Behind Closed Doors

I was sold into the sex drive when I was thirteen. I didn't know what I was supposed to do. The men would just hand me skimpy bits of clothing and black thigh high high heeled boots, they would tell to change into the clothes, they would watch me, then I would be sent out on the dark busy city streets. Men much older than me would stare at me, some would whistle and do cat calls, and others would touch me in places that I didn't like. I was told that if I wanted to see my family again, I would do what I was told. So I did exactly what I was told. I would strip on street corners for money, I was told to do it, by the people who owned me. I would go to strange men's houses and let them touch me and kiss me, they wouldn't do anything else. They said I was too young for what they wanted. When I had done what I was told, I would get rewarded. They would give something white and powdery, it was nice. It made me forget what happened and it made me loose. I liked it. It was my release, my haven. But once the buzz was gone, everything came crashing back to me. If I disobeyed, I would get whipped and slapped and hit until I was laying on the cement floor crying and I couldn't get up. I was put in a cage and chained up for punishment; I would stay like for--I have no idea how long. Hours?Days? Weeks? I would lose track of time. After a while, I quit caring. Quit caring about what happened to me, quit caring about everything. I knew I was never going to get out. I realized that when my attempts to run away failed everytime, I lost count of how many times I tried to escape, just like I lost count of the minutes, hours, days, weeks, and years. Nothing mattered after a while, and when I stopped running away, I got a room to myself. Well it wasn't exactly a room, it was more like a cubicle with 3 concrete walls and a bed sheet as my door. There was no such thing as privacy. The other girls were just like me, they were broken; shattered. You could see in the eyes of them that their hope has long been extingushed, so has mine.

I lost my virginity when I was fourteen, I wasn't supposed to let a guy go that far with me until I was sixteen. When they found out, I was punished for days. They would drag me out by my hair and whip my bare ass until I couldn't feel anything except for the sting of the leather whip. They told me that if I cried out, they would whip me harder and the longer the punishment would last. And everytime I would scream. Evenutally I stopped screaming from the pain, I welcomed the pain, just like I welcomed the sorrow and hopelessness, they were familiar to me; I embraced them.

*the bit below is something I wrote in my notes on Facebook. I thought it was appropriate for this story.

I look at myself in the mirror.

I lool normal, intact.

I know better than that.

I know I'm falling to pieces on the insides, the seams are coming apart.

I try to hide that I am not okay.

I try to hide the tears that I blink away.

I try to hide my sad face.

I put on a show.

I let my family and friends think that nothing is bothering me

that everything is fine.

I know better than to think that.

To keep my facade I hide myself in my room.

I read, I write, I draw, I do anything and everything to keep my mind else where.

But it doesn't work.

I know better than to tell someone 'Yeah everythings fine. I'm doing good.'

Everything is not 'fine.'

I'm losing it.

I am losing a battle that I started to fight too many months ago.

Maybe I already lost that battle, but keep thinking that it's still raging.

Maybe I made a mistake and it wasn't a battle, it was a war.

A war that laughed at me and said, "You know you can't win, so why are you trying?"

I have told myself to never seem look weak, look like your going to still win even though the odds aren't good

My life has been a constant battle, a constant war.

Both raging inside me and breaking me until they reach their goal.

Until I am seamless.

Until I have nothing keeping myself together.

Until I finally admit that I have lost a war that was already lost.

Why does this happen?

Why do these things happen?

Yes, I know that you have obsticles in life.

Yes, I know that they will some day be over come.

But now I am just trying to get through this war, this battle that is trying to rip me up.

So far I have not fallen, I will not get down on my knees to fight.

I have kept myself up with my head held high, my feet planted firmly in the ground.

The Teenage Years are the hardest to get through.

You are just coming out of your childish dreams.

You are more aware of the world.

You are more aware of dangers.

In the mirror the person looks like familier stranger, but if you look deep enough, the person looks unreconizable.

They look like they have their own war that I they are trying to fight.

They are trying to keep their seams intact.

But someday there is going to be an undoing that didn't I expect.

I turn off the light in the bathroom, not wanting to look at the familier stranger anymore.

I walk away from the mirror, but I know that everytime I look in a mirror I will see that familier stranger.

PROPERTY OF STARDREAMESS231