THIS Is Me... (14 page)

  Singing,
“Kayla on her knees...  Kayla in the bathroom stall...  Kayla, Kayla, Kayla... Kayla is a whore.”
 
  Smiling and rocking, this is the most fun I've had in ages. 

  “What's wrong, Kayla?  You don't like it?  I always sing it for you. 
‘Leaving out the door... Kayla is a whore...’”
  When she turns to me she's actually crying. 
Whatever.
  She takes and takes and everyone lets her.  She fucks everyone!  She’s a slutty whore-bag who no one trusts or likes, and
she's
crying to me?
  “Suzanne... Please-”
  “Please,
WHAT?!
  Watch you fuck another man who loves me?  No thanks.  You've already fucked my husband, why not my no memory of him-sexy as hell-
fiancé
?  You know what, Z? Go for it.  I'm sure she's much better at fucking than I am anyway.  She HAS had extensive practice, right Kayla?”
  “Suzanne!  Enough!  Do you remember Kayla sleeping with Marcus?  Do. You. Remember?”
  Staring at the dirty whore, I scream, “Yeah!  How could I forget?!  What the fuck are you doing here anyway?!  Fuck off, WHORE!” 

  Closing my eyes from the room, I still sway and sing my awesome song while the rage builds inside me. 
  “
Kayla is a whore... Fucks on the floor... Always begs for more... suzanne the little whore… lying on the floor... begging no more... they fuck her till she's tore... suzannes a little whore.
”
  I know someone has me in their hands, I know I'm being held and squeezed, and I hear all the sound in my room. 

  There's yelling, and crying, and talking, and begging, but I don't care.  They can't make me hear this.  They can't make me feel this.
  “
I'm a little whore... lying on the floor... ripping, burning sore... always hurting more... fucked and fucked some more... suzanne the little whore...
” 
OH!

  Opening my eyes, Mack is talking to me, and Z is holding me, and Kayla is hugging other Kayla, and 2 different doctors are moving around the room looking at me.  But the silence in the room is so loud in my head; I don't know how to silence the noise.
  There is so much sound, but I understand nothing.  I have only my song in my head. 

  I hear my little girl voice again on the billiards-room floor.  My vision is blurry and my body is bloody and sore.  And I don't know how to stop this anymore.
  So opening my mouth, I scream as loud as I can until finally the painless darkness engulfs me.

CHAPTER 18

JUNE 5

  I remember from before the beautiful song “I'm in here” by Sia.  I remember every word I heard but I didn't know then I would feel the song as I feel it now.  That song is my song in this moment.  If I could thank Sia for her words, I would.  I would tell her she sang my exact thoughts. 
Her
words, to
her
beautiful song are my exact words in this moment.
  Oh, god… I'm just so
sad.
  There is too much to think and feel and remember this time.  There is just too much this time. 

  I want to beg everyone to STOP.  I want everyone to stop what they’re doing and listen to “I’m in here” by Sia because that is all I am in this moment.  Those are the only words I have in this moment to explain the oppressive depth of my despair.
  I'm drowning in my memories.  I'm dying from my memories.  My memories are suffocating me so slowly; I can actually feel the life draining from my body this time.
  Sia sang it before I understood it.  Her song is my pain in this moment.  I wish I could play her beautiful song to everyone I have ever known so they can understand exactly what I feel in this final moment.  I want everyone to listen to her beautiful words so they know what I feel in this moment.  Her exact words have become my life and death in this moment.

  No one has ever known me, and no one has ever understood me.  No one has ever known why I’m like this because no one has ever truly known what my life was really like.

                                                 *****
 

  I know I'm sleeping and dreaming, but I can't seem to wake this time.  This time I'm fully trapped in this movie-like fast forward showcase of my life.  This time I see it all… and it's truly horrific.
  Starting from childhood, I remember my mother.  I see her hatred for me.  I
feel
her hatred for me.  But there was nothing I could do then, I see that now too.  There was no pleasure to be had from me for her.  She always hated me.  It's so clear to me now.
  My father also plays out in these memories- so cold and quiet.  With not a word spoken to me, my father stands in front of me.  I am always the little creature in the room my parents wanted to poison.  The silent life I led in their home is whipping by my memory vault.  I am silence and sadness.

