The Death of a Star

A poetic word-sketch of the effects of sexual abuse.

I am a childhood trauma/sexual abuse survivor.

I've been in counseling off and on since I was 18, but for the last 3 years I've been in EMDR Therapy.

It was in this therapy that I finally had the courage and professional support to admit and address that I had been sexually abused by my mom's boyfriend from the ages of 3 to 6.

My session this week was particularly difficult. We addressed an event that really changed the course of my personality and the way I interacted with the world in a fundamental way.

After my session, I had my husband, Ben, drive me around in the sunshine for a bit while I finished letting unspilled tears spill out.

As we were driving I had thought about how I wished I could help people understand what sexual abuse, especially as a child, feels like. A visual for what it does, the damage it causes. A poetic word-sketch of something that is so horrendous it can be hard to wrap words around it at all.

I desired to give a voice to the voiceless, wrap words around what that little 3-year-old girl felt in that life-altering moment.

And then I got an image of a star, a dying star to be exact.

A few years ago I was really into learning about space (stars, other galaxies, etc.). I remembered learning about the death of stars. The outcome of the death of a star depends on how big the star was to begin with.

Sun-like stars turn into Black Dwarfs.

Huge stars turn into Neutron Stars.

And giant stars turn into Black Holes.

(also known as "frozen stars")

And then I put fingers to keyboard and crafted the word-sketch of the image I saw...

---

The Death of a Star

It starts with the brightest light, so pure and full.

A perfect summer’s day --

eyes closed, face up, smile wide.

Warmth radiating from core to limbs.

It cradles and croons.

A song so sweet, so melodious,

it calls forth a giggle --

dancing from heart to mouth,

from mouth to ears,

and ears to heart.

Abundance.

Always enough,

this pirouette of light and joy.

Like a child spinning round and round

but never growing dizzy.

“Ring around the rosie,

A pocket full of posies...”

But then,

gravity. heaviness. tightness.

My skin feels too tight, like it doesn’t fit.

I feel so much pressure, like I could explode,

just burst into a million pieces

and float away.

My heart is pounding like the bass of a song I wish would stop

Louder and Louder

Bigger and Bigger until

collapse.

no light escapes.

all is silent.

empty.

dark.

Just a cavernous blackness

that can’t be filled.

Never enough.

Never enough applause.

Never enough awards.

Never enough A’s or accolades or alcohol.

She spins around and around,

grasping at the spectators,

amazed by her performance.

Trying desperately to get them to see,

to understand,

to hear her drowned out plea,

for help, for love, belonging,

anything.

But no one hears a sound.

“Ashes, ashes,

we all fall down.”