I still see his face from time to time
lurking in the shadows
undulating in and out of visibility as the branches bend and sway
in the wind that disguises his voice into an indiscernible drone
that still manages to fill my heart with terror in its silence.
Still I hear the words echoing out as they play across bare, dried bark
tired from the battles waged in the winter months and in desperate want of rain.
He hisses at me from the past
warning me that he isn’t really gone.
It only seems that way
as I walk into the store, carelessly strolling and meandering through the fluorescent rivers of tile
parting the tension in the air like the waters of the Red Sea.
His footfalls silently shuffle along beside me
as he watches my every move,
hands tucked behind his back,
eyes piercing holes through my skull and
suspiciously analyzing how I could dare make eye contact with passersby
in complete, flagrant violation of the rules he locked me down with.
It only seems that way
when I make my way outside,
the tresses and locks of hair gently flowing in the breeze
as they are kissed by rays of the warming sun
even as my mind perceives the lengths of my cascading locks
to be the cobwebs he hated and despised
as he used them to drag me across the bedroom floor to my frequent doom.
But he’s always there just paces behind
reaching phantom hands out into the light
trying desperately to pull me back behind all the doors
that shielded the violence he unleashed upon me from the watchful eyes of the world.
It only seems that way
when I occupy my work-space five days a week,
computer monitors glaring so brightly as if to wage war with the lights above,
a battle to determine the final victor in the quest to obliterate the darkness
the descends into every bit of open space when the memory of him invades
in its familiar reconnaissance mission to search and destroy.
Still as the red light on the handset angrily flashes out of the corner of my eye
that hesitation
the recognizable expectation
of the dread of his voice on the other end
still churns in the recesses of my bowels
causing me to flinch at the memories of the audible swords his voice pierced me with
through the static crackling along the aging wires.
It only seems that way
when I sit down to watch a movie
to try to distract and quiet the brain in my skull
that doesn’t take too kindly to being silenced.
But when violence plays out
when a man starts raising his voice to a deafening boom
when doors slam
when cars drive down winding country roads,
tail lights burning blinding red holes in the night sky,
when a woman’s screams pierce the pitch black
he’s hovering there,
face pressed to me,
softly whispering in my right ear
“Don’t worry, bitch, I told you I’ll get you eventually.
I can shred you apart and dump you in those trees
and be out-of-state before anyone realizes you’re gone.”
It only seems that way
when I get excited or hear a joke
that forces me into a fit of uncontrollable giggles
and a blinding smile splattered across my face.
But I see him there
standing over your shoulder
inspecting me
gauging me
clocking me
taking tallies of all the offenses I mindlessly committed
as I dared welcome in happiness without conferring with my captor first.
Brazenly engaged in transgressions against his dominance
Willfully seditious.
Contentiously subversive.
Hawkishly disobedient.
My eyes manufacture a snarling glare exploding off his face
and it throws me back against the wall,
his fists pummeling me
before they unclench to wrap around my throat
and wring life flat out from me.
It only seems that way
as I hide the demons of my trauma
the panic attacks
the triggers
the fear
the hesitancy
the mortal terror
the pain
the confusion
the anger
the sadness
the anxiety
the worthlessness
the desperation
all buried deep beneath my skin
far from your prying eyes.
It only seems that way
until I can no longer conceal the devils
as they break free to dance and play and conspire
to break the beautiful light.
Picking Up the Pieces 
So powerful! Thank You for writing this.
You are so amazing!! so talented!! such a beautiful person!
Hugs
Reblogged this on Ladywithatruck's Blog and commented:
Amazing talent! warning this may be triggering
Reblogged this on Parrots, Prose, and Poetry.
Wow. All I can say is wow, I understand every single word, the haunting whispers, the triggers, the hypersensitivity to light; all of it. I felt with you when reading this.
Hi Vennie, thank you for reading – I hope it didn’t trigger you. This isn’t exactly what I intended on writing when I started this post, but it’s the only thing that would come out so I went with it. It needs to be said to all those who feel like we are free and should therefore be fine once we leave or are able to get out of the situation we were trapped in that it isn’t the case at all. Some things we heal from relatively quickly, but with so much that isn’t the case at all. Even when we learn to ride through panic attacks and make it seem like we are okay or free of the demons attached to certain things, they are still there with us all the time. Whether or not anyone else can see them is irrelevant, as we are the ones who have to live with being haunted by no matter what others “think” should be the case.
💖
What beautiful writing and imagery, of pain and survival.
Thank you for the compliments (which I find are still sometimes difficult to accept, but I’m working on it 🙂 ). I have found writing to be a huge asset in my coping/healing toolkit. I’ve always loved to write and breathe life into words. My life, more specifically, because even though they are not palpable and even though they are not perceptible by the human eye, these words are how I share my vulnerability. Several people have told me that they can visually perceive some things when I write, but I don’t know how true it is. It isn’t something that I do deliberately, it’s just how it spills out. Thank you again for reading.
You’re welcome – my pleasure. I hope to read more of your lovely words
Omg. You lived my life. You write my song. My heart bleeds to hear you, sister. I only want to know, when does the pain stop?? When does the fear subside? Ever? I pray that you are in a safe place now. Please tell me that you are. Please tell me there is hope.
I am in a safe place, yes. Occasionally I see him, but I left at the end of 2012. I have made a lot of progress since then, but I still have a lot of work to. The pain gets less over time, as does the fear, but how long that takes is different for all of us. A huge part of how well we heal is if we have a network of support, particularly ones that have also lived through abuse, because even though our experiences differ, we still have an unspoken understanding that bonds us and removes the feeling of isolation. I promise there is hope.
I started a blog and cannot find it anymore. I did start a fb page for the time being.
Finally, after 19 years of abuse, I am free from violence for 2.5 years:)
Hi Jes, I am glad you were able to leave and hope you are doing well. 🙂