I’m on my knees leaning forward with the assistance of two fellow church members standing on either side of me, holding my arms out and twisted back. It’s not completely uncomfortable but it’s still punitive in a way.
My shirt is off but my bra is still on. Behind me I hear the sounds of splashing water then muffled cloth as his voice drones on in soft prayer.
I know what’s coming. I acquiesced to this. Such trust I have in my brethren to allow them to subject me to what might be a painful process. Such love they have for me that they will see me through the discomfort that will soon come.
“Trust in the Lord.” “I trust.”
“Surrender your soul to He who commands life and death.” “I surrender and place my soul in His hands.”
“The body will resist because flesh is tainted with the world, but your soul will be cleansed if you only believe.” “I believe.”
He lays his damp hands on my exposed back.
(It burns.)
My brethren are surprised by my strength and are almost pulled off their feet.
(It burns.)
Some small part of my sinful nature rises and whispers this is not okay.
(It burns.)
Bile trickles out my mouth as I feel something contorting within me, eating a deeper space to get away from the cold burning into my back.
“It’s only water but there’s a welt!” “She has a devil and it won’t leave easily.”
I wake up dry heaving.
I am too sober for these memories.