Sharing My Story

This is not the post where I will share my story. However, I am recounting to you, how I did share it... yesterday.

Every Thursday, I go to bible study at a local church. This is not the church I regularly attend, but it is one I have tried a couple times through college, and so I am not afraid to go, I'm just not a regular. A few months ago, I decided I wanted to start going to a bible study, and I searched many churches in town. This particular church was going to be starting a fresh "semester" in a few weeks and I knew that many of the ladies I work with went there. So, I started asking around and one lady from work told me she had been thinking about going to this study. We agreed to start together and it's been wonderful! She and I are not in the same small group within the bible study, and that is okay. It's nice just knowing that she is there and to be able to see her every once in a while.

Last week, during bible study, I felt that G-d was speaking to me that I would be sharing my story this week. Yes, I scoffed at Him a little bit, but I also told Him that if He would lead me and give me the words, I would go. If you have read a few posts ago, I felt as though G-d has been telling me to get ready to begin sharing it. I, of course, met Him with questions and slight trepidation that He won't just tell me when, where, how, who, or what. Alas, that is not how He often operates with me.

This week, I was sitting through the video and, again, clear as day I heard Him tell me I was going to share "today" (that was yesterday). The video ended, we broke into our small groups, and we shared prayer requests and prayed, as usual. When we got to talking about this week's study, one lady (who I have so appreciated because she shared her story with us) began to talk about this week's study and what it has meant to her. Then He told me to share. It was related to what she was talking about, so I branched off of that. I began talking, my lip started to quiver, tears filled my eyes, but I kept talking. As I continued, I began to cry, which I have a very difficult time doing in front of others, but I continued on. When I finished (I only talked for less than 5 minutes), I was all but sobbing and the leader of the group and the lady that I have come to so appreciate for her story, they both came up and hugged me. Of course, this lead to more crying, the kind where you can't breathe anymore.

When I came to and got better use of my vision, I noticed many of the women were crying right along with me. They were hurting for the pain I've been experiencing for so long. They were hurting for a young lady, with so much life before her, having been hurt at a fairly young age. They encouraged me, thanked me for sharing, and praised the L-rd that when they came together and asked for healing for me several week prior, that He answered the prayers so immediately and I was now able to share with them the results. I was able to share with them my vision of the White Robe and the verse when G-d told Peter to kill and eat. Peter resisted, because these animals were un-kosher and "unclean". 3 times G-d told him to eat, and 3 times Peter resisted. Then, G-d told Peter to "not call unclean, that which I have called clean." This scene also came to my mind, with the White Robe vision, and I finally accepted that I have been made clean. That I have been forgiven. That I am untarnished, not wasted, and more precious than anyone could ever understand, to the One who made me and continues to carry me.

After telling my story (in very little detail, mostly just that I have been abused and have C-PTSD), these women I have come to care for so deeply (at an arms length, of course) did not shun me, forsake me, nor break my heart with faces that showed their broken hearts. Instead, I saw in them a sense of understanding in my bible study responses and prayer requests, as well as an appreciation for how far I have come in such a short time. They watched me go from reserved, to angry, to struggling internally, to excited at sudden healing, to now. Now, I am in a place of battle, but much less wearisome. I am in a place where I am hearing G-d speak so clearly to me, that I need to share and help other girls, ladies, women, people, through the turbulence of surviving sexual assault and abuse. I don't know how, who, where, when, or what, but I know that I have been called clearly.

This is the first time, since I was in middle school and committed myself to G-d, that I have been able to hear Him this clearly. I don't want this to stop. I feel like I have had ear plugs in for year and I could hear Him faintly, but now I've taken them out and can hear Him so much better. Praise the L-rd.

'Til next time, friends.

"Why did you stay?"

This is a question I've been asked many, many times when people hear even a smidge of my stories.

With exboyfriend, the police, detective, and my first counselor asked why I stayed the weekend after his first assault.

With exfiance, I've been much more secretive about my time with him, because I've already lost so many people because of him. I've learned to be alone and find contentment in being single, independent, and doing things solely by myself.

Last week, my counselor noted that I've been dissociated for the past few weeks, even in counseling. So, she asked me to talk about exfiance. My mind went blank (dissociation). I asked her what I should talk about and she began asking me basic questions. How did we meet? What was he like? How did it all start? Why did I let him hurt me so many times? Why did I not leave after his first assault like I did with exboyfriend? etc. etc. etc.

I was overcome with anger at being challenged, especially by someone who I had come to know synonymously with comfort and support. Tears were freely flowing at this point, though I had gotten through most of the questions with not an ounce of emotion while recalling our history and how it all started. However, the tears were spilling out like a fire hydrant when we got to the point of asking me why I stayed and let him to continue hurting me. In full defensiveness, I told her what I figured she already knew, "it's not that easy to just walk away, he wouldn't let me go".

It's true. Thus the restraining order attempt. He monopolized all my time from day 1, called and texted constantly, built me up for a few weeks, maybe a couple months, then he started the cycle of breaking me down and guilting me into staying. He brainwashed me, manipulated me to the umpteenth degree, tried to convince me I was nothing (and succeeded, for a little while). When I tried to leave, he told me he would go drive his truck into a tree because he couldn't imagine life without me. He played on all of my past traumas, to fully cement in my head that I was stuck.

Stuck with him. Stuck in an engagement, and eventual marriage, that was all a sham and started as pacification after the first assault. Stuck in abuse, convinced that that was simply my lot in life.

