TRAPPED

TRAPPED

In the water, you sink or swim.

Bathtubs are traps for a child. Mom is washing your back, and he is nowhere close when your eyes are closed and the light dims.

Pretending it is her touching you and not him.

The bed is safe for rest and sleep.

Beds can be scary too.

You were trapped again. Not the bedtime story you were expecting. My Covers over my face. It is Mom tucking me in. That is her hands under the covers and not his.

Home unattended is the same thing as freedom at last. It is a good thing until the fear of every sound paralyzed you.

Being left isolated means no interruptions, blinds are closed, and the door locks are tripled and checked for the chain. Phone rings, and fear engulfs you again—a time when you can’t see who is calling. I must answer it might be Mom. No, it’s him; he is here. No hiding this time

And again, I’m to blame.

“Stop fighting for five minutes, and then I will leave you alone.” My arms are tired, and I no longer have the strength to fight. He knows he has won. I think in shame and guilt. He is eventually done and gives me a twenty. The poor kid with nothing now has hush money. My adult self still believes this way. Money keeps me quiet.

Who he was is still who he is. I have to remember this every day.

Panic attacks at family events are regular for me. I hide them if I can, or I hide as much as conceivable, and then I do not attend.

Take your gum, money, gifts, and, most importantly, your arrogance into the depths of dementia. You can hide there, but I still see you. Everyone that knew they might also conceal there too with you in comfort and silence. It is the gift it has provided you.

Not me; I still see and feel you in the way you touched me as a child. The pillow you held over my face until I thought I would die. The control and domination you took over with us when Dad died. I see you, but I don’t always see myself, that self I might have been if all this wasn’t true.

I was trapped for so long, fighting not to be a victim but now slightly less when divulging my truth.

My mind and body know, and both have combated the torture. A few times, I have managed to be a survivor. A few times, the pain caused me unimaginable hurt and stories of horrific things I have gone through in my life that were your fault and not mine. The unimaginable trauma you brought about even when my mind snapped, and the truth became slowly unwrapped.

I am an adult, no longer trapped.