Hurtful touch
Jo sat at the corner of her room on the rug. Her hand held a warm cup of soup. Chicken soup precisely. She couldn't remember when she'd last had chicken soup, let alone enjoy it. It was something she'd read somewhere, readers digest maybe? That chicken soup is good for your soul. It helps wave off the blues of life, which can be overbearing for some. And for Jo, blues never trickled on her soul, they poured in torrents. Heavy, dark and unrelenting emotional storm torrents.
The weather was rainy, cold, and grey. She was home for a couple of days on leave, and had decided to take things slow. The wind blew softly as her curtains gently swayed, belieing the waves of emotions she felt. somehow, she couldn't shake Jimmy's fingers of her mind, and the soft falling rain in the evening only kept the memories refreshed like the smell of rain on earth permeating her flat.
Jimmy had touched her. It wasn't anything dramatic or overt. He'd simply brushed himself against her on the hallway, something that happened all the time, with different people. Everyday, and even sometimes unknown to her. But on this particular day, when Jim's body brushed against her's, she had somehow gotten the most nauseating feeling that it was a sexually intended act on her. For some reason, it wasn't just a touch. And a woman can tell when she's touched differently. Make no mistakes about it.
Funny how a lovers brush of hand can send a sweet tide of warmth and feelings of love, while a doctors cold fingers brings an almost instinctive fear inducing tension.
Women are emotional beings. Much more so than the fact that they cry when happy, cry when sad, and cry when they don't know why they are crying. It means every single event in their lives is Channeled through their emotional central. A center tied to a grid that tangles every fiber of a woman's being. Associating people and events with a particular emotion. Great for remembering good people, experiences and places, but oh such a haunting fortress when holding pain.
I've talked to hurting women. They come in from all walks of life. Corporate, businesslike, housewives, students, adventurers, single mothers and more. As different as they come, the one thing that stands the same through out is the fact that when their hurt has sexual tones to it and involves a man, it's the emotional scarring that bears most effect. That feeling of helplessness that accompanies the act normally seems to say to her, 'He actually had the audacity to touch me, because I'm a woman, and there's nothing I can do about it.' That ladies and gentlemen, is the essence of hurt to a woman. The very essence of it. And it hurts. Boy does it hurt. The female mind is unforgiving when it experiences this kind of feelings. Most women say, it's not the physical aspect of the abuse as much as what the act communicates to her and her femininity. "I'm weak, I can be used, I'm objectified for male use, I'm available for some sick perverted man's mind and hands to denigrate and savor." And that's unforgettable. Painful and unforgettable. The depth of the pain and hurt is so haunting that women make inner vows.
An inner vow is an oath made to self at a state of heightened emotion. You see typically, In a state of heightened emotion, either good or bad, people make life altering decisions. The inner vow is a promise made to self at a critical moment or experience in life and could be as simple as, "I will NEVER let a man abuse me again." Now, at that moment, that vow seems to be the only guaranteed way to avoid what she just felt. What was done to her. The intensity of the emotional jarring. The overwhelming sense of being taken advantage of and used. That kind of emotional hurt exceeds reason, and as such she must build a wall, against any and all masculine form of aggression. Aggression that is accessed through contact.
... When Jimmy had touched her, he'd walked off smiling. That coy, sly smile of spiteful egotistical defiance. Like a man that had sampled a new brand of ice-cream at the mall, that he had no want or interest in. Just something you do to layoff the nagging promo girls. And Jo had seen it, and tasted the sense of bitter bile rising in her throat as a feeling of deep helplessness flooded her ringing ears.
She lay down her chicken soup, it wouldn't do the job tonight, and walked to pour herself wine from the bottle Steve had brought her when he last came over to try talk things out. It hadn't worked out with Steve, though he was a nice guy. And she'd been left alone. But then again, it hadn't worked with Kim, Sam, Martin and Joel. Funny how all the men sounded alike in every relationship fight they would have. Saying she didn't trust. Couldn't trust. She was too distant, too cold. Martin had even suggested she was intentionally mean to men. She'd built walls. Funny though. She didn't care. It felt safe. Secure and right. Maybe even served the men right.
