The Scratching on the Wall

“The Scratching on the Wall”

"There is no terror in the bang, only in the anticipation of it." — Alfred Hitchcock

I am so tired.  I am tired all the time.  I tried to lock the door to my room earlier tonight

but my mother caught me and yelled at me again.  She shrieks every time she catches

me.  I don’t fully understand why it angers her when I lock my bedroom door but it isn’t

allowed.  On the nights when I can manage it I get uninterrupted sleep and it is so

glorious.  I worry that tonight will be one of those nights.

I am about to fall asleep when I hear it.  We share a wall.  His bedroom is next to mine. 

He scratches on the wall with his fingernails.  He does this on the nights that he comes. 

I don’t know why, but it is a forewarning of sorts.  It’s his way of telling me to get ready. 

“I’m on my way” it says.  The scratching is almost worse than what comes after.  My

gut clenches and I begin to go numb because I know what this will entail.  It means I

will suffer and my mind begins to blessedly drift and my body starts to shut down.

There have been countless nights like this one.  Countless nights of terror.  Countless

nights of no sleep.  Countless nights of being an object of perversion.  Countless nights

being left feeling empty and disgusted.  Countless nights being left to feel dirty and

unloved.  Countless nights to build up walls and tear down my self-esteem.  I already

feel I have no worth and at fourteen I no longer feel I have the right to dream of a future

that has any light.

On this night, when it is over, I have had enough.  I am angry and disgusted and

exhausted.  I wait until I am sure he is asleep and the house is quiet.  I am fueled by

rage.  I leave my room and go to the kitchen.  I stand in the light of the moon and search

for the largest knife I can find.  I creep to his room and up to his bed.  I stand over his

sleeping form.  My face is twitching with rage - murderous rage.  I hold the knife above

my head for ten seconds, twenty, thirty - I lose count.  It feels like an eternity.  He sleeps

on unknowing.  No one is aware of what I am doing but me and God.  And maybe it is

God who stops me, I don’t know.  I have a moment of clarity.  If I do this, this suffering

will stop, but a different suffering will follow.  My life will change forever and it won’t

be for good.  

I bring the knife back down to my side.  I stand there for a long time watching him

breathe and I cry silently.  Eventually I walk back to the kitchen and, with hands

shaking I return the knife to where I found it.  I stand there asking myself in disbelief

what I was thinking.  I am horrified by myself.  I could have killed someone.  I was fully

capable and had every intention of doing so.  The rage I felt was oceanic and I am

petrified.  I go back to bed disgusted by myself on a whole new level.

This is the night that I shut the door on anger.  I turn it in on myself rather than risk

hurting others.  This leads to stuffing my feelings with food.  It leads to drinking and

other forms of self-harm.  I often have suicidal thoughts and I begin to actively hate

myself.  I hurt myself over and over throughout the years, denying myself the grace I

so freely give to others.  This marks the beginning of most of the problems I cause

myself.

The abuse will continue for two more years.