He came effortlessly.

My thoughts on abductions, as little as they existed in my mind were always tainted by bitter fear. All sorts of negative connotations led me to believe that stealing, ripping away ones freedom and decision making process was one the cruelest acts forced upon another. The mere image of being caged in at the hands of someone was unfathomable until I revisited my former years and realised I had in fact experienced a situation resembling an abduction before.

When I turned seventeen I opened my eyes after blowing out the candles at 16:19pm and expected the world to glow in a pinkish tint of opportunity and confidence. One year older, one year wiser, one year closer to wreak havoc on structures designed to hold me back from thinking for myself disguised by the usual trope of safekeeping. Of course the following days I learned that a specific time coinciding with my birth wouldn’t change my mindset let alone view on life but hope boomed through every corridor that my enthusiastic feet and naive heart accompanied it. But as all things have an end the freedom pulsating through my veins left one night almost as fast as the candles extinguished by the air inside my lungs on the bitter sweet birthday cake. The threat came late at night silently creeping up on me. The darkness seemed so loud I didn’t realise I let someone in on accident nor how close he was. He snapped my neck so fast away from what felt real that my face held a permanent state of emptiness. Then he threw me into a cell that looked just like my room but colder. My sketchbooks sat right were I left them on my desk and my old brushes still had my name engraved but as I tried to guide them across the blank canvas my hand felt heavy. My guitar still hung above my book shelve but every strum sounded out of tune as if i'd just forgotten how to play my favourite melody. I moved to open my door and to my surprise the absence of a lock was as clear as the absence of warmth in this imitation of a home. As I walked out realisation hit that I had never left. My parents still sat in the living room sipping on a chilled glass of white wine discussing my aunts generous gift of baked goods she brought over just hours earlier.

He came so effortlessly. Taking my freedom without taking anything at all. As if I signed away my choices and happily obliged when he told me to stay in bed for days or when he told me not to eat or when he told me I did not need to shower or take care of myself, no one would see me anyways.

But anytime I did unwillingly see myself all I saw was him. My abducter.

Keeping me hostage in a body once so full of life and hope for a future that after this night seemed like a distant dream a child would elaborte on when asking what they’d want to be when they grew up.

Funny thing how growing up was the furthest from a dream at the mere age of seventeen.