An excerpt from Broken Places, out now from Booktrope! Continuing along the same vein as my third book Broken Pieces (available from Amazon in digital format, print from Booktrope everywhere), I continue to write nonfiction essays and poetry about love, loss, grief, sexual abuse, and relationships in raw, sometimes graphic detail. This, is Shame.
*Trigger Warning — contains graphic language and references of sexual assault*
SHAME
Shame doesn’t like to talk. She prefers to walk through a room, the center of attention, the girl that all the boys dream of, all eyes on her, flash and heels and lips and eyes, and hair.
[share ]Shame is the one everyone talks about but nobody talks to.[/share]
Shame wears pretty, tiny bits of clothes, fancy makeup, and drives a cool red fast car, the kind all little girls dream of when they play with their Barbies. She has all the hottest boyfriends, and even the occasional hot girlfriend, who shows up late to the cool kids’ parties as if she’s too good to be there anyway, and besides, ‘this place blows,’ she tells her jock hottie of the day, as she sashays her tiny hips poured into her ‘$1200 a pop paid for by daddy’ jeans out the door to the next coke-fueled gig.
Shame has a secret. Shame saturates herself with distractions, partying all day and all night because she’s desperately sad, filled with the loneliness of the lost, her heart a shell scraped so deep because she left it in an alley one night with her pride and her virginity when one large man pinched and shoved and filled and grabbed in ways she cringes to remember, in tears and rages, in nightmares and flashes she can’t ever discuss with another human.
Because he was an animal and that makes her one, too.
Shame carries this animal in her skin, unable to shake his eyes boring into hers as she fought and kicked while he held her down, sticking his furious cock into her. As she watched from above, she wondered aloud why he even needed to bother with a live girl, if all he wanted was a hole, he could have just as easily found some sort of household appliance to stick it in. A hole was a hole was a hole.
But he didn’t hear her mumbled words.
Nobody hears Shame. They follow her, watching her every move, but they don’t see her. They don’t see her terror, how she shakes alone in her room at night, how she wakes up covered in the slimy sweat of the animal, smelling his stink, flashing on his fetid breath, his flaccid penis finally moving away from her face, forever wiping his semen from her lips in the hour-long, skin-burning hot showers she takes
every night,
every night,
every night,
scrubbing away that which will never fucking die.
Nobody talks to Shame. They look at her, they stare at her, but they don’t embrace her. She’s not one of them. She’s this creature, this thing nobody will ever love or soothe, or even acknowledge. Shame knows this.
[share ]She was born out of fear and terror and hurt.[/share] She knows that she is nobody’s friend.
Because, after all, who wants to be friends with Shame?
(copyright 2014, Rachel Thompson, not to be reprinted without the author’s permission. Broken Places, 2014.)
If you enjoyed this excerpt, please leave a comment below. Want to join my street team, The BadRedheads (no red hair required!) and support my marketing efforts and get previews and cool swag and stuff? Learn more here. Be sure to get my occasional and completely non-critical but kinda cool newsletter here. Okay, off you go….
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Helen White says
August 29, 2014 at 2:08 amSo powerful and right. Just spot on for any violation. I was like this before I knew to know myself, including the recognition that what he did was rape. Not domestic abuse, or assuming consent,but control over my person rape. Thank you so much.
Rachel Thompson says
August 29, 2014 at 8:10 amThank you, Helen. So many survivors of sexual assault (of any kind) carry shame around for years — like it’s something we did wrong, which is so incredibly misleading to us in so many ways — as beings, and as survivors (regardless of gender), but I can only speak as a female survivor, and even as mothers and writers. Shame takes on a life of its own and controls so much of what we do and say and write. I wanted to give her a persona, if you will. There’s so much more to render here, I feel like I’ve barely scratched the surface, but thank you for sharing your insight and yes, that rape is rape. It’s such a mindfuck.
Hugs.
MM Jaye says
August 29, 2014 at 2:57 amThat blew me away, Rachel! The analogy you used was so expertly rendered, it will surely resonate not only with readers who empathize but for those of us who have been lucky enough just to sympathize. You’re doing such awesome work raising awareness, but the broken places you will take us to will definitely mend lots of cracks, and I think that’s your ultimate goal. Best of luck!
Rachel Thompson says
August 29, 2014 at 8:15 amThank you, MM! It’s interesting, I wrote this after a discussion in one of my survivor’s group about shame — so many writers or aspiring writers have never shared their stories publicly because of the shame and I said to one woman, ‘but you did NOTHING wrong!’ and she said, ‘thank you. nobody has never said that to me before.’ which blew me away and made me cry for her and so many other who carry that weight.
