Horror movies. I love them. I realized years ago that I devour every flick I can find because I want to see the events unfold. Yet, it's always the ending that I need the most.
The camera will focus on the lone survivor. The woman who out-smarted and fought with all of her might, to slay the monster. Standing on the outcrop of woods or the cold beach of a dark lake, she stares into our eyes. Battered, wounded, covered in the proof of her sacrifice and bravery. She doesn't smile nor celebrate, she just... breathes.
That's the victory dance of many women, to simply get through the horror and be still when it's over. And much like a hero in a scary movie, we know that we're even better equipped for the fight if it's needed in the future. We battle sexual abuse, physical abuse, and emotional abuse. For those of us who survive, we invite the pain into our worlds and nurture the agony that will grow as large as we allow. And all the while, we do it with fake smiles and declarations of being fine.
It was after a horror movie, when I smiled at the end, that Gage asked me why I was happy. I told him. It was after that when he suggested that I write a letter. A letter to my demons, the legion that had caused me pain throughout my life. I don't know the reason that I agreed, but here we are.
I'll write the letter, but first, I need to figure out exactly who my demons are and what I need to say to them. For now, all I can do is purge my truth and seek the source. That's my mission, for Gage, and for myself.
My name is, Darcy Meadows. And this is my story.
EXCERPT:
More hoodies. A nightgown that I put on a hanger for reasons that made no sense. And a bright yellow long sleeved dress that was purchased for my cousin's wedding, which was canceled because the guy cheated on her. Good God, I had to wear that dress and look like I was about to head to a middle school dance. It was ridiculous, and I stood and cried as I stared at that awful thing. Even the material pissed me off.
Lord help me. There I was, looking like a raw puff pastry with white lace at my neck. The disaster made sounds when I walked, like two pieces of crumpled paper being rubbed together. And I don't even want to think about the green flip flops that I was forced to wear. It was either those or my raggedy gym shoes.
Thinking now about how little I had and how much I had let life pass without my involvement, I feel like a part of me died while I was miserable. I was a good mom, I can brag about that, but aside from being everyone's go-to.... I wasn't alive at all.
TRIGGER WARNING: This story deals with abuse in many forms. It's not graphic but be reader-aware that it does expose Darcy's memories and feelings of sexual and emotional abuse.
Genre: Romance
The camera will focus on the lone survivor. The woman who out-smarted and fought with all of her might, to slay the monster. Standing on the outcrop of woods or the cold beach of a dark lake, she stares into our eyes. Battered, wounded, covered in the proof of her sacrifice and bravery. She doesn't smile nor celebrate, she just... breathes.
That's the victory dance of many women, to simply get through the horror and be still when it's over. And much like a hero in a scary movie, we know that we're even better equipped for the fight if it's needed in the future. We battle sexual abuse, physical abuse, and emotional abuse. For those of us who survive, we invite the pain into our worlds and nurture the agony that will grow as large as we allow. And all the while, we do it with fake smiles and declarations of being fine.
It was after a horror movie, when I smiled at the end, that Gage asked me why I was happy. I told him. It was after that when he suggested that I write a letter. A letter to my demons, the legion that had caused me pain throughout my life. I don't know the reason that I agreed, but here we are.
I'll write the letter, but first, I need to figure out exactly who my demons are and what I need to say to them. For now, all I can do is purge my truth and seek the source. That's my mission, for Gage, and for myself.
My name is, Darcy Meadows. And this is my story.
EXCERPT:
More hoodies. A nightgown that I put on a hanger for reasons that made no sense. And a bright yellow long sleeved dress that was purchased for my cousin's wedding, which was canceled because the guy cheated on her. Good God, I had to wear that dress and look like I was about to head to a middle school dance. It was ridiculous, and I stood and cried as I stared at that awful thing. Even the material pissed me off.
Lord help me. There I was, looking like a raw puff pastry with white lace at my neck. The disaster made sounds when I walked, like two pieces of crumpled paper being rubbed together. And I don't even want to think about the green flip flops that I was forced to wear. It was either those or my raggedy gym shoes.
Thinking now about how little I had and how much I had let life pass without my involvement, I feel like a part of me died while I was miserable. I was a good mom, I can brag about that, but aside from being everyone's go-to.... I wasn't alive at all.
TRIGGER WARNING: This story deals with abuse in many forms. It's not graphic but be reader-aware that it does expose Darcy's memories and feelings of sexual and emotional abuse.
Genre: Romance
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