The Abuser

The Abuser

 You might know me. I'm the girl who lives down the street from you, or who works in your office. You may see me at the store, or driving down the road and you think to yourself  "she looks OK" But I know differently, and you sense somehow that I am not at all OK. Because, you see I'm the one who gets beat up every week. I've been living with my abuser for years, and although I know better, I can't seem to let go. I know you pity me a little. But you can't comprehend my situation. You think the answers are so simple. Yet they are anything but. And I cannot leave my abuser behind. Welcome to my hell.

 Without fail always, but never do I know when; this dark stranger, strange, yet all too familiar, comes to me. In my room, in my car, when I'm at work, and sometimes waking me from my sleep. I am stalked and then ravaged. Falling, falling; the wind is knocked from me and my feet can't find the floor. I am sickened to my gut and my bowels and bladder want to purge themselves. My heart races and pounds boldly in my chest as the onslaught has begun. I am sweating but feel so very cold. I frantically try to plan an escape but I know there is none. I've tried before and can never loosen the stranger's tight grip. I am dizzy and know that at any moment the blackness will come. Will I wake up? Will I survive this? Will the paramedics find me? Should I call? Can I call? Where is the phone? The emergency room seems light years away. I've made the trip before, several times, but it is so far, and now; only just can I move. Still choking and gasping for breath, I am desperate but there is no one to help me. I have become fear. It's over and I have succumbed. If there is a thought it is only a dark resignation that this is the end. I struggle to my table and reach for some pills; my hand barely finds the strength to shakily open the bottle. I leave the cap off in case I need more and in my weakness can't muster the strength to open it again. I know my body is going into shock now. I lay the bottle within arm’s reach, and fall to my bed. Slowly, I place some pillows under my legs, to get the blood to my torso and head. I cover myself with blankets to stave off the cold. But the cold is in me. I lay in wait. One hour tick tick tick the hands on the clock move hardly at all. My body aches. Another hour and the pills finally kick in. Now I am merely sore and am soulfully tired. Now I am relieved, the stranger has gone and I know I can sleep. A deep sleep, yet with tormented dreams. Because you see, I know the stranger will come back. I won't know when or where, but I do know she always finds me. Even when in my sleep she will suddenly return, and like waking up in a burning building; my tormentor rips me from my comfort, and suddenly and again, I have become victim in this merciless dance of anguish and pain.

 For years she has come to me, and I could survive her ministrations if only I could be comforted that at last she would do her worst, and then finally and for good leave me alone. Sometimes I wish she would just kill me and end the obscenity. But no, as I lay recovering each time in my pool of frigid sweat, she smiles a malicious smile as she turns to look at me on her way out the door. Laying in the dark and stillness of my room, silently I hear her voice in my head saying "I'll be back again soon".

 Who is she? She is I. And for those of you that don't understand, I've just had another panic attack.