Before he wakes

P r o l o g u e

August 17th 2006
Myron James,
This isn't going to be easy and I don't know if this is the right thing to do. I am in constant torment of what once had been and what is now an eroded ruin. Almost a year has passed but you still live within me, Rotting. I am lifeless. You took with you everything that I ever was or ever could be. The memory of our most valued moments scream in my mind, casting an angry shadow among the things that I once loved. I crave release from this imprisonment. I am weak. Time is no longer my friend. It slips through my fingers like discarded ribbon. I am out of my depth. I cannot forget you. The way you hung on my every word. Your patience, your serenity. The beauty that shielded you. The way your eyes shone like a thousand stars in a black sheeted sky. You are now gone. Are you happy where you are? Are you resentful? Do you waver at the memory of your once loving wife. How did you have so much power over me? Did I disappoint your expectations? I can't believe you would be so heartless. My love, you are consumed by hatred. The ecstasy of callousness. How did I let you cast your spell over me, enchant me, arouse me with your words. Why did you cause us such harm? I am struggling to survive.

When I look back on our fondest memories, it is clear now that every touch, every word and every pledge was nothing but an illusion. When I look in the mirror what is it I see? A distorted figure, broken and defeated. A young woman, screaming out for resolution. My eyes were misted and I could not foresee the bad that lay awaiting within you, the wickedness within your soul.

What you have forgotten is that I, an abused young woman, cannot forget. I am living in a world I no longer know, but I will make sure you pay the price for what you have done. Whether it takes ten years or fifty. I will do this for my daughter, even if that means I have to relive the hell that we endured. I will write my story, for my daughter. I will uncover the truth and show people what a monster you truly are. The world will see your true self and they will despise you. I hope you regret what you have done and I hope it eats away at you until you can no longer stomach it. I hope it keeps you awake at night.

There are so many like me and I no longer feel abnormal. I feel like I am a part of something extraordinary. We are a unit- the thousands of us who are scared, helpless and broken; the abused. We live unexposed, our voices lost. I will do it for those lost millions, desperate to be heard.

I will do it for them, even if my voice shakes.

Arleen Anderson