Shame is such a heavy burden to carry. It colors everything and seeps into those cracks you mention. I write for me, because I carried that shame for years, and she still pops up occasionally — just sharing this made me feel incredibly vulnerable — but that’s good. Writing should scare us! I do hope it helps another — that’s always there. xx
Dawn says
August 29, 2014 at 5:54 amRachel,
This is beautifully written, heartbreaking, and very powerful. I really think essay writing is your strength. The “man code” books were cute, but I think, as a writer, these serious essays really show how beautifully raw and powerful your writing is.
Great job.
Rachel Thompson says
August 29, 2014 at 8:35 amThank you, Dawn!
I enjoy writing humor, but I definitely feel like writing the more serious work is my home, thank you for saying so. It’s interesting, I always wrote serious essays and poetry growing up, so it feels more comfortable to me. One of our old neighbors popped up on FB the other day and said, ‘I always told your mom, ‘Rachel thinks serious thoughts!’
People encouraged me to write humor starting out as my ‘brand’ and I went with that, but eventually our true voice makes it way out. It needs to be heard!
I appreciate your feedback very much.
Liz Ferro says
August 29, 2014 at 10:41 amSo incredibly written- and hits me in the heart.
Thanks for addressing such an important topic.
Rachel Thompson says
August 30, 2014 at 8:46 pmThank you, lovely. Shame is such a heavy weight for survivors of any kind of abuse, and we never know when she will show up and bite us. I’m not sure we can ever fully control her — but being aware of her and maybe making friends with her can help a little bit. xx
Jamie Lee Scott says
August 29, 2014 at 4:59 pmHopefully this passage will make people think twice before judging others. What a powerful passage! Thanks for sharing.
Rachel Thompson says
August 30, 2014 at 8:49 pmJamie! Thank you SO much for visiting and reading my work. Judgment is such a huge part of what others see about survivors — I recently had someone say that ‘recvictimization’ (a legal term, btw) “sounds like just an excuse for shirking responsibility” — as if it’s the victim’s fault someone raped them or assaulted them, not the abuser.
This is why I write what I do, and I’m honored to be a voice! xx
Dennis Sharpe says
August 30, 2014 at 9:18 pmDamn.
This… It’s very well written. A skillful punch to the stomach. Wow.
It’s powerful
Rachel goes I for the gut, and here she succeeded… in spades.
I know I’m going to have to read it again…
I’m going to carry that one…
Daryl Rothman says
August 30, 2014 at 9:32 pmRachel, this stopped me in my tracks. Your writing always impresses me but what you are doing here is of course so much more. I am inspired by your courage in being able to shine a light on some of those dark places, with rawness and eloquence, and in so doing serving as a light for others too. Reading your words always makes me want to write better; feeling THESE words makes me want to BE better. As a writer, a father of two sons and a daughter(named Rachel), and as a human being who believes we can and must do better, I say, thank you.
Rachel Thompson says
September 1, 2014 at 5:32 pmThank you, dear friend. I love hearing the male perspective to my work — good men are horrified at what other men have wrought on women, especially fathers. I fear for our girls because I’ve been there. In fact, I still wonder can’t help but think about my neighbor’s own three daughters and what went on in that house I shiver to contemplate. There are places even my mind can’t go.
Raising good men is so crucial — thank you for being a good guy and raising a good son. Preying on women is a sickness — IDK that an abuser is raised a certain way or if it’s chemical or a combo of both — I don’t have those answers (though data shows that it can be either or both). I can only write from my perspective and be a voice for survivors. thank you again for your kind comments.
Criss says
August 30, 2014 at 11:59 pmSTRONG words! Yeah.. ‘SHAME’ is delivered to desperate souls who once have been caged in the sophisticated arms of untrue love-under the shadow of moon, no matter what but yeah.. it’s foresure to quench the thirst of its graphic temptations of heart which, in true sense, is the cause of glory but to ‘The Shame’ as well. And, here in your realistic and so fundamental excerpt, I find the feelings of regret to life for healing the journey of ‘customary’ along the streams of new world-“A world having memorised memories of traumatic course of love.” You also reflect an explicit imagery of ‘DESPERATE NIGHT (S)’ through the throne of being loved or may be.. being broken… into pieces.
