Mirror to My Soul by Heather Mirassou

It was a male nurse.
A sprinkled concoction
Unsolicited.

I am not a novice, I can taste potion.
Two pudding
Desserts,
He brought
On his own accord,
I made
No requests.

Uninvited compliments.
A head, neck
And shoulder massage.
I start to feel like
I should get up
And leave.
But my body
Is frozen.

Uninvited
He sat in an armchair
Like a family member
Watching T.V.

Talking as if
I didn’t exist
In my room.
The heavy door
Shut tight.

I had been
Hospitalized
Many months,
For illnesses and surgeries
Over the past
Thirty years,

Not once
Did a nurse
Male or female
Ever shut the door
Until he did.

I am dizzy
Confused.
Becoming incoherent
He comes close.

My eyes
Blur.
He is whispering
I hear
No words.

Feeling fingertips
Against my skin
Going where they
Should never go.

My breast lay still
Barely breathing
Praying
He would go.

My thighs
He spread.
I said
No, no, no.

Timidly
I was
Drowning
Was I insane?

I trusted
A hospital
To be
A safe haven.

Always
My healing place
As it
Had always
Been.
Into oblivion
I crawled.

I awoke
Alone
My door
Still shut
Tight.

I couldn’t
Understand
Why no other
Nurses,
Had come
To check on me
In the night.

In the morning
My shaking
Body hovered.
Concrete walls
To get
To the bathroom.

When I lifted
My nightgown
To pee,
I was paralyzed
By what I saw.
Dark bruises
Like fingerprints.

Temporary
Tattoo’s
On the inside
Of my thighs.

It was the
Confirmation
I needed.
That this was
No old memory,
Or nightmare.
I cried silently,
Disbelieving
My eyes.

Questioning
My beliefs and values,
I did what
Most women
Would do,
I reported
Him.

I had
Good Intentions
To follow-through.

Three daunting
Male
Police Officers
Arrived.

They seemed
To surround me.
As I am
Suffering in pain
Sobbing uncontrollably.

A violent migraine hit.
Vomiting in a
Garbage can
While they
Questioned me.

Their tone
Aggressive
And loud.
And they came
As a group,
Suspicious
Of me.

Like hot
Spit-fire,
Question
After question.

I begged them
To leave,
I had become
Debilitated
By pain.

With resistance
They left.
Stating someone
Would follow-up.

I could no longer
Control my physical
Or emotional pain.
I numbed my pain.

The official call,
I dreaded for days
Had arrived.

I was surprised
When I answered,
She was a
Female police officer
They were smarter
This time.

Are you ready
To press charges?
No.
I said.

With fear,
And remorse
I said to myself,
I can not relive
Those moments,
With doubters
And disbelievers.

I had tucked away
And hid away,
Brief moments
Of drugged
Memories.

I kept seeing
Bruises,
Soon disappearing
As my memories did.

I no longer
Wanted to feel
The pain and anguish.

I thought
I had erased them.
I let bygones
Be bygones.

I chose not to
Retell or relive
The Rape.

Until now.
Creeping
Anxiety,
Butterflies,
And nausea.

I start to write,
To own it.
My own
True story.

I stand tall.
Courageous,
Brave.
Like the Women
Before me,
Who are true
To themselves.

I never thought
I would ever
Want to heal
These wounds.

How could I avoid
Every woman
Who stood up
Told her story?
And not
Tell mine?

I write this poem.
I share this poem ,
With other women,
I know,
Who are also
Speaking and writing,
“Me Too”.

It has taken
Nearly a decade.
I am no longer
A Victim.
I am
A Survivor.
I am a Warrior.