I've been thinking about my scars today. I have many, some I made but most were made by others. A lot of them have faded now, thankfully sparing me the memory that goes with them. I still have a few though on my legs and body but the worst ones are internal, both mental and physical. My insides have been badly damaged and left scarred and twisted. On top of that are the broken bones that will never be as strong again and the ligaments and muscles twisted so often they hurt at the slightest of jolts.
Every single one has a story to tell and everyday I see new things long forgotten. My memories are in overdrive and are trying to get out of me any way they can, all scrambling to be heard.
I have had several days of hypervigilance that ended today. Last night the pressure on my wrist came back with a vengeance. Intolerable and constant. It put an end to my constant flinching because it is the final signal that tells me to give up, you cannot get away. With the closing of a hand round my wrist I knew there was no where for me to go, nothing I could do to stop what was going to happen. My body is trained through cruel methods to shut down when held by the wrist.
I learnt to tell a lot by the pressure on my wrist. A mild grab and drag whether in to a classroom, the toilets or a different room in his house normally meant a quiet moment between the two of us that to most would seem sweet. A hard grab, knuckles white, meant something awful was going to happen and if I fought it would only get worse.
I learnt not to flinch for fear of punishment, I learnt not to speak, I learnt to shut down and do as I was told when he held me like that. A flick of the wrist and he could cause me severe pain, once even managing to break it. More regularly it was used to hold me in position for something, sex or pain one of the two and if not that then it was used to drag me to the dark while I begged not to be put in there.
All this training helped my later attackers because although when they grabbed me at first they didn't touch my wrist and I fought like hell the minute one of them got hold of me my old training took over and I shut down. Through trial and error they realised whenever they released my hands I would start to fight, I don't think they were even conscious of it.
So now when that feeling returns I feel myself give up, I stop caring about what happens around me, I flinch less, I become dull, everything becomes distant and I slow down. When I am with it enough to realise what is happening I fixate on my wrist and how much it bothers me.
So today I thought about my scars and what they remind me of everyday whether I can see them or not.