Is it any wonder that abused children are withdrawn when their very survival depends upon the ability to withdraw from the situation at hand. For an abused child, sometimes the only voice of reason is the voice that comes from within.
“What are you thinking?
“I don’t know.”
“No one doesn’t know what they’re thinking. No one but an imbecile. Are you an imbecile?”
“No.” she uttered.
The small child learned early that only certain things were hers. Hers, and hers alone. Things no one could have or touch unless she allowed them. She knew her body wasn’t one of them.
“What are you thinking?”
A harsh slap of the open hand stung her face.
“Go inside. Go inside the safe place.” she told herself. “Go to the one place that no one can touch.”
The hand stung like a hot iron upon her face once again.
“She can’t hurt you. She may kill you, but then there’d be no more pain.” she thought to herself.
Even at such a young age, she knew this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. Inside her tiny little body was a mind, a heart. a soul, so big and so strong, she was certain that she would survive to rise above all of this. It was that thought that kept her from breaking.
“Why are you crying? Go get me my shoe. I’ll give you something to cry about.”
She tried to stop the tears from flowing for she knew that it only enraged and empowered the beast within her abuser. Crying was a sign of weakness. The body was weak. It was so small and so frail. It couldn’t help but to succumb to the mighty blows that continued to beat it down. But her spirit, that was something she could control.
“Please Lord, give me strength.” she silently prayed.
“Ah, poor little pitiful pearl. Cry me a river. Your tears mean nothing to me because you mean nothing. You’re not worth the salt that goes into your bread. Cry me a river, you turd bird. You imbecile.”
“No,” she thought, “not this. I’d rather she beat me with her fists than her words.”
“Be strong.” she thought, as she attempted to console herself. “She beats your body and you survive. Go, go the safe place. Don’t let her take that which belongs to you. It’s yours. She can’t have it unless you give it to her. Don’t give it to her!”
“What are you thinking?” the woman screamed. “WHAT ARE YOU THIKING?”
The little girl knew that she could say anything or say nothing at all. She knew that the answer to that question was the answer to everything.
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