it took seeing d this weekend to realize that it has been six months. six months since she put her hands on me. six months since i crouched on the cold bathroom floor scared shitless. six months since i tasted fear on the tip of my tongue. six months it has been, & yet sometimes, it feels like it happened yesterday. frankly, i don’t know how to feel to be honest. there were the first couple of weeks when i was operating on panic-fuck-what-just happened mode. & then come the tears. over, and over, and over again. & in between the zombie stage and the heaving of the chest, i welcomed her back in. i’m not sure why. my friend r thinks i have attachment issues. it is a possibility. insert promises of a more healthier existence. less paranoia and jealous rage. which manifested itself in more emotional, psychological bullshit..but thats another post all together. i sat out during my lunch time today, reading a chapter on ‘ violence in intimate relationships: a feminist perspective. – talking back ( book). trying to intellectualize violence in intimate settings and include perhaps an understanding on same sex relationships. i understand how patriarchy with its overt poison can permiate through male/female relationships, tip the precarious balance so to speak. i understand that. on a feminst/pedogagy/intellectual/i saw it happen to my grandmother type of gut feeling. i understand that. now, when it manifests itself between two black women who are lovers. wow. wow wow..now, i don’t get that. so, i’m thinking, what is the difference. is it because violence is enacted between women. what is so different between women and men? aren’t they just people figuring out how to deal with their shyt in the world. yes, that is true. i remember growing up getting punished to no end at the hands of my mother. and it was considered ok. after all, there was the old proverb, spare the rod and spoil the child. physical punishment between parent and child was after all sanctioned and considered a proper way of rearing. i feel like im steering off the path here. im going somewhere with this.. i think.. but back to the situation that i was in.. for three consecutive nights, i felt dirty. and i scrubbed myself repeatedly, over and over again. i wanted to remove this stain, this mark of dis-ease that made her want to hurt me. but thats messed up isn’t it. because nothing i could do would be the it that would make her want to stop. see, how twisted shyt can be. i think i also wanted to clear myself from any scum/dirt/mark that had been left on my psychic. there was that scar that run across my neck. & then, there was that fear. i don’t think there is anything that can remove that fear. that fear that crusts ones eyes when you see your lover turn into a hideous monster right infront of your eyes. & the knowledge that you are smack, right in the middle of some bs & you have no where to run. & to realize that even though it happened to me once, and i will never, ever forget it. there are those in this world who deal with this every single day. wow. the very thought is staggering. it truly is. & it breaks my heart. so now it’s been six months, so what…well, i’m alive. i can actually say, i am alive..i’m not as messed up as i felt. i’m not as broken down as i felt. what i realized besides the huge boulder of silence that instantly comes into play, is how little in terms of resources for sgl folks. i’d like to say that i was instantly connected to a plethora of resources. nah. it’s not like its available in the yellow pages. & if it wasnt because of speaking to my friends (a & i ), months after, while i was still reeling through the drama that i realised there was a resource center in the metropolitan area. to be honest, i hadn’t felt so ashamed as i did after it happened. i don’t even know where it come from. intellectually, i knew that none of my behaviour warranted any kind of drama type of behaviour. but inside, i felt so worthless. i felt like shyt. i really felt like what the f*ck is wrong with me. & also it felt so surreal. like it wasn’t happening to me. & if it wasn’t for my friend d who watched everything unfold. i swear i’d think i had made it up. & i am so glad that she was there because there was a witness. a witness who would probe me gently thereafter and ask how i was doing, because dude, why lie, i felt it was so unbelievably untrue and wasn’t happening. as i get to intellectually, emotionally, spiritually & physically navigate through this experience, i would like to honor my friends both online and in real time ( what is that anyway..lol ), who have in their own ways nurtured, probed & soothed my spirit with such loving and kind ways. i want to say asante sana ( thank you ). & indeed our silences will not protect us.
i’m still a work in progress.
