and the beat(ing) goes on…

*** POSSIBLE TRIGGERS ***

It’s been over 50 years since I crouched behind the boxes in that dark, dank basement, shivering as much from fear as from cold.  Curled into as small a place as I could, wishing to be even smaller, hoping against hope that this time he wouldn’t find me.

But he did.  He always did.  And the punishment for running and hiding would be far worse than use usual treatment, but there was no fighting that need, that all-consuming need to escape.  And that was only heightened when his friends were involved.

I can still hear their taunts, their horrible laughter as they humiliated me, teased and tortured me.  I can feel the rough, decaying concrete on my palms and knees as I crawled away after they were done.  Finding a corner to curl into, drag my clothes back on over bruises and scrapes.

And now, a new wrinkle.  Due to chronic pain in my lower back and left shoulder, my doctor has prescribed a controlled-release pain medication.  All medications of that type seem to share one terrifying aspect – they all can adversely affect breathing and the ability to draw a breath.  The same struggle I felt back then when his hand was over my mouth to keep my quiet.  Covering my nose as well, making it almost impossible to breathe.  The world tilting from the pain and the lack of oxygen…

The horror now repeats at 2:00 am when I’m under the influence of the pain medication.  Pills, patches, it doesn’t matter – they all cause the same reaction.

So in my attempt to escape the anguish of this abused body, I am thrown back into the gauntlet of pain and pleasure, of torture most perverse.  And so I hide.  And am found.  And beat.  Over and over.

world without end…