The rise

Didn't sleep well last night. Was called out for a rape around 11:00. It was emotionally draining for me to watch this poor woman, writhing in pain for hours--emotional pain, physical pain.

I have stopped trying to expect what to expect--every time I'm called out, it's different.

She never stopped crying--she was so broken.

I became nauseous at one point during the exam--nothing came of it, just a sensation passing through as she moaned loudly from the physical pain of her body being probed and inspected, a body already fatigued by the infliction of a violent assault.

I wanted to hold her but dared not touch--she'd been handled enough.

Came home exhausted--her road home is SO much longer than mine, how dare I complain?

This morning I'm succumbing to illness--illness has been swirling around me in family and friends. It was destined to find me--to use my body for incubation and fruition.

I have bread rising in the oven right now and it makes me think of my client from last night. I needed to make bread this morning. Needed some sort of control over something. Needed something to rise.

She'll rise--days, weeks, months, years from now. She'll rise. I need to believe that. I need to believe that she will rise.