TRIGGER WARNING: This article or section, or pages it links to, contains information about sexual assault and/or violence which may be triggering to survivors.

It has been scientifically proven, that the “bad” memories stick better than the good – simply because our emotions influence how we process the memories. In other words, “the bad overweighs the good” but I think it’s because my body hates me.

Memories are generally prone to distortion over time.

But not this one.

I remember this one like the words to my favorite song, except, it’s not my favorite thing in the world.

I remember it, more like that one party my mom dragged me to when I was thirteen and I cried all the way there, and still didn’t have fun like she said I would.

That party is still going on to this day.

In my head.

It’s still going on.

His voice calling me from afar is the music I force myself to dance to, a beat that makes my body flinch when it drops.

Nobody hears me screaming, no, or maybe I’m just not loud enough. I still say it before the party even starts. I am the party.

My body to this day has never failed me so. I am running out of breath already, as he drags me from my arms. His grip tightens, I am on his thighs and his lips are on mine. See, the mind likes playing games, and the most f*cked up one, mine has ever played on me, is having me believe that I will never remember this day after it passes. 

It’s been ten years.

The brain, or maybe just mine, has a fascinating way to remember the most boring details. Like his checkered beige button-up shirt, brown pants, and the smell of his Marlboro cigarettes all on my face. His hands are all over me now.

I always remember it at night, when I’m at my weakest. It’s easier to give in. I am nine all over again, so I count to ten as he asks. Maybe this will pass.

One//Maybe he’ll let go of me now

Two//He doesn’t

Three//My legs playfully try to escape his grip, but it only gets tighter, I feel him on my skin.

Four//I’m choking on my tears, my “no’s” are still not loud enough.

Six// He orders me to hold still. “stop being such a bad girl” he says. Lust spelled in his eyes. It was the first time my tiny body learned how to hate.

Seven// My mind logs out. maybe if I don’t think of it, it won’t happen.

Eight// He doesn’t go all the way. Maybe God heard my prayers. His hands are off my thighs, loosen their grip, I can finally walk away.

Nine// I am awake. Drenched in sweat, I run my hands on my cheeks and feel the dried saliva. I try my best to hold my breath so I wouldn’t inhale his cheap smoke.

But he’s not there anymore

He’s not there anymore.

He can’t hurt me anymore.

Get your writing featured on Empower Mag here!

Join the conversation on our Facebook Group: “The Empower Community”