Fragments

A Case Study in Suppression

Over-performance and Dissociation:

Using sexuality to gain validation rather than express genuine desire. 

---

Passageways dimly lit with doors firmly closed on the past, egos exited and discarded. Doors marked by times and events purposely forgotten.

The first door seems non-threatening. It is marked "The Quiet Room" in the flourish of Monotype Corsiva. The door is painted white; it stands ajar and the light streams gently outward, casting rays on the stained carpet.

I wander in, seeking a quiet mind and a calm soul. The room welcomes me, offers me respite from the darkened passageway lined with other doors which strain against hinges, wanting to spill open to let their foul contents out.

I close the door to the quiet room and find solace there in the space filled with light. I bathe in the glow; I feel it washing over me...

A throaty laugh disturbs my peace, the cacophony coming from further down in the darkness; he is clearly drunk, and his booming voice is a ramming rod, threatening to blow the heavy door out of its frame.

"Nancy!" he calls, softly at first, in a playful voice.

Then louder still: "Nan-cy!" syllables exploding out of him with spit and venom.

"I know you're hiding!"

"But you'll never get away from me!"

An ominous silence follows.

I cover my ears firmly with my hands in case he starts up again.

I welcome the void as I keep my eyes firmly shut, spots of white piercing the thick blackness.

My ears start to zing from the insistent pressure, and I release my grip.

The zinging is replaced by terror.

He is banging on doors seeking me out.

He was always greedy, insatiable, lustful.

I cast him off; sex is cast off because it left me weak, emotions intertwined with baser impulse, emotions always taking over, leaving me wanting.

I am XX. I am Yin.

I shut off the lights, stumble over a magazine rack, sending tatty old magazines flying. I cower in the corner, behind tub chairs in red & green. It smells musty here, the overpowering scent of incense and old carpet. I'm afraid he will find me crouching there, and I'll be exposed.

I chew on my bottom lip, tasting blood. I scratch my sweaty palms, digging deep.

I hear a scratching noise coming from the far wall, then the splinter of wood. I peer out from behind the chairs, my eyes strain to see what's going on.

"Pssst!" "Pssst! Over here!"

"Shhhhh, go away." I say to the little girl, her golden hair braided with red satin ribbons.

"Don't you remember me?" she asks of me, her voice thick with hurt, her blue eyes sparkling with tears.

"You got the wrong person," I say to her, "I am nobody."

"Silly," she giggles, her teeth pearly white, "look closer."

Her smile is broad; her innocence shines out of clear blue eyes.

"Come!" she motions me closer, "I have a mirror."

"No! I don't know you. Go away!"

I am insistent now, finding her familiarity disturbing.

She seems more threatening than him.

She silenced him to a dull whisper, robbed him of his power, his door locked and sealed again.

She forces her tiny body through the hole in the wall. She walks calmly towards me, mirror in hand.

I huddle deeper into the corner.

She stands on the chair and reaches for the light switch. Blinding light bursts forth. I blink rapidly, adjusting to the brilliance.

She pushes back chairs with one hand; her strength astounding me. She kneels and strokes my cheek.

I cringe because it feels so good.

"Shhh," she says, "I am here, I've always been here!"

She holds up the mirror and I see... Matted hair, lackluster, but golden; blue eyes dulled by pain, devoid of hope; teeth pearly white set against blue lips that had forgotten how to smile.

My Innocence lost, my Sensuality denied...

And I wake up screaming.