Body of Work Statement

He’s still yelling as he drives. The night sky outside blurs as my mind replays the look in his eyes, the volume of his shouts, and the feeling of him pressuring me into the fridge.For a brief second, the world outside sharpens into focus and I wonder how painful it would be to hit the asphalt at that speed.

The next afternoon, he says, “…at least I didn’t put my hands on you”. He’d pinned me to the ground before.

I spent the six year relationship caught between the trauma of my reality and the longing to be cherished.

Maybe I can’t take a “joke”. The jokes were at my expense.
Maybe I am “crazy”. He had successfully convinced me that he was texting other women or that his Tinder profile was to help his friends.
Maybe I am “weak”. He would tell me that my struggles with diabetes were all about my mindset.
Maybe I am a “bitch”. I would have a tone in my voice after he would yell at me.
Maybe I can’t “survive” by myself. I was more adventurous before meeting him.

He rewired my chemistry, my timing, my truth. Eventually, he didn’t have to repeat these things as often. I started reprimanding myself.

Three years later, I am still struggling to reckon with what happened. I crave what I’ll never receive: accountability, restitution, and respect.

Now, when I face the mirror, I only catch fragments of myself. Where I should see my reflection, I see memories of shrinking myself, of silencing myself. I try to uncover some of the fragments of my former self, yet, I fear that rebuilding might erase the truth of what happened.

I still reprimand myself, wondering what I did to deserve the treatment. I wonder if my memories have misled me.
Continuing to ask questions feels futile.
I still don’t feel safe; with myself or with others.
I don’t see myself anymore; I hear his voice.
My brain and body remain on alert as shame continues to course through me.
I feel stuck between who I was, and who I’m trying to become.