With this, I was introduced to the idea that I have no friends through this abuse because I was a terrible friend in the midst of it. For the 2 friends I trusted, I unloaded far too much information because I had nobody else to talk to. Then, when they stopped talking to me, it made no sense to me. But, after putting two and two together, I realized that it had been a pattern leading up to college that people simply came into my life for a time and promptly left. So, I thought nothing of it when this happened again amidst the trauma. I decided, purposely, to learn how to live without friends. Learn how to be alone. To go out and do fun things, alone. To finish nursing school, alone. I decided to stop getting hurt.

Unfortunately, this left me alone with exfiance.





The way my brain works is truly troubling. It shuts down and I can't communicate. You can ask me questions and if the answers cannot be a simple "yes" or "no", then it will be "I don't know". In truth I do know, but I need time to process. Time to write it out. Time to work my way through the dissociation to a point of being able to communicate and think again.

I went home and cried. Uncontrollable sobbing until I fell asleep early in the afternoon. I woke up a few hours later, my mind reeling. Rinse and repeat all week. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out why I'm such a terrible friend. Why I am such a target. What did I do that I deserve such terrible treatment? What did I do that I was being punished with mountains of abuse? Is my life a manifestation of punishment for a family sin? Maybe generations of family sins? What was so bad about me and so fundamentally wrong with who I am that relationships end in hurt every time? Am I really so unloveable that nobody wants me at all? No dating relationships no friendships?

I began to think back on my life. Did I not follow the rules? Did I not forgive 70 x 7 times and then continue to forgive after that? Did I not turn my cheek, try to forget wrongdoings against me, and attempt to continue on? Did I not love those who hurt me and try to show them G-d's love, just as we continually do things that are a slap in His face and He continues to take us back? Did I not strive to be a friend to those who had nobody, usually until they were accepted by the masses to simply leave me on the sidelines? Of course I saw the patterns, but everything in my past showed me I was just living the church girl life. I was doing all that I had been taught to do. Where did I go wrong?

All around me, I saw relationships falter, divorces run rampant, and those that weren't divorced were usually the ones stuck in relationships that made my relationship with exfiance look like a honeymoon. Yet, these women (primarily, and a couple of guys) found ways to be happy in the suffering. They learned to pacify the people they were with, and found ways out of the house to be able to have friends and fun with their kids without the terrible spouse.

I've noticed the patterns of families for years. Some families are large with lots of people always in your space. They love having tons of family members, cousins, aunt, uncles, etc that are all "close" with them and keeping up on their life happenings. Some families seem to have many kind people that have many terrible people that marry into the family. Others have families where nobody sees each other and the separate members of the family find pseudo families to belong to. There are other patterns, of course, but too many to rehash in this post.

Well, I figured that the pattern of nice people having terrible people marry into the family was my lot in life. With the exception of my uncle who is the spitting image of my terrible grandmother [who married into my grandfather's wonderful family]. That @$$h*!3 married my aunt and she is amazing and I love her and we claimed her in the divorce while completely ignoring my biological uncle for decades.

So, how was I supposed to know that my relationship with exfiance was not what it was supposed to be? All of my support systems left me high and dry. All of the relationships in my life pointed to nothing but finding happiness in the midst of a shitty relationship. Church taught me to forgive and turn the other cheek and try to love everyone and work to be Jesus to the nations. How was I supposed to know that following all of the fucking rules would lead to nothing but PTSD, deep depression, a loathing for my body and brain that is unparalleled to anything I have ever understood, and aloneness for the last 3 years of my life?

I read marriage/relationship books about how to be a better girlfriend and figure out how to have a happy relationship. I asked those that I could, studied blogs and everything I could find about relationships. I put in my hours trying to figure out why the only relationships I found myself in were ones that caused me mass amounts of pain. I even took a sexual assault nursing course (for all of 3 weeks until the flashbacks got too intense and I became thoroughly traumatized from the stories we had to read). I tried to figure out how to fix it, then I had to figure out how to leave, ALL BY MYSELF. I had to figure out red flags and final straws and escape plans, ALL BY MYSELF. I had to figure out how to survive so many terrible things ALL BY MYSELF.

That's why I couldn't leave. That's why I stayed for so long. I was in the Word, I was praying, I was going to church, I was reaching out for help and being met with silence at every turn. That's why I stayed. I was fighting to breathe and struggling to break free, and so no, I couldn't just walk out after the first assault. It took all I had to not find a way to die. I was even praying that G-d would just take me, any way He wanted, because I didn't even have the strength to do it myself. I was even helping Him by suggesting plans of how to take me!



Why did I stay? Because I couldn't leave.

Hauntingly Familiar

As you might well know, from my many posts, I have moved back to the city I lived in during college (a.k.a. College Town, as named for my blog).

This also just so happens to be the city in which I lived through the worst year of my life, 2015.

2015 was a terrible year, filled with 2 relationships that were exceedingly toxic and abusive. I was sexually assaulted/raped, mentally imprisoned, physically abused, and otherwise harmed in most ways possible. Through these occurrences, I developed terrible depression, complex PTSD (which was made worse by my friend's suicide the year prior), and I participated in smoking and self-harm as ways of attempting to cope.



Often, in my experiences as a nurse, and general experiences as a human, I have been slapped in the face with comments, made by unknowing people.

Usually these include jokes about suicide or self-harm. Other times they are people lying about sexual assault and rape in order to remain out of trouble or to get attention. And still, there are instances that fall in and out of that range.



Recently, my ability to cope was tested as someone mentioned to me that "they don't believe most rape victims have actually been raped. Most of the time these girls didn't say 'no' strongly enough or contributed to the drinking and merely had sex that they regretted in the morning."

*deep breath*

For those of you who don't know my full story, just know that these are two very triggering statements for me 1) that the 'no' was not forceful enough and 2) that because the girl was drunk, it is automatically her fault because she was drinking.

