MY PAST LIVES
Mistreated wife somewhere in North America, first half of 19th century.
This is the second past life I could verify with a name and a surname, but my intention is to maintain the deception and not to reveal the truth of what really happened in a city of the United States, in the first half of the 19th century. I will use the name Susan, but this name is not the real one. Perhaps a good researcher would be able to connect the dots, but I doubt there is someone interested in getting to the bottom.
I didn’t have a good ending, I think I can say that. I also can say I am guilty of the crimes I stood accused... of both of them, because there were two trials, and there are still doubts about my innocence. I was lucky enough to be declared “not guilty” in the first one. In the second one, despite circumstances were similar and I used the same method, things went awry and finally I was sentenced to death and executed.
My actions are by no means justifiable, as neither was the abuse I was subjected since my early marriage with a man who thought could treat me like one of his possessions and force me to be the perfect wife. His violence was not justifiable either, but was tolerated in the society and time we were living in.
I have long considered if I should speak publicly or not about this life, but the question is that I can’t help it. I do it when I have to give examples to other people who are having a rough time remembering their past lives. I do it when I need so, in places like Bitter watches of the night, as I feel safer there. I don’t want to have to write in riddles, always hiding because of what people might say or still fearing to be judged. That has to stop.
I think it doesn’t matter who I exactly was. What matters is that many women will see themselves reflected on what I describe. And, since I couldn’t raise my voice back then, I speak now, like a cry that asks for help, full of grief and despair, even though it is already too late.