  Watching, I see me so young and quiet suffocating in the loneliness.  I wanted to be spoken to so badly.  I wanted them to see me without hate and indifference.  I wanted to be known and acknowledged and seen in their lives, but they never did know me, or acknowledge me, or see me.  I wanted to be loved.  I wanted to be held just once so badly I cried throughout my nights and silently hid my pain throughout my days. 

  Awake, they never knew how much pain I felt.  But asleep I couldn’t stop the pain from soaking my pillows.  I was just so lonely, even with my parents right there in the room in front of me.  I was the Creature.
  Dammit, even my school reality plays out now.  I'm alone.  I sit alone.  I eat my pitiful little lunch alone.  I am
always
alone.  It's a wonder I even know how to speak.  It's more amazing still that I know how to socialize perfectly.  God, I was just so lonely.  All the time.

  I remember a grade school teacher making us watch the movie “Cipher in the Snow”.  I remember leaving the darkened quiet classroom afterward to sit in a bathroom stall while I cried my eyes out. 

  I was so sad for the little boy, Cliff.  I was so sad after he collapsed and died.  I remember how sad I felt, never knowing what became of all the people who ignored him.  I remember crying alone in the bathroom for at least an hour before a teacher found me and made me return to my classroom.  I was so sad, but I was scared too. 

    I kept wondering if I was just going to die one day from the loneliness.  I remember wondering if my parents would find me dead in my bed one morning.  I remember kind of wishing they would find me dead so that I didn’t have to be this sad and lonely anymore.

  I had no friends and no one spoke to me because I was The ‘Snobby’ Suzanne Beaumont.  But I was never a snob, I was just lonely.  I was awkward and sad and I didn’t know how to have a friend, so I never had one.
  And now I see the abuse.  God, the first time was so awful and frightening.  My mother dressed me and left me in the room alone.  I remember crying and I remember begging to get out… And then I remember
him
. 

  The first time for me was forced oral sex.  Choking and gagging and screaming around it, until he slapped my face hard, forcing my jaw open with his fingers digging brutally into my cheeks. 
  And then I stopped fighting.  I didn't move.  I closed my eyes as he continued gagging and choking me throughout my silence. 

  Oh god, the horror and the shame, and the absolute truth of my mother- SHE did this to me.  She set it up.  She watched me and she encouraged this for some awful reason in her twisted mind.  This was
all
her.
  Sadly, I remember the first anal abuse. I remember the screaming agony, until there was only black darkness.  Thank god for the darkness.  There was no known pain then, and afterward my memory was inconsistent, at best. 

  I loved blacking-out because I never knew what they actually did to me; therefore I wasn't sure of what
exactly
I should be ashamed of.  I loved the darkness because it was my only ally on these brutally long, excruciating nights.

  Ah, yes… now my movie fast-forwards to Dr. Simmons, the truly
amazing
Psychiatrist that he was. 

  Jesus… being forced into his hospital was the turning point for me I think.  I'm almost sure the memories went away after visiting his hospital.  I wonder what he did to me.  I wonder what was done to me to make me forget. 
  Strangely, he never penetrated me though-not even once.  He did however, force me to endure his desires.  He kissed and fondled, and would perform sexual acts
to
me like he was hoping for a response from me. 

