Giblet Pouch

7 09 2011

I was doing yoga the other day, aiding my stretches with this scarf I’ve had for years now. Its brown with a tiny bullseye diamond pattern. One side is lighter than the other.

Its one of the scarves he used to tie me up and rape me.

But its also a scarf I’ve worn in New York City. Its kept me warm countless times. I like the way it looks. I want to believe that I can wear it around my neck and not think about trying to get free. I want to believe that its more than just those days.

But really… Its just a scarf.

For over a year I slept in the same bed that he raped me in.

But I also had the best sex of my life to date in that bed. With another man.

My counselor back in Abilene she suggested that I get rid of the bed and burn the scarf. I mean I am a pretty fucking sentimental person, I still have a stuffed lion I got when I was in the hospital at three years old. Tubes in my ears had burst. I wear jeans and converse till they’re scraps. I have a miniature baseball bat from this kid that I’ve known since fourth grade and used to think I was in love with. I have my first fucking sketchbook, which I titled, My Doodle Book, I was nine. I have the shell dog that my best friend gave me for my sixth grade birthday? Could have been fifth grade. I did have all the “love” letters that boys wrote me from back in high school…the list goes on.

I mean I don’t keep everything but I think  you get the picture.

I think this whole deal with the scarf though really has to do with hope. Redemption. Metamorphosis.

I want to believe that I can become the person I see in my dreams. I know its me, but my face is always blurred out by light. And there’s something radiating out of me. I can feel it. Something warm, calm, peaceful.

I dream of an apology from him. I know it will never come. Or almost know. I don’t even want to see him again, or hear from him, so that makes things difficult.

But I hope that he becomes more. And a better man than he was to me. I don’t wish for any woman to have to go through what I went through. And I really hope that he doesn’t have children until then.

I hope that one day I’ll forgive him and I won’t have to do it again the next day because it will have stuck.  In the same way I hope the same thing about seeing myself as a survivor sticks. I’m still going back and forth.

Back….and forth. Back… and forth….back….and- forth.

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