Let me preface this by saying that sometimes people lie. Maybe someone is lying about having sex and regretting it in the morning and they feel that claiming it as "rape" is going to lessen their guilt or somehow get them sympathy. Let me also say that I have a tendency to believe people if they claim they have been assaulted, because if it's false then it'll eat away at them as they meet true victims. If it doesn't, then hey, not my problem. I would rather believe people and treat them with extra gentleness, than to assume that everyone is lying.



With that being said, the details of my story often keep me up at night. I have worked for years at grounding techniques and trying to remember all of the events that I unfortunately survived over the course of living through the hell I experienced in 2015.



My attackers were boyfriends. With 1, I question whether my "no" was strong enough, because I froze. I told him "no" about 50 times, maybe more. However, my body was frozen apart from moving his hands away and trying to keep myself safe. There are about 15-20 minutes that I cannot account for because my brain shut off and I had a sort of "flashback" but I didn't go into the past, I just went somewhere else in my brain. I remember my thoughts through that unaccounted time, but I cannot remember reality.

I struggle with knowing I could have done something, but I couldn't, all at the same time. Especially after taking self-defense, I know that my desires to kick him in the face and run, were absolutely acceptable and encouraged behaviors because of what he was doing. But I didn't do it, because I couldn't grasp the gravity of the situation in that particular moment.

My second boyfriend (of about 2.5 months at the time) knowingly got me drunk and likely drugged me. We had been planning to go out dancing and drinking. Like a fool, I told him my limit was 3 drinks, and asked him to hold my drink when I went out to dance. It was a night where we were given 2 free shots of various whiskey to encourage people to buy these brands. This, along with him getting me refill after refill (without my knowledge) and then encouraging me to chug, ended up causing me to drink too much. He knew I trusted him, and he knew I wasn't able to keep track of him being gone when I was dancing with my friends. He had been charming and fun for the few months we were together, until that night. The next memory I have was waking up next to him, naked, in a hotel room. I didn't know where I was, what had happened, or how to get home.

This is a struggle for me because I was counting my own drinks. I know to not drink too much. I know when to cut myself off. I trusted him. He claimed he wanted to help me after having been hurt by my first boyfriend. He claimed to have "over-the-moon" feelings for me. He claimed to want to marry me... after only a couple months of dating. We had had our fights, but he typically ended up working out a decent deal to "compromise" with me. After that night, he fought with me on religion, virginity, giving my body to him (he even claimed scripture for this, even though he is not a believer), and he fought me on everything.



With the two comments made about rape/sexual assault victims in relation to lying, saying "no", and drinking, I am at a war. I war within myself nearly every day whether I was truly abused the way I have had to convince myself I was, or if I'm making these things up and merely regret having sex with guys I hadn't even planned to kiss. Which, is a form of assault in it's own right, technically. But those are stories for another day.





And so, I lost hours of precious sleep, that I already don't get enough of, battling in my own head over words spoken out of unknowing. In the conversation, in which those comments were made, the person I spoke with prefaced the conversation saying they "had not had anyone in their family raped" and that these were just their findings in their limited control group of people who had claimed to have been assaulted/raped (a group of maybe 2 people). So, at least they acknowledged that. But it still stings.

It stings to not even believe my own memory, because of somebody's opinion about something that has never personally effected them or someone they love and know dearly. It stings to have to battle in my own head and lose sleep over such small comments. It stings to not be able to easily discern reality from nightmares, because your life is worse than your worst nightmare.

Grounding is exhausting in these situations and for someone who has been working 6 days a week, between 2 new jobs and learning all of the "new", it is especially difficult to bring myself back to the facts. To prove to myself that the labels of "rape" and "abuse" given by my counselor truly fit the relationships I had. Then, for days, my brain is recounting and dredging up all of the examples it can muster, and even some I had forgotten, in order to prove to me that I am not "crazy" for believing in my traumatic past.

And so the past haunts the present. It lurks in the corner of every new adventure. It tests out every new friendship, and holds it to standards that are unbeknownst to me. All I get are the results of the test: don't trust anyone and keep it to myself.



I don't talk about my past anymore. The more new people I meet, and the more I go on with life, the fewer people I tell. I told nobody in Small Town, and I don't plan on telling anyone here. The only people that will know, already know, and those were even probably not great choices. Thing is, it's not fair to keep it to yourself and it's not healthy. Counselors can't be the only people to ever know things like this, but I can't go around telling every random person I befriend about my traumatic past either.

The "discussions" started, the fights I wage, and the debate about what constitutes rape and abuse are conversations I simply try to avoid. Changing the subject or nodding along and zoning out seem to work the best for me. However, it seems that's all I do anymore...

And so it goes. I bandage those hurt feelings and move on. I don't blame the lips that spill the words. I don't abandon the people who think that way to begin with. All I can do is hope to recover from my many returns to the deep pits, and keep on pushing along.

Maybe one day things will get better.

2 Year Anniversary

April 18 and 19 was my 2nd year anniversary of my first sexual assaults. I worked. I thought these days would get easier, but also that it was be more difficult than they were. I know that this makes no sense unless you're in it. But for me, this is the only way to describe the past few days.

At work, we had a girl come into the ER in labor. She came in with abdominal pain. After routine tests, it was discovered that she was 1) pregnant and 2) in active labor. After being told this information, she confessed she was raped. According to her well known dates, the baby was calculated to be premature by about a month. So, ER nurses called us and called L&D because NICU would need to go to that delivery and would possibly be taking the infant back to our unit.

I don't know what happened with that baby or with the girl, but I was at that delivery. The baby was born at full term. There was also the father in the room. I'm not saying she was lying, but I'm not able to know what the full story is either. The girls on my unit were angry, saying that she lied because the father was there.

