Safe Place

My name is Cristina D. Johnson

From deep inside me, comes a whisper: "The only safe place is in here. The only safe place is inside."

I can't even talk right now.... and that's why I'm writing.

It seems true: the only truly safe place, is inside. Inside where my thoughts, feelings, beliefs....are held tightly, close to me. So close that nobody can see them or hear them or touch them.

Or beat you for them.

Last night was a barbaric scene.

Karaoke - oh how I looked forward to it. And to seeing Tony.

It was safe to go because Bill was going to be with me. Ron and Cindy were going, too, which was a bonus but mainly, Bill was there and I feel safe with Bill.

I once felt safe with Tony. That was quite awhile ago.

Like a human shield, Bill shrouded me but it didn't stop the kicks and punches and grabs and hair-pulling I endured while cowered on the ground as Bill kept telling the crowd, "Back off! Back away! Don't touch her!"

Nobody listened.

Barbarians.

The perfect simile, I think, of society.

The perfect example of why people like me are "fucked up" and "unacceptable" and "unlovable" because if we panic and are afraid and this weakness comes through, we are kicked, punched, laughed at, mocked, grabbed, pushed and pulled.

The voice went right out of me. I wish nobody would talk to me. I don't want to talk. I don't want to answer any questions or say anything. I feel as small as a speck...even smaller.

I don't feel like singing. I don't feel like dancing or laughing or talking or visiting or seeing anyone. I spent all day afraid to be near any windows....afraid someone might see me. Hearing the rumble of the UPS truck stopped my heart. I sat as still and stiff as a icicle in my chair, until I was sure UPS wasn't coming here.

A thousand steps back, seem to have been taken last night.

Tonight, I stay in the safe place. The only safe place I know.

Inside.