The social butterfly, prolific writer and aspiring student nurse, Adeleah Atkis, recounts how her life was changed completely after being sexually assaulted by a male friend, she once referred to as a brother. Consequently, her identity as a writer...
I felt nauseated. Furthermore, the headache was terrible. I had just awoken, and I felt awful. It was like a storm was having a fiesta in my abdomen. I wanted to vomit, but when I went to the bathroom, there was nothing.
During breakfast, I had no appetite. I sat at the table with pure disgust for the fried eggs. I gawked at them. The odour was nauseating. It was in that moment; I observed how the yolk was neatly fixed in the albumen. I realized how the structure of the egg could be likened to that of a woman that was expecting. The yolk carefully surrounded by the albumen, made me think of the foetus surrounded by the amniotic fluid. Then there came the thought! My entire body quivered! I asked myself, "Could I be? Is it possible? Am I?".
By that time, two long weeks had passed. I had blocked all communication with him on all social media platforms that we had shared. I kept myself busy with developing my career, being devoted to medicine, losing fat in my tummy, eating healthily and preparing myself for travel, hence, ultimately making every effort to feed my soul. Having a baby, was not a goal.
The daylight had passed, and it was simply just a Tuesday night at my parents' house. I laid in bed, drowning in reminiscence and coated in an inexplicable feeling. It was a feeling that merged disgust, depression, pity, anger and resentment. I laid on my stomach with the light on, my eyes closed and a playlist of sad songs ready to be opened on my laptop next to me. I was helpless in fighting the horrible flashbacks of that unforgettable evening of two weeks earlier. I wanted to dig my own grave. I wanted to hide in a deep dark cave. I felt filthy just as a demolished, desecrated temple. The agonizing feeling compelled the urge to cleanse myself for the third time before the completion of another period of twenty-four hours. I returned to the shower again.
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I stood under the shower for a few minutes with my eyes closed. The water hugged me. It felt so calm, pure and satisfying, but the haunting memory refused to leave. I remembered feeling tears strolling down the sides of my face, when he pulled the buttons of my black and white striped blouse. I remembered how heavy he felt, positioned on top of me. His unforgettable sandpaper-like hands rubbing against my skin, minty breath, snail-like tongue and scent of the stink cologne forcibly roamed the thoughts of my mind. Despite thoroughly scrubbing myself with the soap-saturated sponge, there was still a lasting feeling of uncleanliness.
I screamed repetitively in my head.
I remembered the following day after that fateful evening with him, I had a critical meeting. My presence was imperative. I had my pitch ready to sell my idea to the editors, but I did not attend. I remember my phone ringing countless times, but I refused to answer. That meeting would have given me the keys to fulfilling my dream of publishing my expressions. I had always been a writer among other passions. From a little girl, I had been composing poems, songs, speeches, journals and drawings. Writing was engraved in my soul. I loved it! It was a passion, but after that fateful evening, my love died. Undoubtedly, I was unenthusiastic about writing for the first time in my life. I would have never believed before then, that there would ever be a time that I just could not write. I was familiar with the concept of a writer's block but that was not it.
Singing was another passion of mine, but that too, I had lost. I grew up loving the arts of life, hence I used to always sing. Apathy was seated on the chair in the room of my soul where singing once dwelled. I had lost my voice.
I also grew up loving the holistic concept of feminism. I believe feminism is more than a concept; it is art, a lifestyle and power all by itself. There was no aspect of it that I disagreed with; hence I believe that one of the many valued gifts a woman possesses, is her voice. Without singing and writing, I had no medium of expression. I could not express my thoughts, my identity...my voice. That shattered me.
I was becoming a whole new person. I felt lifeless. After drowning in reminiscence, I left the shower tearfully.
It had been two weeks of completely submerging myself in an ocean of depression. I needed a psychological intervention.
It had been two weeks of sleepless nights and sleeping pills were ineffective. Insomnia had been a friend since the time of puberty but after that fateful evening, we became even closer friends. I needed a psychological intervention.
