The
Beginning – Vanessa Chan
1.07am
I
lay in my nightgown, contemplating. The material is as thin as my resolve; the
mattress as hard as my exterior; the air as cold as my soul. I don’t have a
care in the world. I am like the glass on the bedside table – empty. I am
merely a vessel. What is it like? To feel. I long for some source of strength
to surge through me once more. I long to drown once again. I long to thrash
around in the turmoil I used to know. I long to feel the heaviness upon my
shoulders. I long to feel. Anew. Is that possible?
1.28am
I
am seated on the unwelcoming ground. My posterior recognizes its place. It is
time. One hand gripping the edge, I place a finger into my throat. Trying to
coax my shame out. It is easy – the expulsion, though the journey is searing. I
indulge in the luxury of bettering myself again. One flush. Two flush. Three
flush. Four. I rinse my hands and cleanse myself. My skin flushes red under the
hot stream of water. Thank goodness for heaters. I scrub myself down, meticulously.
Stopping just before the point where skin breaks. When will I ever feel clean?
1.49am
I
watch myself in the mirror. Who am I? I do not know the answer. I pick up my
razor and start to clean it under running water. I run my thumb across the sharp
edges and the basin turns a sickly red. Holding the cold steel against the
inside of my elbow, I press down. There is a throbbing that begins. My eyes are
closed and I feel. Pain. I guide the droplets to the red sea. The swirling
makes my head spin. My inner thighs ache to be taken care of. I sit. The razor
glides across. A bandage at the ready, I wrap my thighs up as tight as it can
go. Why am I so imperfect?
2.13am
I
lay atop my 10 000 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. Wondering if life will
always be this cruel to me. Even though I shut my eyes, I am too weak to stop
the waves of memories from crashing over me. I am swept away and my barriers
shatter. I am forced to relive the same memory a hundred times over.
3 years ago
2.37am
I lay in my nightgown,
contemplating. The material is as thin as the blanket over me; the mattress as
hard as his heart; the air as cold as the blood that runs through his veins. I
don’t have a thing left to my name. Heck, am I still entitled to a name? I am
like the glass on the bedside table – brittle. I am shattered. What is it like?
To be pure. Untouched. I long to feel how I felt just a few hours before. I was
fearless. I was strong. I was still Tess.
1.42am
I am falling into a deep sleep,
the events of the day that had just passed slipping out of my grasp. All is
calm until the blanket is torn from me. A bitter blast assaulted me. There is a
man. He squeezes my neck with a fury and smacks my face with the back of his
hand. Tears spring forth from my eyes. He releases my neck only to pin my arms
together at the top of my head. He spreads my legs apart and smirks as he
stares at my bosom. “Why, you are so delightfully fleshy,” he remarks. His
knees dig into my thighs and I am immobile. He shreds me apart, inside out and
devoured me. Betrayed. Invaded. Ashamed. My face stained with the tears that
kept coming. He leaves contented, but not before taking my dignity with him. He
is proud. He is certain I will not utter a word. He is right. He is always
right. He was my best friend.
3.52am
I
pick at fresh scabs, intent on releasing my blood-red passions. To let the
bitter poison that flows within me out. I am haunted. The pillow is soaked
through. I am overcome with a rage that pumped in my veins. I pick up the glass
and smashed it against the wall. Shards of glass showered over me. I scour the
ground for larger pieces. I picked the biggest piece up and started to carve
away at my flesh. I feel my heart beat slowing down. The tears stop falling. As
I make my way to my personal ending and towards a new beginning.
I begged for FORGIVENESS
Am I too UNDESERVING?
Not for REDEMPTION, I begged
Strong GUILT hangs on my head
Enough is enough.