Guys, that could have been me. I knew the father. I likely would have sought out prenatal care and I definitely called my mom. Well, the ER nurse that did my SANE exam made me... but still. I told my mom about the assault the night after it happened. I drove up to Home Town and went with her to dinner where I couldn't hold it in any longer. I told her in an Olive Garden then wept in her car, in her arms for hours. After ex-fiance raped me over a dozen times, I took the Plan B pill. It is against my beliefs but I couldn't be stuck to the evil guy that would continually invade my physical boundaries and my body. Plus, I had taken one after ex-boyfriend assaulted me and I was examined by a SANE nurse.

I wouldn't have allowed them in the room, if I had needed to give birth. I don't know if I would have told them. I don't know if I would have kept the baby. I just don't know.

I pray for the girl's sake and the sake of the baby, that she was lying, so that she doesn't actually have to live through this trauma that I deal with every day and I can't even make an hour of not remembering something that happened to me in the year of 2015. I was abused and battered and raped and in terrible relationships with two separate guys for the entire year of 2015. I hope for her sake that she was fucking lying. If, not, my heart hurts for her. She has no idea the pain that is coming. However, if she lied, I am angry. I am angry that people see this "label" as an easy way out of consequences that may be bestowed upon them by parents that would be pissed that their child got pregnant at the age of 17 and didn't tell them (the parent) about it until the mom was so concerned about her daughter that they went to the ER at 1 a.m. 

Add in to this trying time of my year that the show "13 Reasons Why" is a very popular show and everyone seems to be talking about, discussing, and judging this poor girl and her decisions and her life. I know it's fictional, but it's not far off from my actual life story. I haven't watched the show, I won't. I know the premise of the show and I've read summaries of many of the episodes. It's not far off from how my story could have been.

Regardless of the year or which of my traumas is coming up on anniversary, somehow, my whole life and everything around me has a tendency to constantly remind of whatever it is I went through at this time a few years ago.

Great.

I have started looking for a counselor, don't worry. I'm fixin' to go back. I told my mom, which just ended up freaking her out, but I promised her it was just for a "catch-up". We'll see how it goes.

I went home to Home State a couple weeks ago. My first day back, I was car shopping with my mom when we got a call that her dad was in the hospital. Crap. Normally, it would be stressful enough having grandpa in the hospital for alleged "stroke-like symptoms". However, my mom's mom could be diagnosed with narcissistic personality disorder, as per the DSM-V. She could also be diagnosed with about 97 other personality disorders, and I'm only barely being dramatic. Anyway, she was the one "relaying" the information to my aunt and didn't want to tell my mom because my grandma hates my mom. Yes, she hates her own daughter. Well, after lots of family drama, sneaking into the hospital to visit grandpa when she wasn't there, and spending my whole vacation explaining the adult medical world to my family despite letting them know I "don't do big people". I left my "vacation" exhausted, worried, and frustrated that I spent all my time at a different hospital, taking care of my grandpa (whom I absolutely adore) while trying to dodge my grandma (not to be confused with Mema, whom I work with here in the NICU where I currently reside). I saw my uncles and cousins who don't know who I am because they haven't seen me in 15 years because they are mean and grandma actually likes them and hates me. Grandma then got my number and has begun calling me. *facepalm*

It turns out grandpa was taken to the hospital with stroke-like symptoms and we found cancer in his lungs, liver, and brain. The brain lesions are what was causing his confusion. He had been coughing for a few weeks and began taking Mucinex. He began experiencing R sided numbness and weakness. We thought it was a symptom tied with the confusion, but turns out that extended use of Mucinex can/will cause that. Seeing as he took 5 bottles of Mucinex over the course of a month, it is much more likely the weakness was caused by that.

He is now in the midst of his 10 back-to-back radiation treatments. Following those, he will receive several rounds of chemo and still not have a particularly long time to live because he has small-cell carcinoma. Even if he goes into remission, the cancer will likely come back and with a vengeance.

Despite all of these things, grandpa is so frickin' cute. Even when he was confused, he was happy, pleasant, polite, and worried about his children and grandchildren. Despite being married to a horrible woman who constantly yells at him and berates him, he chooses to be happy and he chooses to stay with her because, as a Catholic, he believes he is doing the right thing by G-d. I so admire this man for staying happy, despite all that has happened to him over the course of his life. He takes things in stride, does what he can for his children, and just tried to by honorable in the eyes of the Good L-rd. Plus, he's so stinkin' cute!!!. Just excited for pudding and to see all 5 of his children in a room for the first time in decades. He has tons of grandkids and several great-grandkids. He worked until last year when he retired at the age of 75 from a job where he was a grounds keeper for a local park system in Home State. He worked hard, outside, for decades. He used to keep 3 jobs at all times to care for his family (granted, grandma did nothing and stole all of his money... but that's beside the point). He's worked hard and suffered his whole life, but he finds joy in getting pudding and juice. I love this man. I am so blessed to have gotten to see him while I was there. I gladly traded my vacation to stay with him while I could.

Don't Let the Stories Die

I recently found myself making lists of things I wanted to do. I was making lists because I was terribly bored and attempting to find fun things to do in town. Also, the lists get my mind to focus on something other than Netflix for a couple hours every once in a while.

During this list-making obsession, I decided I needed to read some "fun" books again. Oh how I love to read!... for fun. Give me a textbook about med/surg nursing and I will either fall asleep the moment it is opened or decide that my house, my mom's house, my brother's frat house, and every single vehicle in my line of vision needs to be cleaned spotless. I'm not normally a tidy or clean person, so you can see how "Pulling a Monica" (I know it's used incorrectly from how Friends uses it, but you know what I mean... she's the clean freak!) would be quite worrisome for my friends and family.

