Burning, running , flowing, cutting, deep, endless RAGE. Savage, freezing , shouting, screaming fucking RAGE. Bloody, broken, drunk and stoned oblivion, fragile, small suicidal RAGE. Breathless, hoarse, wild, roaring RAGE. Lonely, desolate, empty inconsolable RAGE. Crying, weeping hot and sweet, real raw RAGE.
This is the internal package my rapists gave me . I was four when it started . I carried fire in me , rage in me , this pain in me for over 30 odd years before I could start to voice it. Now I speak it out , throw it out , love it in , hold it tight and channel it. Expose it all , what they did to me , and the other children around me in the group abuse . There were many other kids who had to go through what I did, I don’t know where they are now, some of them are probably not still here. Abuse takes life, and takes it and steals it also when you carry on living . Recovering from sexual abuse is work , hard bloody work to get to a point where you see the shame of it was never yours to begin with. Rage for me has been a constant throughout my recovery and healing . And thank God, because it is so healthy, as long as I do not turn it in on myself and can own it as a normal response to my rapists crimes.
They may have given me this emotional baggage, but I own it as fire in me , that shouts out to them , I will NEVER give up . My rage screams out I am not like you . I am not evil , I have love within me so I am not your victim , I never was. I couldn’t get away I was too small, my body was captive , but not my mind . In my mind regardless of what was inflicted on my child’s body, I was in this one thought, I AM NOT LIKE YOU. That is resistance. Resistance fuelled by rage and love, entwined as one, friends . I own my rage as a woman, it is the heart of my power , it always was , it kept me alive, it kept me looking for the truth. From the deepest and saddest pain comes freedom from rape . Child rape . They tried to annihilate me. They failed miserably .