraints that also exist for children and women— also born outside of a cult. It happens too often for it to just be considered “another cult”.
Much of what is forced onto women, children and men who choose differently; Is caused by patriarchy. Society is not an illusion; There are laws in place to protect children and women, that are not always protecting children and women. Young girls, like I was once, grow up to believe they are at fault for being abused by young boys and men. But it is not just the reality of the world children and women are being forced to live in; It happens to also be projected all over TV and considered ‘normal’ because “it isn’t as bad as it used to be”.
But how do you know that? Do you remember all of it? When you sleep— do you sleep well? Who has access to you? In the night— why do you feel unsafe? Do you wake up feeling raped? Are your dreams actually dreams— or are they flashbacks to what happened to you; By your “loving mother”, “loving father”, “loving friends and family” and their “loving community”? Does the way you feel correctly connect to what you remember happening to you? Are things as they should be? Who is grooming you to believe otherwise whilst you know what happened to you— was not your fault!?
I’ve had more peace living by myself than I have living with other people. I know now what it feels like to sleep safely, unharmed. I know now that what I’ve remembered other people doing to me whilst I should have been safe to sleep; Is not my fault, nor could it ever have been my fault. The women were also plenty, who gave those other men and women access to me; There were a lot of familiar faces who kept “re-appearing” to rape and torment me. There were people there I thought would never wish to harm me; I guess it explains why they were so passive aggressive in their second hand reality. They were just mimicking the rest of the abusers they were inspired by.
Am I sane? I’ve never been more sane in my life. Did I know this was happening to me? Whilst I was woken up, drugged and abused I did; But I was drugged again and psychologically abused to forget about it, “or else they’ll kill you”; “Don’t just say it; Actually do it this time”. It doesn’t just ‘happen’ to grown men and women; It starts from the time they are born.
“It’s a cult, a dark underbelly of society; It only happens to certain people. It only happens to some women. Not all of them!”; It seemed to happen too often to children and women, of all ages, from the short life experience I’ve had.
So, who am I? I ponder this each day. I write with many causes close to my heart because they’re not just causes; They impact my life directly— day and night, wherever I go. It’s not who I am that is wrong— or at fault. It is not who I am that is to blame for being raped. It is not who I am that is to be socially isolated and deprived of life, for saying “no”, for speaking up and for being brave. It is not my sex or my body, the clothing I wore, the way I glanced or the way I spoke that is to blame for being raped, lied to, tormented, abused, dragged from my bed; Raped also by coworkers and ‘bosses’.
“Where am I supposed to go?!”
I am not going to allow my body, mind, home, privacy and human right, to be, feel, live, walk, run, write, breathe, function and care; Be abused, as I never did before. I’m going to keep writing about it.
Society is not created by illusion— it is reality. It is a reality for every person living and breathing. Including the people who are being abused and forced to live within it.
© Lois Christina
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