cobblestone streets

tears stream down my cheeks as I read another book about healing. I was asked to write about my favourite city – no place came to mind – just one where I am anonymous, where I hold my head high in the streets. Where the male gaze faces down to the cobblestone streets, a sign of respect. Where the first encounter I have with a man doesn’t end in a scratched back, swollen pussy, and a cab dropping me off at the wrong hostel. It’s not where I stumble into the hotel dorm and worry about the other canadian who’s been lurking in my shadow, behind doorways, and at cafeteria tables keeping his eyes on me like his next catch. It’s not the city where I find my perpetrator in the crowd, I tell him that was my first time and he looks mildly concerned and said it was fine. Gives me a hug and I disappear in the crowd – it’s not where I walk through the streets and wonder how many men that I come across have drugged and forced their ways onto women and girls without consent. It hurts now. I have my own room. It’s been cleaned except for the dog piss stains on the carpet. Baking soda and vinegar do the trick – it gets old after the dogs are passed six months and the spots become the main colour and the original is barely there. Trauma sits in the body – it fucks with all our relationships until we heal they say – this whole lifetime could be dedicated to healing – like 14 glasses of water in a day – besides drinking and pissing, what the fuck else are you suppose to do. They say we fear joy – and that healing trauma doesn’t allow us to feel pain and suffering, but it allows us to feel joy. My dogs pulled me into the middle of the street, with cuts and bruises and a sprained ankle – my family didn’t ask how I was – my kid made supper when he realized and cleaned the kitchen. My partner was in the hospital on pain killers for his back – I told him what happened – he couldn’t even ask if I was ok. He said nothing. Absolutely nothing. He made some comment about the nurses coming back. Do you see me? Do you feel what I feel? I am so lonely, in a relationship with someone for over seven years. You didn’t nurture me. You didn’t care for me. I had strangers care for me and show more concern than you. You would show anger, aloofness, and laugh. We can’t take care of these dogs. We can’t take care of ourselves. We can’t take care of each other. Our relationship can’t be like this. We are failing our dogs. We are failing ourselves. We are failing each other.