  God, it was so gross and I could do nothing to stop it.  Between his strength and the straps around my wrists and ankles and the medications in me, he could do to me as he liked.  And sadly he did. 
  When it was happening I would just turn my head to the side, stare at the bathroom doorway looking at the red, and sadly, wait for him to finish.  My body was lifeless.  I was nothing living, but the chaos in my mind never ended.  I was a broken deadened body that could not move, and did not feel.
  And again, my memories seem to jump forward to Marcus.  Marcus was the most wonderful thing that had ever happened to me.  He was so kind and calm and gentle to me.  He held doors open and cared enough to order my food.  And he would smile at me often. 
  Marcus would simply smile and I felt such a strange contentment with him.  Marcus rarely yelled at me, and he never acted as though I was someone born for his hatred.  He took me as his wife and seemed to enjoy me in his life.  Marcus was a blessing from the nightmare of my parents.  He was a lovely kindness in all my darkness.  God, I miss him in my life.
  I wish I could stop this reel.  I wish to stop this show with Marcus.  I want this movie to end with my memories of a decent man who loves me.  But I never get what I want, certainly not in this life.
  Why was this my life?  I wish I could ask someone.  I wish there was someone
to
ask.  It's strange remembering everything I think my brain must desperately want me to forget. 
  How do victims do this?  It's such a sad question to ask but I don't know the answer.  How do other victims of sexual abuse learn to move past it?  What IS moving past it? 
  I know I'm not alone; I
know
that, but I just
feel
so alone.  I don't know how to forget the feelings and the pain and all the darkness that surrounds my life.  I don't know how to do it, and I'm scared to become a person obsessed with the darkness. 
  I don't want to be a woman who constantly thinks of the bad.  I don't want to be a woman
consumed
with all the bad.  I don't want to be a woman who cries and screams and prays for darkness all the time, just to ease the pain of her memories. 

  But how do I forget?  What will make my horrible memories go away?
  I wish I could ask Mack.  Oh!  My Mack.  God, I remember him now.  He's Mack, not Dr. MacDonald, and he wasn't lying.  He IS mine.  Holy shit!  How could I have forgotten my Mack? 
  Now
this
I regret.  I wish I had remembered him immediately.  I wish I had awoken to the memory of his love and strength.  I probably wouldn't feel so lost if I'd just known who to love and who to take my comfort from. 

  Mack is here, and I can start again,
again.
  Now I see them.  My crazy sarcastic sexy as hell Kayla from New York, and my crazy sarcastic man-hungry Kayla from Chicago... and Z.
  Oh, Z.  Now I remember him.  Z's my lover.  Oh god... I remember him now.  He IS my lover and he loves me.  He actually wants me.  He even wants to marry me.  Wow!  How could I forget that?  I mean, I know I was in a coma, but still... who could forget such an awesome, sexy, beautiful man loving them?  I swear I'm a moron sometimes.  He loves me and I want to love him back.  I think I even remember loving him back.
  Oh!  I remember loving him back in New York.  He was sexy and kind, and really,
really
awesome at all the sex stuff. 

  Christ!  He knew exactly how to touch me, and what to say, and what to do.  I remember sex with Z was loving, and amazing, and unforgettable.  Huh.  Maybe Mack should've started with the Z sex-stuff.  I probably would have remembered my life sooner.
  Remembering Z, I'm overcome with my newest reality.  I have to change again.  I have to get better again.  I have to start feeling all this life again.  God, I have to wake up.  Again.
  This movie has been long and exhausting, but I think it's my time now.  I think maybe I should write the script of my life from now on.  Finally, I should try to be my own Director. 

  I want to be the person who yells 'action' during the good times, and 'cut' during the bad times.  I want this movie of my life to have a Hollywood ending.  I
want
the happily ever after.  God, I have to wake up now and take control of my movie.  I know that now. 

  Of course, I don't have a freakin' clue how to start.  And I don't know how to make this horrible movie into a love story, but I want to try.  I really,
really
want to try this time. 
  I want a happily ever after.  Everyone wants a happily ever after.  Even the people who hate them; those who scoff at the perfectly cheesy endings, those who make fun of happily ever after’s, deep down kinda want them I think, because nobody wants the ending to be more depressing than the story was.  No one wants the ending to feel worse than the horrific journey to get there.

  So that's what I'm going to do.  This is it.  When I wake up again from this nightmare, I'm going to try to live this life well, with the people who love me.  I'm going to forget the monsters, and I'm going to love the angels instead. 
  I'm going to write this script by my own hand, with the words I've always wanted to say, and with the love I've always wanted to feel.  I'm going to close the book of my past, and I'm going to write a new book filled with my new future.
  I'm going to wake up now.