I went for a walk this morning with my youngest son Bo. We walked through a parking lot of a hotel on 34th Street in Saint Petersburg, Florida. Anyone who knows 34th street knows it is not the best of neighborhoods, but it is our neighborhood and I am trying to teach him to see and find the beauty in everything and everyone. Fresh air and exercise is just a bonus!
While walking through the parking lot we saw a police officer pulling in. An older man ran up to the car shouting, “There is a woman up there. She says the man in her room won’t leave. She is crying, and she says he raped her.”
I looked up and saw a young woman on a cell phone crying on the third floor walkway. It felt as if a knife went into my heart.
Suddenly I was back in time. I was the woman. I was confused. I didn’t know what happened. I only remembered bits and pieces, smells, sounds, a yoohoo can, dirt, cigarette butts, pressure, him on top of me, me crying, I couldn’t breathe, he was heavy, he smelled like cigarettes and sweat, me trying to scream but no actual sound able to escape from my paralyzed throat, the feeling of shame, guilt, anger, sadness, weakness…. Weakness, I was so weak I couldn’t get him off, I couldn’t make a sound. I didn’t know where I was or how I got there. I could hear a train. It was definitely a train in the near distance. It all came back to me as if it was a Tsunami overwhelming my entire being.
Just as quickly as I was triggered and had this horrible flashback…. I was brought back to reality…. I felt a tiny hand squeeze mine and heard his soft voice….
“Mommy, are you okay? You look sad.”
I smiled down at my little boys face. I was fighting back tears. His face was painted with love, compassion, and concern. I could not be weak any longer. I could not let that moment in time take this moment in the present away from me. I thought of something I read on Jason Cross’s page…. Even broken crayons can color….
Yes, I am broken.
Yes, we all are a little broken.
We can choose to live in the past or we can choose to move forward. We can choose to wallow in self-pity and depression or we can choose to live and rise up to our potential. We can still color the most beautiful landscape for our future even with a broken crayon.
Yes, I mourn for the woman I once was before I was raped.
I mourn for that child that was brutality abused.
I mourn for so much, but I love and embrace the woman I have become, and I love that little boy of mine with all of my heart for bringing me back from the edge today with his sweet smile and his tiny hand squeeze.
I am blessed and when I die I want people to see the masterpiece that I painted with my broken crayons….
Have a safe and wonderful weekend
On a side note Amazon has a free download of one of my books Obsession of Dylan Paul through 7/25/16. You can download it to any electronic device. I hope you can check it out.