Thursday, April 12, 2012

A dream too terrible to write about
The type of dream that I want to just forget
But I can't forget it. It was so vivid. I will write it down. I am strong enough now to deal with it. I wish that i could erase it all. But I cannot. What I have left to do is to confront it. I have lived through the worst. What is wrong with a bit more of hell?
My nights are full of terror. Sometimes it is easier not to sleep than to dream what I dream.

She came to us all crying, her eyes horribly swollen and black. Her eyes were closed. She could not see through them. She held her nose, it was all blood. She explained that she had tried to cut her hair but that she had cut too much of it and that she had cut part of her brain stem too. She turned around and we saw the open wound in the back of her head. She cried as she heard from us that it was so, as she had thought that it would be. She would be blind. For many years she would be blind. Possibly her eyesight would return but if it did, it would take many years. "By then my youth will be entirely over."
We all were struck by the horror, each one of us living her pain. There was no sympathy to be given. It was too terrible for words of encouragement or consolation. There was. There is. And it continues.

My God. Where are you hiding? In Spain, sex slavery is in style now. And the young men from France come along together in happy groups. They travel from France to Spain to have some fun with women that are forced to sex slavery.

In Pakistan burning women's faces with acid is a long known tradition.

And there is me.

Abba is paying me five dollars a day for reading the newspaper. He wants me to get educated. He wants me to have the newspaper education. My Mom thinks that this is an important education to have. So, I have begun reading the New York Times. And at night I dream. The articles I read about US are coming up now in my dreams.

I started therapy at the Rape Crisis Centre. Finally I have a space for myself, my uniquely woman-self.

And yesterday I shaved off all of the hair from my vagina. I want to get to know it better and I like it bare for now.

I was afraid that I would hurt myself. That by mistake a part of my vulva would get snagged into the 'epilady.' Or worse that my clitoris would be twisted into it. I was very careful. I pulled my skin, stretched my vulva tight and controlled my epilday well. It was going to be my friend not my foe. It was going to help me get a little closer to my vagina.

My bare and beautiful vagina. I took pictures again.

Our vagina and our brainstem are one. Our 'fight or flight' instincts are gathered there. Our maternal bonds and mating bonds, our sex drive and our response to threat are situated there.

Our vagina's under fire attacks every aspect of our female- being. Our vagina's are under fire and every aspect of our being female is attacked.

My clitoris is safe. My vulva is safe.

Women in Africa, are yours?



I have had enough for now. Maybe my night terror can recede into the background now that I have dismantled it.

Only that I am behind on reading the newspaper. I haven't read yesterdays yet. Should I collect the articles? Should I cut them out and save them?

I know the answer now. Only that I will have to rummage through the garbage...

I want power.

I paint. I write. I do my mosaic work. My father joins me.

I want power. Power to change, to re-organize the world.

Give yourself compassion. You are hurting. Enough for now.

Love,
Atara