Well That Was a Bad Idea

Working on getting a few piles of paper clutter cleaned up this afternoon, I stumbled upon an entire folder of court documents.  Packed into this manila security box are physical dictations and representations of all the worst abuse moments my body and soul have ever encountered.  The stories listed there were like a Greek Siren… I knew I shouldn’t go close, I knew listening would only bring me pain, but the temptation was too much.  Before I knew it I was deep into the details of these records and weeping.  Bad idea.  Holding the folder in my hand I couldn’t help but think of a loved one digging it out of the back of my drawer one day and reading it as I was.  I could visualize there brow furrowing and their mind racing as my past became known.  Not many people have written accounts of the skeletons in their closet, but I do.  Here it is, all my deepest darkest secrets boiled down to a couple inches thick of dead tree and ink.  My stomach turned.

I came across an email I had written to a friend immediately after telling my traffickers that I was done with them.  It simply read, “My God help me.  I can’t believe I just did that.”  Seeing that message brought back the moment so clearly.  I was absolutely terrified.  My entire body shook as if I was naked in the dead of winter… and in fact, I felt naked… I had just made myself completely vulnerable.  The decision to “walk away”, to get out of the life, to get out of the abuse, was miles away from black and white but when that decision took action I felt no remorse.  Though I was extremely fearful of what would happen next, knowing that chaos would inevitably ensue, I knew it was the only feasible chance at hope.  My only choices at that time were 1) stick around and be killed 2) kill myself or 3) at least make an attempt to get out and live.

Reading though a few more emails and police reports took me through the over 2 years of back and forth with my trafficking situation.  I’d leave, hide or run, but they would always pull me back in.  There is so much shame wrapped up in those years.  I hated myself for not being able to make a clean break but I knew that I wouldn’t be believed, that people would side with my parents, and that I would be called a disrespecting whore (which all ended up coming true by the way).  I knew the resources to help me leave were sparse.

I really shouldn’t have started reading this mess at all today, but I suppose I’ll just call it an unintended side-effect of organization.  There’s a song by Natalie Grant called “Safe”; some of it’s words seem appropriate to how I’m feeling:

“How did you know

That I’m all alone today

Oh I feel so scared

And I want to go away

I bleed so deep underneath

My soul is screaming…

…Drowning the tears

Won’t make it go away

It’s robbing my soul

I’m taking this mask off my face

To discover love

And uncover all

It means to live and breathe.”

Listen to the full song here.

May this blog serve as an education to those who do not yet know or understand the atrocities of trafficking and may it serve as an encouragement to those who understand it all too well.

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