MagsKarn

Evie was an amazing little someone before the abuse, 

and she is still that amazing someone (and more!) after the abuse.

Wrecked

by Mags Karn (copyright 2014)

Imagine that life is a can of bright white paint, 

And the fact of child sexual abuse is but a

Single,

Rogue

Drop

Of dark stain

Hovering above and dangerously close.  

Molecules clinging desperately,

Taunted by gravity, 

Unable to bear the

Weight

Of

It

All.

The tension.

Unbalanced forces

Until this tiny teardrop of unsolicited color breaks off,

Plummeting toward perceived destruction,

Accelerating, streaking downward, Hell-bent.

When at once it splashes - no, explodes onto the

Surface of the pristine white paint, 

It

Is

Horrifying.

  Shocking.  

This smudge. This blotch. This smear.

This offending dash of concentrated pigment,

In stark contrast to the milky, chalky white

Is overwhelming.

Severe.

Attracting scrutiny.

Tempting disbelief.

Courting blame.

Enticing silence.

Wooing shame.

Grooming, seducing, persuading, threatening.

Demanding, compelling us to heed its vile mantra,

Do

Not

Tell.

Do not tell.

Do not tell.

But then we tell.

And almost immediately, if imperceptibly, that pigment begins to be 

Overwhelmed by the white. 

Diluted.

The lighter, folding in and around, engulfing each tiny, darker hued particle of color

Until that unwanted droplet

Is

No

Longer

Even taking up a clearly defined space.

We learn that we are not alone.
We

Are

Not

Alone.

It is comforting.

Despicable.

Unforgiveable.

And as we continue to walk through life, and our can of paint gets jostled and jiggled, 

That dark stain

Disperses

Even

More,

Growing fainter, more pale.

Blackness yielding.

And yet we and others wonder what will become of it,

This life,

This can of wrecked white paint.

Well, it is true that the can no longer holds only the white paint,

But it is also true that

Every

Single

Bit

Of the original white paint is still in that can.

And no matter the size or the number or the sources 

Of our unwanted, unfair drops of darkness,

They do not define us.

They do not define our future.

Instead, they only softly shade and subtly filter

Our perfectly colored

Can

Of

Paint.