Capitalism and Assault

At around the same time that I got raped, my family faced a crisis of needing a new place to live. Everything suddenly felt too heavy, it’s funny how different forms of oppression cross simultaneously. At around this same time I didn’t really have anyone to hang out with and everything felt isolated and dark. I took so many trains at this time, trying to escape all the violence that was currently afflicting me. The first thing that I did was try to date the guy who raped me. I recall how much the darkness suffocated me. I don’t think I escaped that place. Every day I have to find the inner light to guide me out of the overwhelming darkness that surrounds me.I resorted instead to seek a friendship, but this friendship was not nurturing, it was the kind of friendship where I had to be happy to feel loved. I have learned to be happy even when everything feels awful. I have been so fucked by capitalism to say the least. I have been in danger of losing my access to education, have felt the reality of having nothing to eat in the house, was forced to abandon the country where I was happiest, and have felt the anxiety over not knowing where we would live next. To top that off I still don’t have health insurance; this is probably the worst reality I currently live as I really need trauma intervention. When people see me, they often do’t know how to take me, I am at once a firecracker, full of happy gestures, and an explosive full of nervous energy. How can I not be nervous when my existence has always felt marginal, always contested. Legislation and the capitalist market contests my humanity every time I don’t have access to something that should be my human right. This is the main reason that I attempted to hide and instead hung tightly to the person who I thought would never abandon me. Losing such a person was a bit of a wake up call, it reminded me that I am in a hostile world and no one will do the work that I have to do to find my own home and safety. The sort of life that I have lived has given me many negative qualities but at the same time its made me the sort of person who doesn’t stop nor gives up. Somewhere down the line I hope that I am able to deal with my negative reactions and begin to truly live. I hope that in this path I find a person who will love me for everything that I am and never finds a reason to leave. I am a lot because I have lived through a lot. I don’t want to hate myself for it, I want to begin to love my scars.


Fragmentation: my trauma

The fragments pull,

what fragments and how exactly can objects, or ideas, or parts pull and in what direction?

I suppose the fragment of forgetting,

the fragment left behind by compartmentalized pain,

What exactly do we mean when we say trauma?

It all goes back to the concepts of consciousness and memory,

but we discussed that memory is often reinvented, remade

the balloon suddenly appears and it is red

never-mind that you never consciously perceived it,

but it is there,

an explanation to the fuzzy image that distracted you and made you vulnerable.

Perhaps the falsification of memory allows us to exist beyond violation.

We not only invent after the fact but interpret memory in whatever way

allows us to exist, allows us to not jump when the subway zooms by,

so when I woke up with no memory,

I remembered the question, that I would have theoretically posed:

I never expressed my consent, except in remorse,

in the crawl on the floor, in the rising anxiety, in de-realization,

in letting you touch me again,

until I couldn’t anymore.