Falling Away From Me: Dark Memories

First off: all of this is true.
Second: I've not told many people of the following events.
Third: It is my pleasure to share these true events with my dear friends here at FOG.
-This is an excerpt from a book I am currently writing about my past, called "Falling Away From Me".


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If you are weak at heart, please do not read this. This is a true writing, one I have not shared with more than a small band of about four people.. . . .
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Sometimes things happen, and we are at a loss to whether they help or hurt us; until enough time has passed that the haze of pain is lifted like a forgotten veil...










My life had always had its ups and downs, a lot of downs, to be honest. But I was doing good. I was climbing out of a depression that came from a horrible and verbally/mentally abusive step-father and bipolar/stressed out mother. I was finally losing some of the weight I gained during the depressive phase of my life, and was beginning to gain a bit of self-esteem.

I was wearing boot-legged jeans, a few shades darker than normal with faded spots along the knees. My shirt was a World of Warcraft shirt that was from Hot Topic, that was a tight black that showed off how much weight I'd lost. It had beige pirate skulls on it, and I thought it was pretty badass. My hair was a bit on the short side, just finally beginning to grow again- falling around my ears and neck with copper bangs on the left side.

I was walking down to the bathroom during fourth block. Coach Mattox loved me, so he let me go without a pass. There were several options for bathrooms; one all the way down towards the English hall, another that was full of cigarette smoke near the stairwell, and one in the far back of the Algebra hall. And I liked the one near the Algebra hall. It was usually empty and cleaner than the rest.

As I walked, I heard a voice behind me. Thick, deep. Masculine. Guy definitely sounded bigger than me.

"Pretty thing like you shouldn't be out of class." He said. I turned my head just slightly, catching the faintest glimpse.

Black guy. Dark brown skin. But I couldn't see much of him. He wore baggy dark jeans over white Forces, and a red hoody with his hood pulled up. I think it had golden Rocawear symbols on it; but like I said, the most I got of this guy was just a glance.

"Thanks." I said softly. Well, what was I to say? Here, in this school, you had to be careful. Over half the school's population was black, and half of the black kids were small-time wanna-be gangbangers and drug dealers. All of them spelled out trouble.

I walked onwards to the bathroom, turning in to feel a bit more secure. The dull ugly orange walls and white floors gleamed with a calm that I got from knowing that most people wouldn't go into the girl's bathroom after somebody.

Too bad most wasn't everybody.

I hear heavy footsteps following me. I turn around, and there is the guy. The stranger. That man who's face I cannot see. I take a deep breath, and roll my eyes, moving then for the sink and staring into the mirror.

"Well aren't you annoying. Can I please have some privacy?" I retorted, trying to sound tougher than I was. After having been through similar situations that ended quite... badly... with men, I had a horrible fear that it was all going to happen again. I had the great fear, like a knowing in my gut, that said this guy was going to do something to me. And he wasn't going to let me slip out of his grip easily...


"Whoa now Wonderbread, you should watch your mouth. It might get you in a bit of trouble." He said in a mock tone.

I saw him in the scratched and drawn-on mirror, a red and black blur stepping closer. Finally, the only thing that could be clearly thought in this hectic mind was "get out".

I tried to turn, but large hands planted themselves on the porcelain sinks before me. And masculine arms halted me. I was a bird with broken wings, sitting in kitty's dinner plate. I feel it now. My heart hammering away as though it were going to crack ribs. The thunder of my pulse in my ears, in my eyes. My breathing turns shallow and rapid as I begin to frantically push against the sinks, to grab his arms and slam myself around the ring of his trap.

His hands rose from the sinks and onto my stomach. I felt his knees clashing into the backs of my legs, knocking the resistance out of me. I felt a scream well in my throat- but that's all it did. My mouth was dry and my eyes were watering, and I couldn't form anything but the tiniest of whimpers.

His laugh could be heard as I listened attentively, hearing the sound of his zipper rolling down. I coughed out a tiny cry, tears rolling down my cheeks. It was going to happen again. I knew it. It was happening again, and this time it was going to be worse. I just knew it.

And there came a point when I died. I died deep down. I gave up. All my failures and all the depression, and the grand shit-hole of life; it wasn't worth it. I became silent, and just leaned forward, my head on the wall waiting for him to rape me. Waiting for him to just murder what was left of me. My will to live on. I just waited.

He was shifting behind me, his hand rolling around my waist and reaching for my own zipper.
I closed my eyes, and prepared for death in the most subconscious of forms.


His fingers moved slowly, because everything in my crashing world had slowed down. The tear rolling down my cheek took forever to leave this face, before it finally struck the porcelain of the sink.

