I am hurting. Hurting in a place that I don’t think previously existed. I can’t locate where it is coming from. It is like a sound, an unfathomable sort of droning sound, resonating at a level so low and subterranean that it is causing the very core of my being to pulsate with pain. Like a bruise that is on the inside of myself. I have the urge to find it, touch it, and feel out the parameters of the damaged area so that I can assess what to do with it.
I need to stop it from drumming and humming and throbbing and whining and aching.
I am searching. Scanning my body. It is not from the large cut above my eye, or the welts and contusions on my sides. It is not the swelling of my throat, my broken arm or the cuts on the bottom of my feet.
It’s inside me. Not psychically inside me, but there…listen…it is.. Inside the Inside of me.
Like the rapists struck a mallet onto the door of my soul and cracked it. The sound from that blow is reverberating through that essence of the spirit that has made me “Me”. The rapists are gone but their demonic substance is echoing through the empty cavity they left behind on the floor.
I am too scared to open my eyes. I squeeze them shut. The noise grows louder. It makes me want to throw up. The sound has a feeling. It’s a feeling of disgust. A humiliating, degrading, grunting sound.
“The mind is a powerful tool and when reduced to its primitive state, it protects you by putting up walls, fading out feelings, constructing new filters and condensing or expanding time. It heightens some senses, dulls others and drives the instinct of preservation.
Rationalizing and managing the intrusive thoughts, euphoric moments, misplaced fears, protracted distress or overwhelming sadness takes a lot of energy, time and brainpower.
Recovery is a mammoth task.” – Lily Reed (The Dark Seed)