So, after my unit meeting today, I went off and signed myself up at the library. We have a surprising number of libraries in town (5-6) considering how small this town is. Even College Town didn't have this many and it was a bigger city! Anywho, I picked up some books after not finding the ones I was after. While wondering through the many isles of unopened adventures and make-believe lands, my eye caught on a book by Sally Hepworth called The Secrets of Midwives. Naturally, this sounds like a book I need to read! Does it not?

I began the book when I woke from a nap at midnight and I'm already halfway done with it at 0500. This author is an incredible writer and the story really has me engaged. I can imagine myself in each of the lives it depicts, and as being the midwife in these situations. By the way, the book is about a grandmother, mom, and granddaughter; three generations of women who are all midwives and how their various life circumstances intertwine.

What I was not expecting, however, is an underlying story plot of domestic violence. Which, of course, brought me crashing back to earth, to reality, to my story.

When I read, or journal, or blog for that matter, I often find myself wishing I were better at writing so that I could write books. I want desperately to somehow have my story mean something. For the things I lived through to make a greater impact on the world than people hearing I am recovering from rape, domestic violence, and the complex PTSD that followed. I want people to be able to somehow find hope and perhaps be able to avoid situations like mine, by reading or hearing about my story.

I don't want my circumstances and memories to simply fade away and die with me. I figure, if someone has to survive shit like this, those stories need to be remembered and used as warnings for others before it's too late. Before they say yes to a date that they should be wary of. Before they get in to deep with a person who is digging in their evil tentacles from the very moment they meet. Before a person even begins dating, way back in middle school, so they are taught what is absolutely not okay so that the next generations of children have some sort of hope of having higher standards for what dating and love is actually supposed to be, not the sick and twisted version I and so many other have to suffer through.


Today my desire to continue on to be a Nurse Midwife is stronger than ever, as is my desire to potentially find a way to tell my story in a fictional way. Maybe, BedpanAlley could be a published writer of both midwifery, neonatal care, and fictional books someday... Y'all, it'll take a miracle, but how many other miracles have occurred already for me? I'm not even supposed to be here today.



Folks, regardless of where you are in your journey, or whether we walk similar paths or not, I think some of our hardest sufferings, along with our greatest triumphs, deserve to be remembered. Think about maybe keeping a journal to chronicle such events. Perhaps I'm overly sentimental, or odd, or whatever, but I don't think such things should die with us. I enjoy listening or reading about the things my grandparents got to experience, and I often listen with a heavy heart as they explain the pains hey endured. However, it brings a sense of understanding and greater closeness between us. It also helps the new generations not forget the happenings of the past. We lose so much by not looking back. Look at midwifery and obstetrical care: many providers have lost the ability to deliver breech presenting babies. We've lost the basic knowledge of how to build fires and keep them banked for the night so that we don't freeze in our sleep... Many of us have lost the ability to hunt, or if we do hunt we don't do it without a gun or pre-made, specialized bow. Moral of the story: you have stories, don't let them die with you. Tell them to someone who will pass them on or write them in a journal. We don't necessarily need to pass on our Facebook and Instagram accounts, but pass on the deep, meaningful and very real occurrences, both happy and sad, that occur in your life.

Pure Rage

Let's start this post out nicely... I don't want any comments. I love you all, but no comments on this post. Mostly, I probably shouldn't be posting this but 1) I need to vent, 2) I'm trying to be straight with y'all about the struggles of life in case somebody out there in the virtual space of the world feels the same way, I don't want them thinking they are alone, and 3) there is too much rage, moving through my mind too quickly, for me to be able to hand-write the shit I'm feeling in a paper journal so that I can burn it later. Thus, my online outlet which you can choose to read, or not. Completely your choice. THERE WILL BE LOTS OF CURSE WORDS USED THROUGHOUT!!! Are they necessary? Not usually, but every once in awhile it is absolutely required. Right now, just know that this post will be long, and it could be about half the length if I didn't use so much profanity.

*****PROCEED WITH CAUTION*****ENTER AT YOUR OWN RISK*****

No. I should be screaming these things from entirety of my being, into a canyon somewhere, where nobody can hear me, where I later collapse into a ball of a shell of a girl who's merely trying to hang on in a world where she doesn't belong living a life she does not understand at all.

Let's also preface this by saying that for the past several days, I'm in one of my moods. Yes, I have several moods that rotate throughout my days. None of them are really actually good. Some have "good" moments, I suppose, but I cannot find the good in my life. Present mood: contemplating the purpose of existence and how my life fits in with the plan of creation. I've been feeling dissociated and in a haze for the last week and a half also. I felt that necessary to point out as well.

Another nursing school buddy got married, I think today. Which, btw, is an odd day to have a legit wedding, seeing as it's Monday. But I digress and continue on with my ridiculously long post about things I've said in the past but am still mulling over in my obviously not healed mind...

Another girl got married. Now, I am happy for her, I truly am. She was a great girl, she's super smart, and she's been with this guy for a long time. She wasn't pressuring him to get married or engaged, and she seems relatively grounded.

I'm upset at the death of my future. I'm upset that my dreams of a future, and what I wanted for dating and marriage didn't even have a fucking shot at happening because two assholes decided that my wishes are not worth honoring. I'm fucking pissed that I didn't get a say. I'm enraged that nobody is fighting for me and that nothing will come of the pain I've been forced to survive. Can G-d handle it? Absolutely. Is He not the one who is in charge of revenge and setting wrongs right? He absolutely is! That's not what I'm saying. I don't even know what I'm saying any more but I know I'm upset.

