Soukayna – Reclaiming your body after sexual assault

”But here I am, covered in bruises, scars that will never fade away, tears that continue to dance down my cheeks on some nights, but I have survived. I have survived.”

NAME: Soukayna

AGE: 23


There’s so much I want to share and talk about.
I’ve waited for an opportunity like this for a while, one that allows me to be my most vulnerable yet most powerful self.

My body hasn’t belonged to me until two years ago. My body was everyone’s except mine. Actually, my body has never felt like a body, but rather like a corpse.
I’ve always wanted to liberate myself from it, detaching myself completely from what I thought was the reason of my misery. Little did I know that the problem didn’t come from me, but from the circumstances in which I grew up in, and put myself in.

I would starve my body, cut my body, hurt my body, give away my body.
I didn’t want it, I wanted it to burn like the anger that was slowing turning my soul into ashes.

The body that I own has lived abuse after abuse, when I couldn’t find the energy to hurt it anymore, I let others do it for me. Unconsciously of course, they never knew that by giving myself to them I was trying to get rid of me.

Once, this body, after going through a series of self-inflicted injuries, found itself being abused in ways that even I in my darkest hours wouldn’t have had imagined. My body was raped. Twice.

Only this time it wasn’t just about my body. My mind transcended from its deep sleep and realized that for once, the abuse didn’t come from me. Someone else decided about it.

I don’t remember anything from the first rape. I still don’t. All I’m allowed to, are short but violent flashbacks and the sound of him moaning on repeat like a broken record, except that I hate this album.

I hate it so much.

The second one, well, I still see him walking around campus as if the world was his. While I panic and find myself turning the center of the city into a maze that I need to escape, he partners with the Minotaur in a quest to sacrifice my sanity to gods he doesn’t believe in.

There’s something mythological about trauma. How stories are created in my mind, how they have a large weight on my decisions and beliefs. Pushing me to give myself completely to karma and what my own God has planned.

I’m often told that I’m strong, brave, and wise. Those are grand attributes, they are larger than I believe myself to be sometimes but I can’t deny them. The thing is, people have yet to understand that most of these attributes come from a lifetime of abuse and trauma. Maturity was pushed upon me the moment my father gave up on us, strength had to come to me when my abusive ex put me in the street during a snowstorm at three in the morning, my over-achieving BPD didn’t allow me anything other than greatest. I am my biggest fan and my most difficult judge. I have believed in gods that have deceived me, I have believed in men that have abandoned and used me, and I really thought that on the third try I would finally disappear.

But here I am, covered in bruises, scars that will never fade away, tears that continue to dance down my cheeks on some nights, but I have survived. I have survived.

And that, is my greatest accomplishment in life.

I’m in the best place I’ve ever been, I have the most amazing support system, and I finally believe that although I went through hell more times than any decent human should, I have a greater purpose in life, and that the Sheytan is probably tired of my hard-headed ass and how he can no longer get anything out of it.

I deserve Heaven, I deserve to be alive, I deserve love, and care, and understanding, I deserve all things good, to be held and carried when I’m too tired, I deserve to let my fears and grudges go, to let them burn and allow me the regeneration of a Phoenix, for I am an indestructible creature of faith and light.