I have had a really difficult few days.
Feeling like the truth is bubbling in my body and I can't let it out.
Imagine not being able to tell your own story. It makes me want to scream.
I lie there and feed my daughter and admire the points of her ears and the extra cartilage that dimples her lobes, I know where they came from, I loved them on somebody else first. I admire the curl of her hair and her cheeks like her brother's and we lie underneath fairy lights and the neighbours stamp up and down the stairs and every night I wonder am I safe.
And when the phone rings I don't know who it is and I've explained to probably twenty different officers now what's happened this year.
They all ask the same questions.
They've all heard the same things.
I try not to laugh, lest I be thought flippant.
As the woman you have to be conscious of your manner and how you react. Can't be too angry, too confident, too relaxed. Men can rant and rave and let themselves go.
I tell you now I hold myself taut. When there's so much at stake. Some days I am fearless and others I shake.
I'm quiet for now, but women, we wait.
From
A survivor.
