Or Not To Be....

Story of a time of trial, difficulties, failings, feelings, fears, fantasy - to be or not to be? The hole, can you describe one?

"To be or not to be - that is the question" posed originally by my dear friend Shakespear.  Asked countless times since then by many.  Yes including me.  Shakespear, however, did not ask the question in the same vein as I - or did he? Perhaps he too was lost in a deep, dark hole or cave.  And perhaps everytime he climbed to  the top of the hole, or crawled to the entance of the cave, some horrible buggar came and jumped on his fingers.  Making him fall, down, down, down back to the floor of the hole.  In fact I can hear the thump as he lands.  It's a familiar sound.

I wrote the words into my exercise book. Inside I wanted to shout out "NO I DON'T DAMN WELL WANT TO BE !" - But my self disapline would not allow such an out burst.  Perhaps if it did I wouldn't feel like I feel.  Or, perhaps I would be further up the wall of the hole.  That  is of course assuming that the buggar at the top had moved away to someones elses hole to jump on their fingers. Huh.  I should be so lucky.

The exercise book.  My book of thoughts.  Feelings. Pain.  If anyone were to read my book of truths... They're comming to take me away ha ha they're comming to take me away ho ho he he ha ha, to the funny farm with....... sorry.  I hid it under the matress - no-one would ever look there - would they? Ok I moved it and slid it under the wardrobe, no.  Paranoid thoughts flee through my head - there are probably cameras in the book case or light fittings, where ever I hide it they will find it.  Panic begins to set in.  Slow, breath, breath. Stupid girl.  I move the wardrobe out from the wall, lift the carpet and place the book underneath.  Fine.

Now no-one will know and therefore no-one will be hurt.  Thinking back I remembered when my mother read my diary.  Hell what issues that gave me.  She thought I was in love with the curate at church - as if !  Well maybe just a little crush... Then there was the day she found the corner of a condom wrapper by my bed.  Tidying - my aunts whats-it!  She was no more tidying than I was a virgin.  Though I managed to convince her I had merely been curious and wanted to know what they looked like.  Gulible? Or wanting to believe the best about me.  Just another person I let down.  If only she knew the truth about why I had the condoms and how much I hated what was happening.  How I despised him but had no control over what he did to me.. or made me do to him.

Sitting on the bed hugging my pillow the tears rolled silently down my face.  It was so clear in my mind it could have been yesterday.  The pain in the memories as vivid as it was when I was 13.  Just a baby, a kid.  To me, then,  I was an adult.  God how little I knew or understood.  If only I hadn't believed his lies.  He told me that in the eyes of God we were married.  As his wife I had duties to perform - no right to deny him my body.  Even showed me the bible verses to validate his words.  Gulible? Who was gulible?  How long did it last - two years - longer - I was nearly 16 when I found the strength to stop him coming round every night and climbing in through the window.  Hatred of sex was thankfully the only legacy I was left with.

I wish I could explain to my husband why I cried so often after he had .... I wish I could tell him it left me feeling dirty and unclean - used. 

Nausea churned my stomach.  The toilet bowl was a good friend.  I retched over and over - my lunch returning.  Oh what blessed relief there would be if only I was brave.  Miserably I shuffled back to the bed clinging more tightly to my pillow. 

Will there be sleep tonight?

Will there be another chapter in my life?

To be or not to be...

The End

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