But my eyes opened, and I felt the small release of my pants where the button had come undone. And then his finger grabbed the zipper...


I stared down at this dark hand, about to undo me and break me. About to destroy me.
And for some reason unknown to me, I was surged with a will. Something hit me, something told me that I wasn't going to do this again. I wasn't going to be weak. In all honesty, I doubt that this force was me.
It felt almost like someone, or something, else had swept into my body, and orchestrated me.

Because in fluid seconds, I'm not completely sure how, I had slammed my elbow back into the man's gut, and stomped his toe. Perfect and precise motions, might I add. But that's when it got violent.

The young male grabbed me by my arm and slammed me into the marble walling of the stall, and my head hit it with a loud and hard 'thud!'. I closed my eyes, wincing in pain as everything seemed to blur and I was instantly dizzy. But I shook it off, my eyes opening and everything falling back into focus as he prepared to yank me again. This time, I was headed for the mirror. But again, some guardian angel must've possessed me, because I slipped down and aimed a perfect punch into his gut, only to thrust myself forward. He rocked back on his heels, and prepared to swing me into the wall again. This time, I was tossed into the wall, but as I fell to the ground, the man stepped back, and turned for the door.

And he was gone...





I curled into the wall, trembling and cold, and trying to remember what had happened. At the time, I couldn't remember anything. For all I knew, he could've raped me. My body was numb and yet I was sore and aching from being tossed around. But in due time, I stood up, and washed off my face.

And I left that bathroom looking as though nothing had ever happened...






I sat in my room, didn't feel much like talking. But it wasn't abnormal, I usually keep to myself at home. It helps me avoid conflict with the step-father I despise, and the mother I love too much. But the worst thing about parents is that they can tell something's wrong.

And sometimes, they don't know how to handle a child when a problem lingers about them.

My door slid open, and my mother stepped inside. She's a sweet woman through and through, but she's flawed like the rest of us. I can only respect her nonetheless for helping me grow strong.

She was a in a dark blue shirt and long brown pajama pants. She's tall with long slender legs and a stronger upper body. Lightly tanned, with long cocoa-brown hair, and blue eyes. Mom's always been beautiful...

"Honey, what's wrong?" She'd ask.

I had to switch into a new mode instantly. Because at the time, I just knew I couldn't tell anyone what had happened. The last time I had told anyone about having been sexually abused by a man, they called me 'attention-seeking' and thus, I wasn't believed. So I just knew that I couldn't tell this time, because it would shame me.
The world would just criticize me again.

What a hateful world it was for me...

"I'm fine, just... I've got a headache, nothing bad..." I would say in a whisper, sitting on my bed and staring just lightly at my mother.

"Okay then." She said simply, brushing a thin yet lengthy hand through my somewhat short dark hair, brushing my bangs out of my eyes.
"I love you baby."

"I love you too..."




And she stepped outside of the room.

It wasn't but maybe twenty minutes- give or take a few- until dinner was done. But I wasn't eating that night. Remember- I had a headache. I had to stick on that excuse for the rest of the night. Which, in all honesty, wouldn't be that hard. My mind was ripping itself apart, in both disbelief that a man had yet again put his hands on me and I almost failed to fight back. By some God-given miracle, I had not been raped or beaten or injured. Some miracle in this hateful life that only sent me spiraling back down the long winding staircase of depression.

My door opened. I turned my head just slightly, looking to see who it was.

The kitchen was right outside of my bedroom at the time, so I could see right into it, and see mom standing in the kitchen near the island table with a fleeting look that read 'I don't feel like arguing with him'. I knew that look, because she had had it many times before. A lot of times, it was easier on her to just let my step-father take out his stress and strictness on both of us, instead of just putting it all on my mom.

He stood in the doorway, a tall and big figure with blond-ish hair. He had a hand on his hip and put one leg crooked behind the other, a look on his face that said 'now'.

"Come clean the kitchen Arie." His deep voice commanded somewhat softly- if I could ever really call that voice soft.

"Can.... Can I please just lay down for a while, I really don't feel good..." I said, tinnily at first before lifting up my voice a bit. I had turned my head, not wanting to see his face then.

But I could hear him huff out a sigh, smacking the palm of his callous hand against the wall at that moment. He looked down and took a step into my room. I picked up my head only enough to see a glance of mom leaving the kitchen for the living room in the distance.

Yeah, well, we both knew he was about to put me down.