The hand of tragedy and trauma is dealt randomly, I think. I don't know, maybe it's not. Maybe we are predestined to be forced to live through shitty circumstances that make us want to die on a daily basis, but somehow we're supposed to see how long we last before saying that we've had enough and throwing in the towel. Maybe, somehow, we're paying for the sins we've committed, or the sins that some person in our family tree committed a hundred years in the past. Maybe our suffering is somehow part of some atonement process that doesn't actually atone for anything because our suffering can pay for no sin or mistakes, but we still have to go through that. I DON'T FUCKING KNOW! I do know, however, that even though I sin, I don't know what mistakes justify a person having to live through fucking trauma, rape, incest, domestic abuse, emotional abuse, gas lighting, constant ragging, the death of innocent people who have done nothing wrong, or any other trauma. Most trauma makes no fucking sense. Most of it has no noticeable purpose, no rhyme, no reason, nothing! Nothing! NOTHING!

Why, then, are we still having to live through such things. More importantly, why do some people go through life without ever experiencing trauma, or major life troubles, while others get clobbered around every FUCKING CORNER???!!!!!??? I'm not saying I'm necessarily one of them, but 3 people resulting in more traumas than I can count in a year and a half is a little fucking excessive to me.

I don't know, maybe that's just me. Eventually, I'll get over it. Except not. No. This shit never goes away until the day my heart stops and I get to be done. Perhaps then I will be free from these hellish memories and the pains that stab me in the chest. Hopefully, someday, I will be cut loose of the chains that bring me back to my pits of despair when I think of the beautiful wedding night I wanted, the dreams of being STD/STI free with no doubts in my mind about my status in that area, and I will put to rest my living nightmares that play over and over in my head, constantly. Did I have a choice of having a beautiful wedding night? No. Can I know for certain right now that I am presently STD/STI free? I have no fucking clue and I get panic attacks daily thinking that I may have one and not knowing. Yes, I can go get tested, but I'm still just not ready to drag myself to my death sentence just yet. Will I ever be free from these nightmare memories that run on loops in my brain? Not until the day I die or the day somebody develops an amnesia treatment that only lets you erase certain memories. Honestly, I'm not holding my breath for that treatment, but the end of my days is rapidly approaching, I'm sure.

You know what's hilarious to me, though? (Now, keep with me because that was solid fucking sarcasm). I have watched over 5 stand-up comedians over the past couple of hours that are on Netflix and all of them make jokes about rape and molestation within the first 5-10 minutes. 

Back to being serious, there is absolutely nothing funny about rape, molestation, incest, sexual assault, domestic abuse, beating your wife/husband/girlfriend/boyfriend/child/parent/etc. There is nothing funny about abuse, at all! There's nothing funny about PTSD, war, slavery, or any other things like that. What bugs me the most, is that people who have never fucking lived in my damn shoes is going to make jokes about my life being ruined because the act that cause my life to be ruined is apparently funny to them. It's hilarious to them! The whole crown erupts with laughter when these people make these jokes! It makes my blood boil, it sends me into immediate flashbacks every time, and then I look at how our society deals with such troubling topics and the lack of sentencing and punishments make sense. My life makes less and less sense, but it makes sense that the fucking statistics grows for the events of rape that occur each day because it's all just a joke. 

My suffering is a joke. It's something I have to keep hush hush, because it bums people out. Nobody wants to hear my woes. I'm just regretful of allowing the guys to enter my body, because I let them do it. I must have wanted them to do it. My response to that: NOBODY WANT TO BE FUCKING RAPED!!! NOBODY WANTS THEIR LIFE TO BE RUINED AT THE HANDS OF SOME ASSHOLE WITH A FUCKING PENIS BECAUSE THEY FEEL THEY HAVE A RIGHT TO ENTER MY BODY. NOBODY WANTS CONSTANT WORRIES ABOUT THEIR STD/STI STATUS WHEN THEY HAD WANTED TO REMAIN VIRGIN, OR EVEN IF THEY WERE WILLING TO HAVE SEX AT SOME POINT, THE ONE TIME THAT THEY SAY NO AND THE GUY DOES NOT RESPECT THAT, THERE IS TRAUMA. SOMETHING, IN THAT PICTURE, IS NOT RIGHT.

What's so hard to understand about that? Apparently, it about as difficult as rocket science to understand... for many people who have never experienced rape, sexual assault, abuse, or any of the other many listed things already mentioned, or one of the hundreds of things I never even mentioned because there is too much!!! There's too much.

What has rape cost me? It's cost me: friends, family, sanity, sleep, good dreams, peace, any hope of love, joy, gladness in my adult life, excitement for post-graduation happenings, hope of having children, and my future, among other things.

I'm angry that some people live such beautiful, wonderful, sweet, amazing lives while I'm stuck in this. I'm overwhelmed at the constant waves of shit washing over me. I hate that just when I start to feel like I'm doing better, I get bombarded again with my hellish reality. I hate that I don't feel worthy of a happy life, and I feel guilty even, for what has happened, even though I can rationalize the events as me not being at fault for the actions that took place.

While most girls my age are dreaming of their futures, I'm sitting here wondering what I have done to deserve such shit. I wonder why it is that I'm here, what purpose my life plays in the Grand Scheme of things. Mostly, I'm left feeling overwhelmed at the magnitude of evil rising up around me on every side. I am suffocated by the fears of what a health check would bring. My past haunts me and chases my happiness away. The simple joys of life are completely lost on me, and I'm simply treading water in the middle of the biggest, stormiest ocean in the universe. I find myself praying that 1) I am free of disease and health complications and 2) that my life ends soon and that somehow, somebody remembers me with fondness.

