Pain-stained Journals | Anthology

2 | Scars to your beautiful

Scars are all around on my body just like the hands of a man that I hate. No one ever wondered why it is like this that I let people hurt me. I never wondered myself.

Standing across the only mirror in my house I watch my body silently. It is weak and lean, even though I try hard for it not to be, it is always like this. Seeing those scars now on my body makes my heart pound. They are staying there forever just like I wanted for that one man to stay. I turn my gaze away when I glance at my hips. Hips that used to be grabbed by a monster. A monster so terrifying which I am hiding from endlessly.

Occasionally, I mirror myself as my sister. She is a definition of perfect and the opposite of me. Erica has long blonde hair, smooth skin and a joyful personality. I always aimed to be like her.

Suddenly, I gauge. A shred of a tear begins to pour itself at my cheek. I quickly wipe it off.

I am naked. The body, I am looking at, used to be mine. However, it is not mine anymore, it is someone else's. It is the property of that monster.

I hear a loud shatter coming from downstairs. It is probably a glass from the kitchen that was thrown by the hated man I am living with. Closing my eyes, I bring my hand to my eye wiping more tears. Living in this house taught me one thing. Fear is my safe place. Only when I feel fear, do I feel safe because it is the only feeling I know, or at least I knew for a long while.

I wonder what it is now. Work, his parents or the weather? Not bothering to check it I leave it be. Feeling uneasy I walk to the opposite side of the room where there is my bed.

I throw myself on it, and I don't feel safe anymore. The bed is where my nightmares come to reality. I never have dreams because all I have is the taunting reality, I am living in. Where there is no sleep, there are also no dreams.

Insomnia is one part, being scared to sleep is another. When I am in my bed, I just lay with my eyes open. It is not forced; I am just terrified. Terrified of a man I once loved. The man is my husband. That one man I swore an infinite oath to at the wedding. That one man who said he will love me forever.

He rapes from time to time. I have lost the count because it hurts to keep a record of how many times, I feel numb when he just does himself by using my body without my permission.

It was different once, I had a hard time remembering it, but it was. I never feared that someone could be doing things like this to me. It didn't come to my imagination how many ways someone I loved could hurt me.

I wish I could drift off away to another place just like I see every boat do at the shore. It is my secret dream to just go off and live in another place. But I am kept locked, locked like a baby doll in her dollhouse. Kept by the key that is lost.

I just wait, wait for another nightmare to come. Suddenly, I hear the door crack open. I swallow and close my eyes. I have always been told to close my eyes. Closing my eyes when we are in the bedroom is the habit, he forced me to get used to. Closing them makes me fear even more. Fear of what comes next, fear of his touch and actions, covered by his whispers.

He walks up to the bed says nothing. He reeks from alcohol. I scratch my nose in a second, praying he won't notice that I did. Just like I thought, he did notice. Fears came to reality, just like they always do. Albert sighs beside me and I tense instantly feeling defeated.

He mumbles his words and brings his hand to my exposed leg. I feel an uncomfortable shiver journey up my body.

The nightmare begins again.

—

When your life is full of nightmares you don't realize what is a reality because it is better not to know. I feel the scars in my heart the most. I cannot hide them anymore. Furthermore, I feel like talking to someone would do me good, but I don't have anybody apart from that monster.

When he is not raping me, he is beating me up. I got scars from him, myself and my past. I can't compare which one of them is the worst.

I draw every scar, name it, describe it and interpret it each time. All those things I keep in my journal. I call it a journal because why would I call it differently when it is only a thing where I gather all the things life did to me?

I know there is no reason to rape, but the monster says he has a reason. He tries to have children with me every time. And every time he tries, I swallow a pill that drifts the chance away. I could never bear a child of a man who endlessly brings me pain. If I died, which he won't let me do, the child would have died with me. I would never let a being near that man. He is a forceful devil from my nightmares, the one I used to fear in my dreams as I child and the one I am fearing now as an adult.

I don't eat usually. I eat just enough to keep myself alive. Why am I aiming to be alive? I have a dream and I aim to accomplish it; I just need more time and that life change.

I have drunk alcohol before, but it is not the same now. I didn't touch it for a couple of years now. When I saw what that liquor does to him, I just resigned from drinking it. Alcohol made me even more numb and lifeless behind his touch. Just like a living corpse.

I remember times two years ago when I used to fight him off out of my body. I tried. But I was weak, weak as I am now. When I didn't notice he just slipped a pill to my coffee, water or wine, in whatever and whenever he wanted to get the job done.

Raping me was his life job. The work he has away from home is just his part-time job. I don't believe in myself. If one being can crash someone so well, why should I?

I cut myself every morning. Mornings are scars done by me and evenings are scars done by him. Mostly evenings. Every time I see blood pouring from the body, I feel fulfilled. I have done it countless times, so I know where to cut not to end my life.

My sister does not know. She forgot about me like everyone else. I don't blame them; they think I am dead because the monster told them so to keep them away. I am cold as a corpse lying beneath the ground. My skin always feels so tense and freezing. I wonder when my veins will freeze with the blood inside them.

Ending the phase of life is what I don't wish for. In thirty years of my life, I have experienced the pain not many can handle. I pray for merciful thirty years of happiness now. But I feel like they won't come.

—

I glance at the grass beneath my feet. I broke free. After all these years of being kept inside of hell, I have broken free. It wasn't necessarily easy. I used the pill he always gives me and cut his throat open with my dearest knife. The knife that stained my blood is now stained with his. What an unexpected change of things.

I feel safe now. Safe in the wild when being homeless. I am a brave woman and a serious one, so I don't feel like being homeless for a long time.

The following week I found a job and lost myself completely as a workaholic. I never worked in my entire life, so this new experience gave me life on another level.

Working from a scratch, not scratch on my body because I don't cut myself anymore. I live and breathe those thirty years of happiness that I longed for such a long time.

From that time, I went on the boat, life has never been more pleasant. Having many thoughts and wants inside my head. No fears anymore. The monster is gone.

He was never under my bed; he was on my bed.