Always Picked Last

I just got back from a Halloween dance with my church tonight. It was held at a barn a few miles away from my house. The music was awesome. I came with three new friends of mine. We all looked cute.

Though it was over two years ago I still feel uneasy about myself and being in crowds. I still feel different. When all the girls I was with got taken off to dance by some guy, one by one, leaving me standing there in a crowd of dancing people all alone, I was for certain, stamped on my forehead was "invisible"; don't talk to her, don't touch her, don't even look at her. I felt like I will never be cute again, like no matter what dress I put on, or how much make-up I am wearing, or how beautifully my hair is done, it does not cover the sign. It does not cover what happened, in my heart and on my face.

It is as though nothing I can do will cover what I am now - a rape victim. I am someone who has overcome something so horrible but I cant tell anyone about it. I feel as though I will always be a victim, always broken, always scared, always invisible.

I don't know what this feeling is; I am no little girl anymore, I have no innocence, I am not able to be loved. I don't know if I am just a body or just an image of someone who once was floating around, trying to be noticed, trying to be normal again but can never, not matter what I try, or what I say.

I feel like I am always alone. Not only do I get picked last but I don't get picked at all. No one will ever want someone who is damaged is what I can't stop playing over in my head as I watched everyone else dance.

You're Beautiful

The first time she heard the original line without the radio edits of James Blunt's You're Beautiful, was when she was lying on top of a dark blue comforter covering too small bed, barely big enough for one grown person let alone two. The room was small, just able to fit a dresser, a computer desk, and a closet full of woman's clothing and shoes. The furniture was arranged so that the desk and dresser could fit under the bed providing room enough to sit on the blue comforter and not hit your head on the ceiling. The dark night light was changing as the rising sun commenced the new life for the woman struggling to grasp meaning of what just happened.

"This moment reminds me of a song played over and over again on the radio," she says to the man. "You're beautiful, you're beautiful, it's true...and I just don't know what to do..." she continues her thoughts out loud, "I will always be with you," not expecting him to understand or respond. Possibly her heart hoped he wasn't listening.

"You could see by my face that I was fucking high," he responded.

It was then she knew what it was. What it all meant. Why the song was replaying over in her head. The song was her reword of what had just been done. At that moment he had confessed. There was no other thought in his mind; he wanted to screw her. No one could have stopped him.

Not wanting to sound naive or broken, "Yea, that's how it is," she replied and moved away from him. All was quiet. The sun finished its course and the dark blue comforter discolored into a red blanket that she would never sleep on again.