I've been thinking about all the people I've lost in my life. They didn't die, most of them haven't, but they've left me or I've left them for various reasons. If my former friends heard I died, or came across my obituary, would they say I got what I had coming? Would they be glad I was gone because they didn't like me? Would they be sad at how things ended? Would they mourn the loss or get over it quickly by saying "Oh, that's sad. Was it suicide?" Would they come to a funeral, if there was one, or would they visit my grave and visit/yell at me the way I do with Country Boy? Would they remember me for being sweet, kind, and dreaming of a bright future? Or will they recall my bipolar, my grouchiness, and the way in which I made them upset by enforcing boundaries and refusing to take their shit. Would they ask how I died, prying for if my death were self-inflicted? Or would they hope that suddenly, my troubles were gone and I no longer lived with the shame and pain and scars this life has given to me. What would my obituary say? Who would even read it? How could my family even invite anyone to my funeral? Nobody would come except family, and then friends supporting my family. I would have no friends there because there is nobody left.

Does my life even make a difference? For anyone? (All rhetorical questions, you don't need to comment.)?




So what is the point of my sufferings? What is the point of anyone's sufferings? I know I'm not the only in pain over the hand this life has dealt. Of the numerous times I was supposed to die over the course of my life, from the time I was conceived until now, why was I not allowed to just fucking die??? I could have died free of pain. I could have died pure. I could have died and not even experienced the fight of life. Instead, I was kept alive. I keep having to be kept alive. I keep having to fight another day and suffer through.

I know the Good L-rd provides. He provides for my needs, my happiness, my joy, and everything good in this universe and beyond. He gives every good things. I know He gets me through the trauma, He gets me through the night, and He keeps me alive for another day. What I don't know, and what I don't understand, is why the hell I cannot just go ahead and cease breathing so I can be put out of my misery? Why can my heart not just take a permanent break and allow me to slip away? What is the purpose of allowing me to continue to suffer with the after-math of the consequences of sin. Not even just my sin! I'm suffering from the consequences of other people's sins too!!! Shit like this happens every day. Not so good people suffer no issues, while others suffer for personal sins as well as for the sins of the not so good people.



I keep feeling compelled to start working on forgiveness so I can try to move on. I think it's from the L-rd. I want to be ready to do that. I want to be ready to shoulder the pain and move on, but right now, the baggage is too heavy to be able to move away from anger and head towards full forgiveness. I don't know what I'm supposed to do.

I deal with being scared of what problems I have with health and my mental well-being on a daily basis. I fear the future because I see little chance of my story ending well any time soon. I know I'm not supposed to worry about the future, because what will I change by worrying about the future? Nothing. However, a happy, good future will take a billion and five miracles and I feel that's just too excessive for one person to be given in a lifetime. It doesn't matter what I feel I deserve or don't, it's ultimately up to G-d. I have no say. I'm just saying that statistically, the odds are not in my favor and I long for release from my pains and struggles bestowed upon me in this life.

I'm tired. I'm going to bed.

Support Group

Back in Home State, I asked my counselor about getting into a support group. While she was supportive, she told me there were two minor issues with that desire, but that I could do whatever it is that I felt would help. She told me: 1) you may want to wait until you are more stable because it may produce more triggers than you are used to, and 2) there isn't one at this crisis center, but I can help you search for one, if you decide this is something you still want to pursue.

Long story short, I didn't go to a support group in Home State, but I continued on with counseling. I went to counseling for a little over 4 months (3 months of which was 2 times a week). Now, with the help and support of Nurse Dee, and my worsening struggles with the events that put me in counseling to begin with, I have searched for one in Small Town and found one!

I went to support group last night. It was small at first. At 5:45 (when it starts), there were the leader, one other survivor, and myself. Shortly after group started, 2 more ladies came. We talked about boundaries, which is something I had requested my counselor to teach me about several months ago. So, it was mostly just a refresher, but still helpful because those are things that are commonly a struggle and that are good to practice and be reminded of on an ongoing basis.

So, group was good. I plan on going back when I have the chance and don't have to be at work or anything. I hope it goes well. I hope that this is a good group that helps me make connections and brings some peace. Granted, if the only thing it does is get me out of the house, that's a pretty big win anyway.

Can't Run From Your Past

When I told people about my plans to leave Home State, if they new my story, they would tell me that running away from my problems would not fix them. They always told me that my past will follow me wherever I go.

You know what? I have memories and things that come up with with everyday life, but I'm not constantly bombarded with everything I was hit with in Home State, especially in the town where I went to school (where the assaults happened).

Today is a rough day. The memories won't let up, but it's because I'm processing some bad news about one of my cases.

You know what? The legal system sucks when trying to actually get justice. I get that you have to have evidence and proof and whatnot, but seriously the amount of rapists that actually get charged compared to the number of rapes that happen is absolute garbage! No fucking wonder there is a huge number of people (men, women, or children) that are raped every single day. You wanna know why this damn rate is so high? Because the assholes that refuse to keep their appendages to themselves know the law. They know what to do in order to get away with their evil actions. They know that if you are drugged and don't remember the night, then nothing can be done to charge them, unless a witness watches everything that happens and catches the rapist in the act. They know to keep victims away from anyone else because that makes all of their assaults a case of "he-said-she-said" which makes their word just as reliable as the victim's, unless recorded and able to be used for proof.

Honestly, this world is so worried about being politically correct and not stepping on anyone's toes, that it's gotten to the point that nobody can be trusted and justice is unattainable. I know that the only one who can provide justice and truly fix anything is G-d. I don't believe that this is necessarily the end of the road, because He judges and punishes as He sees fit. Maybe one or both of these assholes that destroyed my life are sorry. Maybe they truly regret what they did, are remorseful, and have decided to apologize and ask for forgiveness to the L-rd. Maybe they think I'm over-reacting and think they've done nothing wrong. Maybe, they (or at least one of them), is truly evil and looks to further traumatize girls because he gets a kick out of it.

