And Blue is Still My Favorite Color
The blue couch. The horrid blue couch. The horrid blue couch that I can never sit on again. It has been cleaned but it still smells. It will always smell. It didn’t help me. It held me captive. It just set there and let it happen.
God, were you just not watching me? Were you distracted? I don’t get it, why weren’t you there? Why didn’t you help me? Did you just sit back and watch me?
I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. But you made me an optimistic person and I knew I was going to be ok. I had known him since high school. He was a good friend. He was an all-American type boy, high school football player, cute, polite. I used to have a crush on him. Now he has crushed me.
I’d had another fight with my boyfriend. He came over to console me. The year already sucked and it was only January 2nd.
It was dark and he was drunk. He sat disturbingly close to me. I should have been more guarded. I am too naïve and trusting.
He tried to kiss me. He was terrible. He started taking off my shirt. I didn’t want him to. He wanted to have sex. I wouldn’t give in. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. I was pinned down. I couldn’t escape. I was home alone and he was tearing my clothes off. I was fighting for air to breathe, I couldn’t even yell for help.
Him. He. Monster. He used to be polite and nice. Now he was evil, a nightmare. All I could smell was him. Alcohol, body odor, smoke. The most vulgar, rank stench possible. Three months later and it is still all I can smell. I want to destroy my sense of smell, but that wouldn’t make it go away. I can’t ignore this forever. I have to keep going. Please, Lord, help me keep going.
He rips open the condom with his teeth. His clothes are completely off. I tell him I will not have sex with him. He flings the condom across the room.
I sigh with relief. It has to be over. I still can’t move. I look at the clock. It has been an hour. I have been fighting for air for an hour. But it isn’t over. It will never be over. It has only just begun.
Now he pins me so I cannot move my head. All I can see are the bright green numbers on the clock. He is naked. The blue couch is beneath me and he is above me. I am trapped. And I cannot find your hand to pull me out of this God.
I could stop breathing. That would end it. But you made me an optimistic person and I know I will survive. Another hour. I am still fighting for air.
He tried to keep going. I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. But I had to do something. I had to get back my strength, my power, myself. Maybe you did help me, in a small and minute way. You at least gave me an idea.
I thrust a hand down between my legs, to that forbidden space. My only thoughts are that of air and survival. I hold on to him, to his tool of invasion. I feel dirty. Now it is my fault. But I know that holding on to him is the only way I can keep him from that final violation. The only way to keep him from being inside me. I feel sick.
2003, a year I can’t wait to forget. Him. He. Monster. A face I can’t wait to erase.
Oh God, you are supposed to be benevolent. I thought you were a loving God. Please help me. I know you can’t change what has happened, but please help me now.
I can still see the clock. It has been more than three hours and now my only hope is that this will end soon.
He finishes and leaves his deposit on my bare skin. He passes out. I am exhausted. I awake three hours later with him trying again. But this time I have the upper hand. I stop him. I drive him home. I refuse to be completely powerless. Why did you help me that time? Did you finally feel bad for what was going on? Did you finally decide to intervene for me too?
I return home and it reeks. His smell overwhelms me. The permeating scent of alcohol, smoke and his body odor. The smell of forced sex. I clean the apartment. It still smells of him, of it. I spray anything that could mask the smell. He is still lurking there. I light every candle, I can still smell him. I smell like him. My hands are covered in his stench. I wash them. He is still on my hands. I pour bleach on my hands. He will not go away. I take a shower. He hasn’t gone away. I can’t see him or feel him anymore, but I can still smell him. Oh God make him go away. Ten more showers. He will not go away. I smell like him. The couch smells like him. I cannot sit on that couch. I cannot say his name. I can’t even say what happened.
I cry. I cry uncontrollably. I am exhausted. I don’t know what to do. I cry myself to sleep.
Two hours later I wake up. I am still crying.
Oh God, what do I do? What did I do? How do I make this go away?
Mom. She lives ten minutes away. Mom always helps. She can kiss my knee, put on a band aid and make it stop bleeding. Only it isn’t my knee. And a band aid won’t fix it. Mom can’t fix this. Only you can fix this, if you are even there.
I can’t report him. I can’t admit this to myself. I can’t even say the word. How could I tell a stranger? How can I tell someone who will judge me and laugh at me? It is hard enough to tell you, and you supposedly know everything. Please, God, please. Tell me what to do. He ruined my life. I refuse to ruin his. He doesn’t understand why I tell him to never speak to me or why I tell him to never even think of me.
God, make me strong. Give me power; show me you don’t hate me. God where is your love? God, make this bad thing go away. Turn this into something good.
At night I have flashbacks. I am scared to sleep. I am afraid he will come back, that he will do it again. I have moved, changed my phone number. I got an alarm. I have a dog. I sleep with pepper spray. I have a stun gun in every room. I am scared of the dark. I am afraid to close my eyes. Sleep is not an option.
But I am still the optimistic person you made and I know I am ok. I am stronger. I will beat this. I still fight with you. Why? Did this have to happen? I hate you God. I am mad at you. I love you God.
You said in 1 Corinthians 13 what love is. You said that “Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.” God, please teach me how to fall in love with you again. Teach me how to love once more. How to love myself. Teach me to forgive and leave this behind me.
I know I am loved. You love me. My mom loves me. Maybe one day I will love me too. I feel that I don’t deserve to be loved anymore. I am still scared to care about people. But I have faith that you and I are going to turn this into something good. I don’t want to be weak. I don’t want to be powerless. I don’t want to live in fear. I am strong. I will be strong. You are strong. We will be strong.
I have survived. I am alive. And God, blue is still my favorite color.
