My Voice Is Silent

My Voice Is Silent.

​ My voice is silent. It has been that way for days, yet today, feels worse. I cannot shift the feeling of being in the wrong for talking.; for letting my secrets out. It is six days, I think, with no real sleep. Maybe it is more. I don’t really know.

​I am floating from one day to the next without having the time to stop and enjoy it. I am just watching . Somehow, I got knocked back inside my head and I am not sure how to come out again. I make myself write this so I can see what I feel and understand myself.

​I was out of bed, in the middle of the night, in a frightening moment when my mind protected me. I was yelling to be left alone before I had even woken up. Suddenly, I was in the memory of a five year old, and the man I do not know was stood by my bed in the dark once more, like he always is and always was.

​I was not dreaming of him. I was not even thinking about him. I had laid there in the dark for almost an hour, getting annoyed with the inability, once again, to fall asleep. I closed my eyes; I must have drifted off a little. When I opened my eyes in half sleep, his face was in front of mine. His hands were on my bed. I didn’t think, I just reacted. It wasn’t until I was at the other side of the room crouched against the wardrobe with my arms in front of me, telling him no that I realised it was thirty years later and he was not there.

My Nemesis, the Badman.

My Nemesis, the Badman.

        It is not just bruises that child abuse leaves behind,  bruises are the things that heal the fastest.

He is there, when I turn off the light, when I close my eyes. When I lay down after a normal day. He is upstairs when my foot touches the bottom step and I stare, daring myself to go up. He is behind me. He is waiting. He is the shadow I cannot run from.

Every night he haunts my sleep. Yet he is no longer real. He is not physical, not just those years as a child he stole, but all the ones that followed.

In the darkness I lay down. I close my eyes and sigh and let the day go like everyone else. Seconds later my eyes open, I stare into the dark. I try and make the shadows nothing. I know he is not real any more, but I am waiting. I do not move. Do not blink. My breath is caught. I am 35, not 5 he cannot beat me anymore, but he does.

I am afraid to sleep. What if tonight he becomes real once more?

I see his face. Like a flash before my eyes. He is grinning. Smiling, yet I still don’t know his name.

Just the shadow of a bad man from long ago.

Read Dear Teddy.