1/22/2018 to the man who took my voice“stop doing that"
I said as I moved his hand away from the space between my thighs for the fifth time that night. I was becoming more and more aware of where the door was as this pattern continued. why wouldn’t he listen? “whats the big deal? you owe me this at least." I felt his hand inch closer to where it had been escorted away from. what exactly did I owe him? my pride? my decency? my voice? “please stop" I pleaded again as I went to pull his hand from under the covers. why couldn’t he hear me? he moved his hand this time, but only to reposition it around my neck in a grip so tight that the edges of my vision started to close in. still, I writhed under his grip, doing everything in my power to escape the hand that, again, was traveling further and further to where it had been before, to where I told him six times to stay away from. “please, I love you" he said dryly as he pried my legs open. I, unable to speak with his hand still clenched around my throat, was appalled by the gross misuse of the words he was trying to use as an entryway to my pants. mouthing the words ‘no’ and ‘stop’ became my last resort, though I knew there was nothing that would stop him. my vision was nearly black as I was still struggling to move out from under his bodyweight. I had become helpless, and he became a woman’s biggest fear. do you think he loved me as I cried in my car on my way home that night? do you think he loved me as I sat in the bathroom cleaning up the blood he left on me? do you think he loved me when he didn’t bother to say a single word to me for nearly a week after this? do you think he loved me as I sat, crying, struggling to conceal the marks he left around my neck that my mother had mistaken for hickies? do you think he loved me when he apologized three years later and blamed it on being in a bad headspace? do you think he loved me while this night played on a loop in my mind for a year? I can assure you that he did not. why are there so many stories just like this? why do so many women remain silent? is it because he took your voice? your dignity? your hope? is it because he took a piece of you so substantial that you feel you’ve been left with nothing at all? is it because you’ll undoubtedly get slandered for, not his, but your actions leading up to it? or maybe its because no matter how many times women around the world share their stories, no change is made. abusers are still walking the streets, continuing this pattern. I cannot walk alone at night, I can’t go anywhere without remarks being made about my appearance, I still can’t be treated as a person rather than an object put here for male satisfaction. young women around the world lie helpless in beds with men they don’t know, in shackles, begging for their lives to be graced just once. our chains may be different but we are bound just the same. you have a voice, you can be heard. share your story. Comments are closed.
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