Monster

the hardest battle i've ever fought is the one constantly raging in my mind. the fight against the memory of his hands, the ones that grabbed my body, but bruised my heart and soul.

"YOU CAN'T LET THAT GET TO YOU" people tell me. they mean it to be helpful.

"JUST LET IT GO, IT HAPPENS TO MOST PEOPLE." their words echo through my ears as a shout in a canyon.

These people don't wake at 4 in the morning soaked with sweat, smelling the fear on their body, fighting with their own mind to stop the PANIC weighing down their every breath trying to quelch the screams rising from their stomach.

These people don't fight the DEFENSE that rises in their soul like bile in their throat at an unexpected touch, completely inoccuous to "normal people"—those undamaged, or at least only DAMAGED in different ways— the inner voice of their soul SCREAMING at them to run, run, to get AWAY because sometimes every touch is that of the one —or the many— who have touched, grabbed, prodded, poked that which was NOT his - or hers. And as I sit, finally calm after two hours of telling myself that I am SAFE, that I am STRONG, that HE, the one without a face because my mind refuses to remember anything but his UNWANTED TOUCH, that he is not here, nor will he ever be. After letting the hot water BEAT upon my skin, and after scrubbing my skin RAW as if by cleansing my body I could somehow, maybe, prayerfully cleanse my mind and my HEART of the FEAR that grabs my nights—and some days— as he grabbed my breasts, my hair, my clothes so long ago. the words l've been saying to myself over AND over for the past two hours finally, AT LAST s i n k into the parched ground of my soul, I say, aloud now, i am rebellious, wholly against the thought that says that i ‘should be’ any other way than what i am, what i'm growing to be.’

As I sit, slightly ashamed because "WHY AM I NOT AS STRONG AS ALL THESE PEOPLE WHO SAY I'M FINE, I SHOULD BE FINE BUTWHYAMISOOBVIOUSLYNOT FINE?"

‘my fear does not make me weak. i am strong. i am resilient. i am not spoiled like a carton of milk left on the counter, open. I am PRECIOUS.

NOW, i say these things. knowing, that were i not strong resilient valuable a rebel—my cause that of my heart— growing beautiful resourceful and yes, even a little fearful— were i not these things, i would have long since been dead ; think know

The United States ranks as one of the worst countries in the world for human trafficking, with an estimated 199,000 incidents occurring annually. The number of reported cases, however, is much smaller.