How to ever laugh again… September 14, 2006

after your best friend sexually assaults you.

a draft

They will expect it. Everyone. Your laughter.
Eventually even the people who know will demand it.
Don’t hate them for this.

To most, laughter is a cover, hiding an everlasting cime.
To most laughing is a coping mechanism served with genocide.
This cannot be your reason.

Never forget this.
You are not coping. You are not a sheild.
You are not, are not, are not a criminal.
You are neither comedy nor tragedy
(though you are being watched).
You are not this story.
You are alive.

You will hold you breath to keep from crying.
You will focus your eyes and stare at air.
You will bite your wrists and squeeze your pressure points.
You will try to talk louder than thinking.
This will not help.

You will wake up crying and psych yourself out with a shower.
You will cry facing windows and call on rain to drown you.
You will lie to yourself about why you are crying.
You will go hoarser than silent,
screaming sighs at the self that won’t believe
the lies you want.
You will dig your nails into your own palms
to try, to make, this stop.
As if you are the one that needs to be taught what stop means.
Let yourself. Go.

Listen to your crying like it’s music.
Cry it like an opera diva.
Listen for a melody.
Go low and deep.
You are breathing.
Remember. This.
This is the sound of your laughter underwater.
Memorize the cadences.
You are breathing.

You will be tempted not to trust yourself.
You will be tempted not to trust anyone else.
You will call yourself by other names,
just to avoid the question.
Just notice this.
And breathe. Deeply.

You will want to ignore your body.
Listen carefully.
It will not help.
Remember (I know. You want to forget. I know. You want to forget. I know.)
that if you body ignored you, your heart would stop.
If your body ignored you, you couldn’t breathe.
You already know what that feels like.
Remember.

Give your body everything it asks for.
Become fluent in the language of your celluar desire.
Listen hard.
Listen porous.
Listen photosynthetic.
Start with small things.
I want water, now. Do it immediately.
I want sleep, now. Don’t wait.
Turn left, here. Don’t question.
Treat your body like a bratty precocious rich kid that you are babysitting.
Then like the gruff martial arts masters from the kung-fu movies.
Then like the only child you will ever have.
Finally, like the love of your life.
Listen hard. Treat her good.

Dance. This is important.
You will want to skip this step. Don’t.
You will think dancing is impossible because you are so dizzy when you walk.
You will think dancing is inadvisable because you have lost/gained 10 pounds since. You will think this is a bad idea.
This is your body talking.
Listen.

Don’t worry
about the fact
that you chose a non-western dance form
that doesn’t require you to hold onto a partner.
Don’t worry. But don’t forget.
Why.
It was the right choice.
This is about you.
This is NOT training for compromise.
This is NOT someone’s power to spin you.
This is NOT someone else feeling strong.
This is you.
Breathing frequently.
Making space.

If you chose West African dance, expect to be sore the first week.
In muscles you haven’t even met,
that introduce themselves while you walk down stairs.
When you walk down the street
expect to hear drumbeats that rival your heart.
Choose the beat when you’re walking.
Choose your heart when you’re still.

If you chose belly dancing
let yourself be surprised that you can shake while standing still.
You will start to hear bells when you walk down the street.
Pretend
you’re the only one that knows.
Let your self smile.
(invisible bells on your hips loud drum of your heart)
Let strangers be witnesses.
Laugh.