There is a moment I remember; a moment forever etched in the landscape of my life: I am standing in my bathroom and I am looking in the mirror. I’m wondering who the person is, looking back at me where my reflection should be. A stranger stares at me; a stranger with empty, soulless eyes, and I wonder who she is and how she got into my house, and then slowly she starts to become somewhat familiar until, finally, I realize I am looking at my own reflection.
A
moment.
One
moment where time has stopped, where the world has stopped, where the universe
has held her breath so that I might breathe and for a moment there is
nothing.
And
then I inhale.
It's been 6 years since that
moment in the bathroom and 5 years since I left the man I crawled back into bed
with after I finally exhaled. The details of those years are slowly
starting to be replaced with happy, new memories and the old memories are
gradually losing their power over me, but every once in awhile I return,
frozen, to my previous state of existence. I return to nothingness, to numb, to
dissociation. I return to nightmares and isolation. Every once in awhile I find
myself drinking too much wine and staring off into space or cowering around
raised voices; every once in awhile, by the grace of a God more divine than I
can imagine, I am pulled back from the brink, reminded of my freedom. Saved.
Sometimes it's the voice of a family member, a friend, a stranger. Most often
it's the still small voice that calls me from within; the sound of the still
small voice that saved me then and saves me everyday.
It's
not at all an easy thing to admit that you have become a statistic; that you
have joined the ranks of hundreds of thousands of others, persecuted daily,
fearing for your survival on many different levels. It was not and is not easy
for me to admit to myself that I spent 3 years too many in an abusive
relationship, the price of which was all too steep. As a confident,
intelligent, fun & loving young woman I put my trust in an untrustworthy
person. I was broken down to a level of raw that most people can't even
imagine, a level where flesh becomes torn and ripped from the body, exposing
bones and fragility, exposing the soul. My life became an unimaginable torture
chamber. My body became a cage. My soul grew as small as possible and when that
wasn't small enough it did the only thing it could do, it left. For three years
I lived an existence but not a life.
And
then one day, in the midst of the chaos, a quiet stillness surrounded me, a
hesitation. Another moment. But this time it was different, this time from
within me, and all around me, I heard that still small voice commanding me.
"Enough! Now run!” And I did. I ran as fast as I could and as I ran I
found the voices of my family, my loved ones, my friends, and fellow survivors
speaking for me when I couldn't. I learned that the voices of my family and
friends had been collaborating on how to help me, on how to intervene, on how
to get me out. I learned that the voices of strangers had come together, to
lift me up and carry me through my darkest hours through prayer lines activated
by family members. Others had given me a voice at a time when I had lost my own
and when my voice returned, they continued to advocate on my behalf, to educate
others and to share my journey. Even today they speak for those still out
there, unable to find their own voice.
And today I officially join them.
On
January 21, 2015 at 4-something in the afternoon, it will be 6 years since I
found my voice, 6 years since I ran.
Some
days I wonder if I'll ever be able to recapture the
parts of myself I left behind and still other days I wonder if it's not better
to be without them. Most days I am overwhelmingly grateful for the gift that I
was given, for the strength I was able to find and for the amazing people in my
life who loved me through all of it. Most days I am overwhelmingly grateful for
that still small voice that somehow managed to speak loud enough for me to
finally hear it.
"Every
cell in the body is destroyed and replaced every seven years. How comforting it
is to know someday I'll have a body you will have never touched" - Kate
Scott
One
year to go.
All
my relations,
absolutely every single one of you,
Thank you.
Mandy
