select silence (or betray your only family)

CW SUICIDE ATTEMPT, INCEST/SEXUAL VIOLENCE

The problem with secrets is that keeping them requires a level of intellect, an ability to know when to speak and when speaking will result in trouble. The easiest way to avoid trouble would be to quit entirely - when in therapy, that meant quit talking, letting the quiet of the body breathing do the communicatory work; letting the therapists pathologize you as they always did. Selective mutism, sure, you selected mute like the button on the TV remote. Your parents picked you up in the waiting room, therapist talking diagnoses and possibilities like you being traumatized. Like you being traumatized would be news to your parents, who feign concern before the car filled with their yelling about how you can't be trusted. You betrayed them. You can't be left alone, ever, and you’re not. You're not. The last time you were left alone, you betrayed your family by trying to quit permanently. You fast-forwarded, the remote pausing at a scene in a hospital drama, and if you were ever going to betray your family that would have been when you could’ve but you didn’t. Ever loyal, for whatever that was worth.

The therapists had your words - words you made the mistake of writing down to communicate in a world you weren't supposed to still exist within. You were supposed to die, but instead you wasted so many professionals’ time, disappointing them with the tragedy that was your presence. Appointment after appointment you filled with your worthless silence, coloring sheets of paper pencil gray. Disappointment would require expectations. You had none. Except - that's not entirely true, it's just that you can't rely on anyone. You're not the one paying the bills. No matter what you could possibly say, you’ll end up in the same place. 

Betrayal - what does that even mean? What even is a betrayal? When you don't exist, your body doesn't have secrets, doesn't hold secrets, just chemicals and biological processes. When you were born to fulfill a purpose, your unwillingness to fulfill it was betrayal, not your parents’ expectations, not the sensations that don't belong in a child’s body, no. You betrayed them and now you have no choice but to go where they sent you. 

The therapists all tried to create a setting you’d feel some semblance of safety in - they tried to attract your attention, asked you questions, held out your note as though it meant anything. You ignored this current therapist, her futile attempts to attract eye contact, until hands were on your cheeks, holding your gaze opposite hers. Okay. You inhale a hitched breath, shakily release it. 

“There. That's better.” The irritated woman stated, and you glared at her. No it wasn't. It wasn't. What was next, would her hands be trailing down your neck to your shoulders, lower? They weren't, she was just feigning relief, acting as though your refusal to look at her meant anything, as though your gaze now meeting hers meant anything outside of sheer terror at what could happen. What would happen if you were at home, if instead of therapy this was your brother's bedroom and… you were the one who betrayed your family, you weren't allowed to feel this.

“What are you feeling?”

“Hnds” escaped your mouth in spite of how silent you had successfully been until then. “H-hands.”

“It speaks!” You closed your eyes. Her approval hurt, after so much time spent disappointing. “Sorry, just trying to break the tension, that was a joke.” You blinked. Your eyes stayed focused on her hands, which weren't touching you any more but could have been. Could have been. Could betray the code of conduct expected of a therapist the same way your family betrayed - no. You weren’t going to break.

“You felt my hands, then. Would that make you more comfortable, if we were physically engaged during these sessions?” You shook your head, eyes closed, unable to control the way your breath quickened, shoulders curled, legs crossed. “That's okay, I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to, okay?” You focused on nothing, not her words, not her hands, your heart hammered in your chest like knocking, any moment now your mom would be knocking and the fact you spoke and expressed a desire to not be touched would be reported and you would be touched again, pulled out of the office and dragged to the car.

You watched her hands as they didn’t break the barrier again, staying far away from you. She was keeping her word. What you wanted was someone to love you without expecting you to be touched, to touch them. What you wanted was to matter outside of your body, and while every therapist claimed to want to know what was rattling around in your head, you had yet to actually believe any of them until…

“You won't touch me?” She nodded, smiling at you finally speaking a full sentence before her eyebrows furrowed at the content of the sentence.

“Is that why you…?” Attempted suicide, she didn’t say. They never finished their sentences when it came to discussing why you were there. “Is someone touching you?” You froze. “Hey. It's okay. You can trust me. Nothing that's said in here leaves the room, remember?”

You shrugged. You couldn't trust anyone, you had forgotten that, but you kept your mouth shut for the rest of the session. When your dad came to pick you up, the therapist talked about what you had said, how she recommended maybe your parents question you about possibly being molested. You ignored the adults’ stares, followed your feet to the car. You wouldn't ever see that therapist again. 

Betrayal, you’d think about that word as the sensations flooded your body. That was what was happening. Your family was betraying their duty to their children, you most of all but your brother too, in that by teaching him he was allowed to use you for sexual gratification, they were… failing him somehow, you thought. You didn't know. He didn't have the intellect required to keep the secret, but that didn't matter much since he didn't interact with the outside world all too often. You did. You were the one who could talk. You could have told someone but you didn’t, that was almost like consent. You felt betrayed but that wasn't a new feeling. The only new aspect was that you had almost asked for help, only to have it torn from you at the last moment. Maybe if you had spoken earlier…

Maybe the next psychiatric appointment, in another unfamiliar office, parents filling out forms in the waiting room, maybe you’d try again then, trusting someone meant to help you. Maybe “Nothing that’s said here leaves the room, remember?” would actually be true for once. Your mind left the room your body was crowded within, trying to think of words for how you might talk about what was happening. What words could describe the betrayal? You knew what went on was wrong, only you were the only one who knew. You’d have to verbalize why you had tried to remove yourself from the mortal realm, why you so desperately wanted out. You probably wouldn’t tell anyone. But even if you did… Well, life likely couldn’t become worse. Maybe. You couldn't be sure unless you found the courage to actually try to change it.