It crawls around on your skin, looking for a way to get inside you so it can eat you alive...Memories.
I recall being around the age of 10 the first time I thought seriously about sex, life and death. I’m sure I thought about it even before this age, but not as seriously as I did that summer that I began letting older boys have sex with me, and I began experimenting with life and death.
I hadn’t started my menstrual cycle yet, and I thought I knew enough about it, that I would not get pregnant. I was curious. I wanted to know what it was like. So, I did it, not once, not twice, but more times than can recall. Death was the same. I wanted to know. I shot animals with my Dad’s 22 rifle, and then I would stare at them until they no longer moved. Curiosity overtook my thoughts one day, and after shooting a wild cat, I split open its chest so I could watch its heart beat for the last time.
There was only a few weeks left until school started back for the year, when I was caught by my father having sex with one of his friends at their house. I was sitting on top of him, when my father grab the back of my ponytail and pulled him out of me. I quickly put my pants back on as my father began beating him repeatedly with his fist. Blood covered his face and my fathers fist. My father continued to hit him, even after he laid there motionless. I ran to the car and hid under an old dirty blanket that was laying in the backseat. I closed my eyes trying to make the images go away, but it was as if someone had branded the images across an invisible glass directly in front of my eyes.
I awoke as the car turned up the driveway to the front gate. I laid there quietly as I listened to my father get out the car and open the gate. He then got back in the car, drove through, and got out again to close the gate. I waited for the sound of him opening the car door to get in, but instead he opened the door where I was laying.
My heart began to pound wildly in my chest, as fear of what he was going to do, took over all other thoughts. As I laid there pretending to be asleep, I felt him uncover my body, and then his hands began feeling around between my legs. When I made a low moaning sound, he told me to be quiet so he could just check me to make sure I wasn’t hurt.
He spread my legs, and pointed a flashlight directly at me as he pulled down my pants and underwear. I closed my eyes as tight as I could, and pulled the blanket back up over my head. I could feel the warmth of the flashlight shinning on my body, as his hands began spreading me open. He then put his fingers inside and began feeling around. After a few minutes he said, “I don’t think he came inside of you and you’re not bleeding, so you should be okay.” He then raised his voice and said, “I don’t want you telling anyone about this. I already took care of him, so it won’t ever happen again.”
The truth was I liked what the guy was doing to me, but I didn’t dare tell my father. Instead, I began crying, so he hugged me, and whispered to me that everything was going to be okay. In my mind, all I could think about was wanting to kill him. The visions of everything I had seen that night, slammed into my brain with such pressure that it was hard trying to force myself to continue crying. I wanted to take the 22 rifle and shoot him in the head, and as he laid there bleeding, I would cut him open, just to see what was inside of him. I thought about doing something horrible to him everyday for the rest of that summer.
Thoughts flood my mind even more today.
