Reflection not mine. 1997 poem

Reflection not mine. 1997 poem Took a look in the mirror, just to see what had just happened here. A face beyond recognition, That can't really be me. Little voice inside my head, wishing he were dead, Convincing me of guilt not mine, Please do not say it one more time. If only I had walked away, But I did stay, I don't know why, just wanted to finally take a stand. Now sitting here only able to cry, listening for a voice to call my own, where had I gone? searching for a place to hid, forced to listen to guilt not mine. weeping, crying, sobbing, no comfort from them will I find, they only criticize. call up a friend that calls up the pastor, try to find the words to say, I only want to cry but now my tears are dry. I don't have to say much, they see right through my dark tinted glasses. Finally, someone for my side. thankful for my transparent skin, but scared that others may also know. Try to make decisions for the coming day, feels like my brain has ran away, choices too big for me to face, so I finally decide to stay. later just to find I've fallen back into a trap I hate this crap, now I need to get away.
The story behind the madness (as best as I can recall around the memory gaps): This poem was wrote in summer/fall of 1997, I was just about to start my Jr. yr. of HS, and about to turn 17. I will not give you the long story, for that you can read my life story (that Im currently reediting with the new memories). My brother was living at my grandparents place at the time of this event, Because of the constant fighting that he caused. However, he would walk from my grandparents house which was just on the other side of the school yard, and visit. As usual he walks into the house and starts his endless yelling, put-downs, and possessive behaviors. This time it seemed as he was pissed because I had a plate of food that was on the desk waiting for me to finish my task on my computer. He thought he owned everything and everyone in that house. I tried to ignore him, as my mother often instructed, until he tried to pull me away from the computer. I was so tired of him touching me and pushing me around, and now that I am closer to his size, I figured this was the time for me to stand up to him. I started chanting something I heard some preacher on TV saying to drive out the demons in a possessed person. Next thing I know I was getting a rock hard fist with the force of a Mac truck slammed into my eye, sending my glasses flying. I gathered all my strength and started throwing the wildest girlie punches managing to get his arms and his back as I continued my chants. Not exactly sure what happened next, I just remember another fist, with more strength coming accost my other eye and knocking me to the ground. I grabbed my glasses that lay beside me and somehow managed to get out of the house and to the car. Thats when I looked through my barley operable eyes into the mirror. It looked as if I was looking at one of those anti-abuse posters with the battered womans swollen face, I couldnt believe this was me. I called up my best friend, and she called our youth pastor. They wanted me to make a decision right then if I felt safe staying. I didnt feel safe, never have, but I knew I would be safe that night because my brother usually slept for 2 days after one of his rages. I decided to stay that night, not realizing that choice would indefinitely trap me again. I was so close to freedom. I wasnt ready to just leave my house, not that quickly, and I didnt want to leave my mother, I have been there to help protect her for years, Ive even been able to call the cops a few times as my brother was choking the life out of her. And my mom always knew the words to tell me to say to help protect the family image. This time I knew she went too far, she wouldnt take me to the doctors, instead gave me big erkle like sunglasses for yet another cover up. After a few weeks of my eyes still hurting she finally took me to the eye doctor to get some prescription sunglasses and tell them her wonderful innocent sounding stories. I had pressure built up in my eyes, just barley below the level that required surgery. My eye balls stayed solid blood red for over 6 weeks, even as I returned to school I was still wearing my sunglasses. The kids just thought I was trying to be cool and start a new style. I got a new nick name that year of shades that was a lot better then the previous years of lezzi, the zit, greasy mug, pizza face.. so I just played along with the whole thing, it was a lot easier that way.