Street Level

My life, as most of us, is defined by the experiences and traumas we endured as children. I've shared some of mine with family and friends over the years. Some, until now, had never been exposed. Out of shame and fear of sharing the places I'd been and the things I'd done, and what was done to me.
At times building one lie upon the next, not understanding why I was lying at all. Out of shame, continually for decades the pain and weight of my lies and untruths to hide these experiences and abuses from others became overpowering then devastating. It affected everything and everyone I touched for a long time. It has been a long and rutted road to get to who I am.
The act of rape is more than physical. For the giver, as they place their noose around your soul and pull, their pride swells. For them, their behavior represents a failure to be able to command the notice they crave through normal channels. Thus, the perpetrator of this heinous physical invasion is emboldened by their posture and dominance over their victims in the act itself. For me, the physical act became insignificant after the first time.
It is the scar the noose left in its soiled wake that has lasted a lifetime . . .
"Stevie, come here, it's time for your bath."
The Author