What none of them knew though, was that Jimmy had brushed himself against her years ago, eleven to be precise. Before any of them ever showed up. Eleven years marked by failed romance. Eleven years of inability to be vulnerable, a woman's greatest asset in a relationship. Eleven years of a touch that wouldn't go away, wash away, or even cry away.
She eased on the floor with her chilled glass of wine as the rain softly fell outside. It was going to be a long night.
Funny how a lovers brush of hand can send a sweet tide of warmth and feelings of love, while a doctors cold fingers brings an almost instinctive fear inducing tension.
Women are emotional beings. Much more so than the fact that they cry when happy, cry when sad, and cry when they don't know why they are crying. It means every single event in their lives is Channeled through their emotional central. A center tied to a grid that tangles every fiber of a woman's being. Associating people and events with a particular emotion. Great for remembering good people, experiences and places, but oh such a haunting fortress when holding pain.
I've talked to hurting women. They come in from all walks of life. Corporate, businesslike, housewives, students, adventurers, single mothers and more. As different as they come, the one thing that stands the same through out is the fact that when their hurt has sexual tones to it and involves a man, it's the emotional scarring that bears most effect. That feeling of helplessness that accompanies the act normally seems to say to her, 'He actually had the audacity to touch me, because I'm a woman, and there's nothing I can do about it.' That ladies and gentlemen, is the essence of hurt to a woman. The very essence of it. And it hurts. Boy does it hurt. The female mind is unforgiving when it experiences this kind of feelings. Most women say, it's not the physical aspect of the abuse as much as what the act communicates to her and her femininity. "I'm weak, I can be used, I'm objectified for male use, I'm available for some sick perverted man's mind and hands to denigrate and savor." And that's unforgettable. Painful and unforgettable. The depth of the pain and hurt is so haunting that women make inner vows.
An inner vow is an oath made to self at a state of heightened emotion. You see typically, In a state of heightened emotion, either good or bad, people make life altering decisions. The inner vow is a promise made to self at a critical moment or experience in life and could be as simple as, "I will NEVER let a man abuse me again." Now, at that moment, that vow seems to be the only guaranteed way to avoid what she just felt. What was done to her. The intensity of the emotional jarring. The overwhelming sense of being taken advantage of and used. That kind of emotional hurt exceeds reason, and as such she must build a wall, against any and all masculine form of aggression. Aggression that is accessed through contact.
... When Jimmy had touched her, he'd walked off smiling. That coy, sly smile of spiteful egotistical defiance. Like a man that had sampled a new brand of ice-cream at the mall, that he had no want or interest in. Just something you do to layoff the nagging promo girls. And Jo had seen it, and tasted the sense of bitter bile rising in her throat as a feeling of deep helplessness flooded her ringing ears.
She lay down her chicken soup, it wouldn't do the job tonight, and walked to pour herself wine from the bottle Steve had brought her when he last came over to try talk things out. It hadn't worked out with Steve, though he was a nice guy. And she'd been left alone. But then again, it hadn't worked with Kim, Sam, Martin and Joel. Funny how all the men sounded alike in every relationship fight they would have. Saying she didn't trust. Couldn't trust. She was too distant, too cold. Martin had even suggested she was intentionally mean to men. She'd built walls. Funny though. She didn't care. It felt safe. Secure and right. Maybe even served the men right.
What none of them knew though, was that Jimmy had brushed himself against her years ago, eleven to be precise. Before any of them ever showed up. Eleven years marked by failed romance. Eleven years of inability to be vulnerable, a woman's greatest asset in a relationship. Eleven years of a touch that wouldn't go away, wash away, or even cry away.
She eased on the floor with her chilled glass of wine as the rain softly fell outside. It was going to be a long night.
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