Congratulations for the insightful book, “BROKEN PLACES/PIECES”, there’s plenty of sensations of fetid love around the depth of your folios’. I heard the voice of being broken across the arena of this entangled world in disguise of your sophisticated words which wanted the world visualise that if a love’s fastened to the raged breath of lonely nights, pleasing the spirit, then it’s also the same love which get burst off the chords of it around the delicious flesh… to eat it out to the halt through the whole possessive night. Howsoever, Your sturdy words stimulate the feelings of emotions and, of course, give the whole book an exotic as well as the explosive reading itself. You’ve well pondered the depth of your emotions into the abyss of this insightful piece of #Brokenpieces. Keep it up the excellent work!
Rachel Thompson says
September 1, 2014 at 5:26 pmThank you, Criss. Broken Pieces is out now; this is an excerpt from my upcoming release Broken Places (the next in the series). Carrying these memories for so many years is certainly a challenge not only for me, but for many survivors of sexual assault of any kind. My goal is to be a voice and to share my story in hopes that others will find a way to speak out and be heard.
Will Van Stone Jr says
August 31, 2014 at 4:27 amThis is one of the best things you’ve ever written. The mix of poem and short story, the sprinkling of profanity, the way you break down Shame from the model of perfection that’s shown to the world down to the broken bits… brilliant.
She’s story doesn’t run through Broken, does it? Does she make appearances to update us on her journey? Will she get her happy ending?
Rachel Thompson says
September 1, 2014 at 5:23 pmHi Will and thank you so much! Actually, I’m working on other ways to bring Shame into the book — that’s all I can say at this point, but I love that you saw that in the piece. Smartypants :). #hugs
Mary Rowen says
September 1, 2014 at 9:23 amRachel, this piece is really powerful. Thank your for sharing. Your writing is really exquisite, despite this dark topic.
Rachel Thompson says
September 1, 2014 at 5:20 pmThank you, Mary. I’m honored by your comments. It was a little scary sharing this — I know it’s not easy reading, but that’s me — not the ‘easy route’ kind of girl. 🙂
Old School/New School Mom says
September 1, 2014 at 2:54 pmWow. Rachel this is gorgeous writing and rings so true. You are a poet. It’s heartbreaking to read but it cuts right to the core. I love this.
Rachel Thompson says
September 1, 2014 at 5:19 pmThank you, Sarah! I so appreciate you reading and commenting. Shame is such a heavy burden for any abuse survivor or, as you as you share on Stigma Fighters, anyone who deals with mental illness of any kind. I think any person in this life is broken in some way — we all have something to deal with. It’s how we move forward and make a life that counts, yea? Hugs, you.
Matthew Krause says
September 4, 2014 at 7:33 amYou might find it crazy, but I relate to this idea. All of us carry shame to some point. As a man, I am so far removed from the understanding of the abuse survivor’s plight, but I also have a legacy of past behavior that at one point in time contributed to the misogynist rape culture, even if I did not do any actual abusing myself. I rather responded to this idea of shame wearing the mask of a rock star, so to speak. I’ve worn that mask myself. I’ve seen it worn on women who, once put in a safe place of trust, have let the most shattered parts of their soul come to the surface. As Rilke said, perhaps all the dragons of the world are actually princesses waiting to see us standing tall and facing life with boldness. He was talking to a man, unfortunately (only a man would want his dragon to be a princess). In my life, I find that honesty, expression, communication, or in my case, the simple act of crawling into the hole with the person who suffers and say, “I’ll hold your hand until you get through this” … all of these things allow the dragons of our lives to be sloooooowly reduced in size, and one day, while never being gone completely, the dragon can perhaps fit in your pocket instead of riding on your back.
Rachel Thompson says
September 4, 2014 at 8:45 amLovely, Matthew — the dragon analogy is apt. Sometimes, when the PTSD hits, as in nightmares of triggers of some sort, it can seem overwhelmingly huge to survivors — how will this thing ever be small enough to fit in our pocket? But then it does — sometimes we forget about it completely and go about our days and nights enjoying life, immersed in it.
I do agree that shame isn’t unique — it’s a universal bond we all share. Not crazy at all! It’s our experiences that are different but the feelings they engender that bond us. Thanks you for sharing your experiences, Matthew. Means a lot. xx
Tony Spagnoli says
September 28, 2014 at 6:25 pmWonderfully written. Down to the bone. I feel for her. I know her. It’s sad, terrible and angering.
In my home as a child, he removed all the locks from the doors. This is my house and everything in it belongs to me! I can still hear it in my head.
Great Rachel!
Rachel Thompson says
September 28, 2014 at 7:36 pmthank you so much, Tony! This was a hard one to write, but important. Shame is such a heavy burden for survivors, it takes on a life of its own.