" The most creative act you will ever undertake is the act of creating yourself."

Monday, August 13, 2012

Autumn Memories

The feel of autumn in the air, the melancholy of my emotions, the deja vu in my soul...the overwhelming sense of familiarity encompasses my body awakening every fiber of my being. It fills me with a vague memory of warmth, of love, of sweetness long past. I draw up images of wooden floorboards beneath my feet and crackling fires at the hearth keeping the frigidness out of the air. My old white formal nightgown brushes against my ankles as I innocently move about the room in search of something I will not find. The scratching sound as the dog chases a flea around his hide. The light from the fire is all we have to see by, as the electric is out again. We hover close to the fire and to each other to keep the chattering out of our teeth. Was it the closeness of this autumn night that drew you to me? The desire to be loved, to feel special.

We heated our water on the gas stove to draw up our baths in the morning before the daylight even began it's hello. Bucket after bucket, trip after trip until we had enough to share amongst us. The nudity as we bared our skin to cleanse ourselves, was that what drew you to me? A curiosity like no other, a wonder anew you were not satisfied with yourself so you sought after me.

Every autumn season comes and with it comes these feelings that I've been here before. The sadness that wells up inside me comforts me because of it's familiarity but suffocates me too. I wonder if one autumn season will come without the deja vu effect. Without the yesterday's flooding back to inhabit my very soul. I feel I'm being haunted without any control. I would look forward to the season after except it doesn't pass for 3. My only freedom is the season of summer when I could run and hide in the forest all day. Protecting myself as no one would. Why did I let you do this to me and for so long? Did I have a choice in the matter? Some memories tell a different story of want, desire and need to feel loved. to feel special.

I am a survivor of child abuse, more specifically incest. I will intermittently write about it as the memories come to me. Sometimes my writing will sound eloquent, sometimes it will sound as if I miss those days and that I somehow enjoyed it. Please do not be confused I did not enjoy it but my body did respond to the touch like any other human does. We curl away from painful physical abuse but as a child enveloped by confusion, nice touch feels...nice.

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