As a little girl not old enough to understand sexual abuse, I found solace in few things. Writing became one of them. My psyche was unable to comprehend evil, yet evil was what was placed upon a little girl to young too fight back. The abysses of the mind run deep like the ocean, dark, scary, and at times are so in-depth it’s hard to breathe. Escape is often the only way a child who has been sexually abused can cope.
I started writing extraordinary imaginations at a young age. Mysterious places of sanctuary from a mind full of confusion and fear.
From the moment, my pen hit the lined paper in which I had torn carefully from my three-ring binder, my soul set on fire. Something magical happened as the ball point pen found its way across the page. The curves of the letters indeed seemed enchanting as each swirl turned from word to sentence. I could escape, invent a whole new world where ink transformed itself into a fairytale, and paper became the magic carpet ride to a safer destination.
My enchanting cursive helped me sail on ships to safety, into a realm of fantasy where I put my broken mind to rest. I could create the perfect place to lay softly amongst dragons and warlocks. Becoming a princess, or even the most magnificent of warriors, I could be anything, or anywhere I chose. Writing the perfect escape from my truth, and existence too harsh to face.
I would fall deeply, weightless, into each expressive word. Sometimes landing in a flower covered meadow, my words like dreams swept across the page. Hours passed, fingers cramped, but each letter saved me, giving me a place to hide, to dream of being someone new.
Pieces of my youthful heart bled into each character I created. An innocent mind taken too soon, now became the most beautiful of places to visit. Evildoers could not slay my fierce Dragon heart, for I was the fastener of their future, their creator with my magical pen. Sinister forces that played games in my head, I shattered into oblivion with a spin of my wrist. No one could touch the Mystic Princess as she waved her ball point wand across the page.
Word by word, my sanctum reclaimed. A secret garden of lush prose grew viney and green, covering walls of the castle built around my soul. I could finally climb the walls built around myself. I needed no prince to free myself from the castle. With pen in hand, I would free myself; time and time again. For the word meadows laid in the distance, and there were my people, created from and imbued by me. My words not only strengthened my fortitude but released me from my solitude.
Each press of the blue pen on lines of torn paper became waves crashing on the shores of my fortress of refuge. The outer world no longer able to storm the banks of my kingdom. I would spend hours locked away in my room saving myself from the terrifying reality my visceral certainties imposed on me, just to become the warrior princess I needed to be to survive. Crushing sword-wielding enemies as they rushed towards the character I’d scribbled across the page, I became the Queen, an untouchable Monarch of creation with the whisper of my pen.
Oh, to hide in the wild wonders of my expressions. Hours after hours spent in the refuge of my invention. Writing my great escape made living the stark contrast of reality somewhat…bearable. The comfort I found on the page, in the meadows, with my dragons and warlocks, with my warriors and princesses, with protection. I was home, snug and nestled among my nouns and verbs.
I was safe.
I disappeared fully, easily, in my imaginary world. Granting me a solace, I may have never known without the written word. I, the Queen of my dragon filled meadow became the Hero, erasing evil men and shattered courage. I created a home on the page, where evil didn’t exist.
Saved by my magical pen.
Part of this post was written and mused by a dear friend of mine, those words I have placed in italics.