My bed was left undone that day.
The room was frozen in memory. Painting the picture of something I wished to erase. What was supposed to be my personal space became the very room I wished to avoid, because whenever I walked inside, all I could picture was what happened that night.
That night.
I still remember how scared I was when he forced himself on me. I begged him to stop. I didn't want this. He knew that as well, but he continued, he didn't care.
“Your mouth says no, but your body says otherwise.”
A cold and heartless phrase uttered from the mouth of the devil himself. He didn't care about consent nor did he care for my pleas, he cared about pleasure. When he was done, I couldn't feel anything. My body was numb. I couldn't scream, nor could I cry. I felt nothing. After everything that happened, I only wanted one thing—to forget.
Forgetting the pain felt easier than recalling it.
Speaking out would put me under scrutiny.
Reporting it would prolong the pain.
Doing anything would put all eyes on me.
But if I chose to forget—it would be easier. No eyes would be on me, no questions would be asked, no jokes would be made. They preached about breaking the silence, but keeping it felt easier. So I chose to keep it. If I chose to forget, the marks would fade, my mind would be cleansed, and I'd feel safe.
But that's all just “ifs”
If I could forget.
It was easier to note but it felt harder to do. No matter how hard I tried, the pain would prolong, the trauma would reignite, the marks would show again. I felt alone in this vast world—relying on uncertain ifs to hide a certain pain. I never wished for anything extravagant, nor did I wish for someone to listen, I only wanted to forget. So why is it so hard?
Why is it hard to walk in my own room?
Why is it hard to make my own bed?
Why is it so hard to forget?
I kept asking myself, yet I could never utter an answer. I thought that this option was the easy one for my situation, but I realized that as a victim—there is never truly an easy option, because when we break the silence, we break the peace along with it, but when we keep the silence, we drown with it.
So, even if it's hard, distant and unrealistic, I'll heal on my own accord.
I won't break nor keep the silence, I'll instead look forward to answering my ifs.
If I could heal.
If I could forget.
