Broken?

Photo credit: ba1969

You didn't break me;
Well, not quite,
Although you tried.
I should have known
The way you hero-worshipped
The memory of your father,
And yet
Your mother told me
Of the fear and dread
Every time she heard
The garden gate rattle on its hinges
Not knowing what lay ahead for her.
I knew to be on my guard
But still
I let you do it.
My bad.
Or not.

It was not physical,
Your abuse,
Although you hit me once
And I dialled 999.
You ripped the phone
Out of the wall
But the police still turned up.
The one time you had no answer.

No, your abuse was far more subtle.
It was psychological,
Emotional.
Still painful
But with no scars
That could be seen.
No-one knew
What you were putting me through;
You were too clever:
Far,
Far,
Too clever.
You made me believe
Bad things
About myself.
You made me
Hate myself.
I would get frustrated
Because part of me knew
They were not true;
They couldn't be,
But
The rest of me did.
Your iron fingers
Grasped at my soul,
Crushing the very essence
Of me.

I may not
Have been broken
But
I had no confidence,
No belief,
In myself;
I was trapped.
No way to get out
And re-start my life.
And yet,
Outwardly,
I was confident,
Strong,
Ambitious.
Work was an escape,
But in my head,
I was still
Trapped.

It didn't stop there.
You went
With your friend
To visit his brother abroad.
You started an affair
And broke up that family.
For months,
You denied it
To everyone,
Not just me.
Your best friend,
People who had supported you;
You betrayed their friendship.

Finally,
I broke free from you.
Work provided
A partial escape route;
I took it.
Slowly, I felt
The grasp of your iron fingers
On my soul
Loosen
And I began to grow
Again.
I started to enjoy life
Again.
I believed in myself
Again.
Work came to an end
But the link was broken.
I knew
I couldn't go back.
The only answer
Was to move away.

I went.

Although
I was free,
I suffered
For a long time
Because of you,
Because of your hatred,
Because of your vicious words.
I rebuilt
My confidence,
My self-belief.
It was hard work;
You changed me
For good.
Sometimes,
Even now,
I think I feel
Those iron fingers
Grasping, squeezing
At my soul,
Making me
Doubt myself,
Hate myself
Again.

But then,
I remember;
You didn't break me,
Although you tried.
I have people
Who love me,
Who care about me,
Who like me
For who I am.

That is my victory.
That I broke free
That I am me.

This is for everyone suffering from some form of abuse in their lives.


This post is a finalist in the "Blog Post of the Year" category in the MAD blog awards 2011.