beneath the fabric of her skin.

**Trigger warning: content includes mention of sexual assault

Did she look pretty from afar? Were you disturbed by what she revealed to you? Many women are loved this way: from afar, their trauma tucked neatly beneath the fabric of their skin. 

We don’t often encounter each other wholly from afar. But when we fall in love, or make friends with another, sooner or later the history of our lives emerges, and with it, the truth, and with that, the anger — years and years of anger. This emergence of rage and truth has ended many false loves. But for some of us desperate for any kind of love, real or unreal, we often choose the image they carry of us over the truth of who we are. Until we can’t anymore. And in refusing to continue the performance, we lose them. 

I am ready to tell you what took place for years in the dark room of my childhood. It often happened at night, when my father would come to say goodnight or wake me up for Fajr prayer. I’d prepare myself each time I heard him climbing the stairs. I knew he would touch me, and I had to be ready to push him, whether I was standing or pretending to sleep in bed. Through it all, I had not only to keep my silence, but to also maintain a perfect, smiling, unfaltering appearance throughout it all. This performance, more than what he did, is what tortures me most today.