So this page will be dedicated to one of my alter egos, Lily, and her story. major TRIGGER WARNING for abuse and related sensitive subjects. Here I will document her story, her recovery, and by association…Mine. This page is more for me but you are welcome to read and follow along if the trigger warning doesn’t deter you.
Her story is not a pretty one, it’s not happy, or easy to stomach, and does not really have a happy ending. As a child Lily grew up loving to learn and read. She dreamed of traveling the world and living independently, but her parents thought her behavior unbecoming of a young lady, so she was sent to finishing school. She always had felt different from others, emotionally. She felt deeply but silently. Her parents knew she would be slow to wed on her own and so arranged a marriage for her with a man of wealth. She begged to be free from the arrangement but her pleas were ignored. The night after they wed her husband took her to his secret room. It was filled with odd contraptions, animal bones, and carcasses. He told her he’d been experimenting on animals. He told here there was nothing to fear, an no one would believe her anyway. So she kept it secret. He acted strange but no one else noticed. He began to confused an made her believe she was mad. Soon she began to question herself then lied to herself to grow comfortable. She would wake with her hair cut, her nails ripped off. He grew distant and having no one else, she felt lonely. She tried to reach out, then everything changed. He told her he had a special night planned. He told her to dress in black and presented to her a wonderful dinner, beautiful music, and all manner of pretty things. During dinner she grew tired and foggy, then fainted. She woke in the secret room, strapped down. He told her this was for the best. With his hands he ripped out her heart. Somehow still alive she escaped the room and made it up the stairs yet fainted in the hall. He picked her up, placed her upon the shelf next to his other experiments and never looked at her again. She sat for years unable to move, until she fell asleep. She woke in her room, heart still missing, yet he and his secret room had vanished.
And to all you going through an abusive relationship, or have, you are not alone. You are not weak, you are not worthless, unworthy, or broken. You have infit value that no one can ever take from you. If you are a survivor of any kind sexual violence reach out, you don’t have to suffer alone, I promise you, those who matter will understand and if they don’t find better friends and family.
This would be the black dress she wore. I know it’s not 100% accurate to any particular period, but I had the idea in my head. The words “that wasn’t so bad was it?” Will always haunt me.
This was just a random outfit I drew years ago. Not completely accurate to the time period, but I haven’t narrowed it down beyond the Victorian era. I imagine her being sad and lonely. Afraid to tell anyone because it felt like everyone would be judging. Trying to go it alone is painful and depressing, especially when you already have depression.
While her story doesn’t take place in the 1920’s I have another project that does, and this looked like fun. She would be in the asylum because of what had happened to her and while she looks fine, she’s far from it.
We felt chained, chained to him. But also to loneliness, and hopelessness. But we have broken those chains, we are free from our “him”s.
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