"You don't take any responsibility do you? You just sit there on your lazy ass, and do nothing. What's wrong with you this time? You have more problems than a damn dying person does. You don't take any responsibility, and you're not making it anywhere in life. Now get up and clean the kitchen, or do I have to repeat myself?"

I heard it in his voice. Anger.
Disrespect.

He had no respect for me.
First off, I was not his child. His children had grown up by now, and lived off in Wythe county. They were good people, albeit for one incident as a young child being sexually molested by one of them.
But yeah...

See, that was my problem. I wasn't like them. I was different. I wasn't business bound, I wasn't just like his kids. And because of that, he was always trying to mold and change me. Make me someone I wasn't. And my every flaw was a target.

Fat.
Lazy.
Stupid.
Irresponsible...


"Yes sir." I said.

And I stood up, went to the kitchen, and began to clean up the mess from dinner, crying as I did so...



I finally finished, some time around eight or nine. I moved back into my room now, my thoughts a bit harsher and more hateful than before. I was beginning to lose respect for myself. Was there really a purpose in life when you attracted nothing but sorrow and pain? Not really; at least that's what I thought at the time.

I closed my door, and listened to hear the distant sound of their bedroom door shutting.

I reached under my bed and took a bottle of wine- about half full- and began to drink it. Any kind of alcohol I could get in my system was nice. And this stuff was strong; Papa's homemade wine. Sloe wine...

After having had most of what was in it, I was ready to bring an old habit back to life again. I was ready to cut myself, and just complete the cycle of damage. I reached around to my nightstand, searching for my razor... But it was gone. The last time when I decided I was going to quit the all-too-addictive habit, I had thrown my razor away. As well as my pocket knife, and my scissors.

And that only frustrated me. My skin was still solid, and I felt like my wild and horrid emotions were boiling under my skin.
Because cutting was a release, and at that time; I needed it. To cut my skin and create a vent for my emotions. A cut on my skin to seep both blood and the depression and self-hatred that was consuming me like a wildfire.

So I didn't wait to find a knife.
No.

I grabbed two keys, and held one in each hand. I pressed the tips of these keys against the inside of my arms, an inch or two from where the inside of my elbow was. And I ripped my arms forward, creating semi-crescent like cuts down both arms, skin curled along my wrists where it was shredded from the keys. The cuts hurt far more than I thought they would. I wasn't expecting the keys to do much, but they did a great deal. Almost gashes, these deep thick cuts depicting the little ridges of the key. Blood gathered quickly, dripping down my arms and onto a hand towel I had laid beneath me. It burned, but the pain wasn't enough.

I grabbed a bottle of alcohol, and began to pour it over the open wound. It stung, but not bad enough. It made my teeth grind, but I wanted to just escape, I wanted pain bad enough to make me wish for death. I was crazed, and just wanting to feel the equivalent of my emotional pain in physical injury.

I tried to think of something that stung or hurt.
Peroxide?

No. I had it. Nearby was a big bottle of Germ-X. Nothing hurts on a open wound like Germ-X.

I opened the bottle- meaning I unscrewed the cap. And I turned it over, and poured globs of Germ-X down both arms, whimpering. Yes, this was enough pain.

I smeared the combination of hand sanitizer and blood down my arms, my body (arms especially) shaking from the powerful sting and emotion. My eyes had begun to water and my breath was pitched because of it all.

Finally I laid down and cut off the light, shaking against the bed as I practically passed out...






When I woke up, it was morning.
And my mother was crying at the end of my bed.

And for the first time, I had told her of everything that had happened. Not just the bathroom incident, but as well the occasion at had occurred with a stranger in a carpentry workshop; and another with a man I didn't know at all, and can't remember for having possibly been drugged or suffocated.

And I told her everything. My emotions.
My pain.

My hate for my own life...

And I believe that that morning, I began a change...







~Eternity
- -Arianne- -

Arie, I don't know what to say. This is beautiful writing, inspired by the pain and sorrow that too many feel and only so many have ever expressed. I cried reading this. Really I did.

The only thing I know I can do is I will pray for you and your mom and your step-dad. I will pray because I believe God hears prayer.

I believe he does too.

From this, I've helped other teen girls who've been through similar things.
And as well, a year has passed since my mother left my step-father.

And life's definitely looking up.

Thank you for your kind words.

~Eternity

I love the writing Eternity. There's a lot of depth.

Pain and trials create us into what we need to be not necessarily what we want to be. It's a hard road. Thank you so much for sharing this. It's hard to bear the soul but I think (at least for me) its therapy.

Yeah. lol, it took me like a week of staring at this piece before I finally manned up and put it here. Thank you Kail.

I'll be putting up some more of my personal writings soon...

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