Traumatic movie

I cringed, and for the next hour or so my hands, my arms, my legs could not stop shaking. I don't think anyone noticed. The uncontrollable shaking, the sick in my stomach, the flashbacks in my head pulling me deeper and deeper into the dark, dark hole I thought I had escaped from long ago.

I just wanted to leave, to hide under a blanket and cry... Because I was surrounded by a hall full of people, I could not cry. Because I was next to my ex, I dared not cry. There were tears, but they could not be let out, and that felt even more painful. But deep down inside was such painful memories and emotions welling up, and threatening to burst out.

My friend meant well and invited me to see a movie as part of the gay film festival. I had seen a preview of the opening short film, and knew what it was about. So I was prepared, or so I thought I was...

Within minutes the short film began, my heart began to fill with dread and fear. I sank in my seat, held my head with a hand. There the main character was, sitting alone in the washroom, gripped by fear. He is crying, shaking, and desperately seeking help. The door bangs, and his partner is on the other side beckoning him to open. He is filled with more fear as the banging becomes louder, and as the swearing begins.

Through flashbacks we realise the character is in an abusive relationship, and cannot get out. Or at least, he dares not get out of it because of societal pressure, because of the fear of being seen as weak-- a common trait among victims of abuse. There are bruises all over his body. Many scenes are just him sitting in the bath tub, with close up shots of his clenched fists and feet, his body gripped in deep, deep fear and exasperation. The fear is real, crippling and so very intense.

At one point he calls his mother, who yaps on about something very trivial and does not even hear his cry for help. Partners fight all the time, she says, just bear with it and ride it out. Little does she know her son is traumatised and utterly paralysed by fear and hurt...

I cringed. Here and there, I could hear the audience even laughing, chuckling. But what was so funny about being in an abusive relationship? What hurts more than a cry for help to your own mother only to have the abuse be dismissed as boys "playing"?

"Normal people would see something like that and just think 'how horrible'..." I said to my ex as he escorted me to the metro home. But I'm not "normal". I'm too sensitive to the pains of others, too sensitive to the pain of abuse and being abused. And there is reason why. I know. Of the many things I do not know about this world, I know what it feels like to be abused...

There was nothing wrong with the short film. I wish there were more  pieces of art to document and highlight the pains of abuse and feelings of victims. But there was something wrong with me, because it is just too raw a reminder of what I went through. The fear. The banging on the door. The raised voice. The feeling of being so utterly alone with no one to turn to. The touch of your own body, an ugly and wounded body that is so dirty, so tainted by guilt, hurt and shame... It was all too raw. Much too raw.  I wish I did not have to cringe, did not have to feel like the tears are welling up  and my breath  get so short. I wish I could control the uncontrollable shaking of my arms and legs. But I could not help it. It was all too raw.

The main feature began, and I sat there for half an hour or so, getting more and more uncomfortable. A movie about rent boys, with graphic sex scenes and the perverse kind of kink that some clients get turned on by... Bad enough the short film was, various scenes of violence verging on abuse were just too much to handle. I grabbed m things and left.

My ex followed, felt terrible and kept on apologising, but I told him it was not his fault. He simply did not know, could not have known that such a movie would have such an impact on me. I wish I did not have to ruin the evening like that, but I had to go home, I needed to get away from it all and collect myself. I wish I could be carefree, happy and unaffected by mundane things like a simple dramatisation. 'Normal' people would probably just shrug and then go return to their "normal" selves.  But I have an emotional seizure and my body shakes like I have just been hit by something traumatic, when all it was was a few actors and props.

How weak I am! How tiresome it is to be around me when I could so easily break down and hurt... I felt miserable even just being that way, feeling that way, let alone other people who probably cannot understand why I would react the way I do/did to such 'sensitive' topics. My ex followed me a distance, and asked if I needed company home. "It's not necessary", I said, and turned to leave.

There are moments when you need to be alone. Just you, your thoughts, trying to battle the seemingly tamed demons of the past threatening to reappear. And I did just that. I battled the tears, and rode the long metro ride home, and hopped onto my bike.

I cycled into the night, braving the cold and dark, empty streets to come to a park at the river's edge. There I sat and closed my eyes.

Closed  my eyes, listened to the silence of the night and the sucking sounds of the water. And soon I was no longer afraid...

Everything is in the past now. Everything, everything, everything is in the past now.