The law says that forcible entry is defined as the unlawful entry into a structure to commit a felony or a theft.
This means that someone or a group of people intrude into someone else’s space with the intention of taking something from them.
But what happens when that “structure” isn’t a house, a car, a business, or a safe… what if that structure is someone’s body. What if that structure is my body?
I have struggled for years trying to put the feelings of others and myself into words to describe what it feels like when somebody forcibly enters your body. What it feels like when someone intrudes your space.
So, I try to use analogies, I try to soften the blow, for my sanity mainly, and for my peace of mind.
I think of my body as the house. The doors are locked, the windows are closed, the alarm system is on, but despite that… the intruder still breaks in.
And every house is different… I’ve learned that when someone intrudes your space or breaks into your house… what happens after that varies.
Some report the burglary, some suffer the losses in silence, some renovate the house, and some just leave.
But trauma is different for everyone, and there is a different type of pain that comes with
”forcible entry. ”
See, when you’re laying there, and someone whispers into your ear, touches you in your most intimate places, pulls down their pants, and enters you… the healing after that is more complex than I can explain.
At first… for some… the mind just focuses on one thing so that every time someone invades you, in and out you become numb to it.
But for others, every detail… the smell of their hands, the clothes they have on, the rasp in their voice, every thrust, every touch, every heavy breath… you feel it because you just can’t detach.
Because even when the house repairs on the outside and the locks are restored… you can’t get back what you lost.
You can’t get back innocence, security, peace of mind… you can’t get back yourself… because someone has stolen it from you.
And when the bruises heal, and you can look at yourself in the mirror again without feeling shame, and one person’s touch doesn’t trigger you to crawl into a corner, the memory is still there.
It comes and goes until it floods.
And then you start changing things because you think… if I just stop doing this one thing, it won’t ever happen again.
I say to myself
I won’t buy gray panties again.
My hair will never smell like this shampoo again.
I will never wear the bath and body works lotion I use to.
I will keep my makeup minimal, keep my outfits loose, keep my body hidden…
The list kept going on and on.
But later I realized, nothing on my list could have prevented it. It had nothing to do with me, and everything to do with the intruder.
See when the “intrusion” is over, when the dust settles, when you pick up your panties, try to find your bra, and wipe what seems like filth off of your body… when you let the nakedness and ugliness and pain become real… you realize that the intrusion will always be there.
But you get up anyway, you move forward anyway, you cry, or you detach. Either way… eventually, the house finds a way to heal.
But healing takes time, and that’s ok.
Peace & Love, D.