Who knows? Maybe they will never receive punishment, never feel sorry, never understand the extent to which they have caused harm to another living being. Maybe someday there will be showers of fire and brimstone. I don't know! I know nothing of the future. G-d might not want to punish them at all or maybe He does. Nobody can know.

I'll be honest with you, I pray for justice. I pray that somehow, these wrongs are made right and that I can have peace. I realize that one can have peace without justice being served, and I pray that I am able to come to a resolution regardless of whether judgement and punishment are served.

 *sigh*

So, today I struggle but I am on my way to a support group. I pray I find friends who can help me here. I pray I find ladies who can help me walk this rough road that I am being held prisoner on. All I can do is keep marching on as slow or as fast as it requires. I desperately need a bridge to a different path. I need a different road, a different direction, a different life. However, that's not how it works, so here I go...

on my way...




I have no clue where I'm going... 

Best Buddy

Do any of y'all recall hearing about my Best Friend? I met him freshman year of college and we've been through quite a bit.

At the beginning of this blog, I used to write about how I thought he had a crush on me and we would hang out a lot. Fast forward about a year to sophomore year, and he and I "tried" dating. It lasted three weeks before I broke it off. We didn't talk much for awhile, but he contacted me again sometime between the end of Junior year and the beginning of Senior year. Weird thing about certain friendships, you can pick up right where you left off, as if nothing ever changed.

I shared with him what exboyfriend and exfiance did to me and he was crushed. It was the first time I've seen him get misty and the normal smile was not in his eyes. Regardless, he has stuck with me through my rants and raves, my days of self pity, and various legal situations where my counselor told me I needed a friend. Best Friend was that friend. He even offered to buy me a milk shake after a 5 hour wait at the police station with me. He just sat in the lobby, by himself, as I talked with an officer in the back. He didn't complain or seem irritated in the least. At the end, he gave me a hug, told me he was soooo proud of me, and listened as I rehashed the amazing work the police officer did to help me.

It doesn't matter what parts of the story I tell him or refuse to share with him, he is nothing but kind, supportive, and so very sweet. He knows when to be quiet and listen. He knows when to shut me off because I'm going down a bad thought process road. He knows when to give me time to process, or when I need to be around somebody. He asks before he hugs me. Most of all, he is working to rebuild my sense of self.

We were texting the other night, as we often times do, when he started asking questions. Questions about our short relationship (thought he has a girlfriend right now, he says he was just curious), some about what happened with the other guys, and some light-hearted questions to break up the seriousness of the conversation.

At one point, he asked, "Why, if you are so stubborn, did you not just leave these guys when you say you wanted to?" This question, in all honesty, made me get a bit defensive. I sent about 9 text pages about how I know I seem weak, staying with a guy even though I tried to break up over 4 times with him. I know it makes no sense to stay with someone who continually hurt me so badly. I know that the relationships are terrible and it makes no sense that I would have two boyfriends abuse me in terrible ways when I could have been with someone sweet. It makes absolutely no sense, even to me. However, I continued and told him that I was fighting. All those times he forced himself on me, I was fighting. All those times that I would break up with him, he would promise to be nicer and better, then I would take him back and he would be even worse because I "broke his heart," I was fighting.

I was fighting to stay alive. I was fighting to stay sane. I was fighting to make sense to myself and to do the best I could in the terrible prison I was in.

I don't know if he was shocked or sorry for asking that question in such a way, or maybe he knew that I was absolutely not bullshitting him at that point, but he replied saying: "I completely believe you. Of 4 women in my life that I actually believe 100%, you are one of them. I didn't mean to make it seem like you were foolish for not leaving. I can't imagine what it was like to be in your shoes. I'm so happy you stayed strong and came back into my life, it's such a blessing. I know you are so much stronger now. I want to thank you for fighting through, just in case no one else has thanked you for that. I can't imagine what it would have been like if anything worse (I know it can't get much worse, so you know what worse is [murder or suicide]) had happened to you."

At that point I cried. I cried. I ugly cried. I'm crying right now just reading it again.

He thanked me for surviving. He thanked me for sticking around and not letting life kill me, not letting these assholes cause me enough pain that I end my own life. Not letting exfiance hurt me enough to kill me.

He thanked me for fighting.



Friends, if you have survived abusive relationships, sexual assault, rape, depression, suicide attempts, self-harm, traumas, or any other life-threatening struggles, thank you for fighting. It a struggle, day in and day out, but you are here. Know that, even your friends and family who don't know what you've been through, are grateful that you are still alive and fighting. They may have no clue you're even struggling, but someone somewhere (me included) is glad you're sticking around.

Thank you for still being here.

Legit Panic Attack

I was taking a shower today, after running around my house getting everything in it's place, when I started being bombarded with memories. Bad memories.

I started asking G-d, "Why me? What did I do? How is this my lot in life? Why do I have to deal with this? Why did you not just let me die?" etc., etc.

About two questions in, I could feel my heart pounding, breath getting shallow and quick, eyes went into tunnel vision. I felt like I was going to pass out, but I couldn't calm the anger and the hurt. The next 30 minutes consisted of me yelling, praying, sobbing, shaking, hyperventilating, and shaving my legs... all at the same time. How do I manage to be such a great multi-tasker? I have no idea.

I keep thinking about what I want to say, in case my reports ever go to trial. I want to say so much, but I know I will freeze on the stand and my brain will freeze if I begin to draft my victim impact statements now but boy, can I scream everything I need to say when I'm in the shower!

Exboyfriend's town called a couple days ago telling me they had gotten a report from College Town that I had been sexually assaulted (raped) in their town. College town had no jurisdiction in Exboyfriend's town and so it had to be transferred.

I've been dealing with that for a week. At first I was nervous about how this would effect him, then I remembered how much his actions have effected me and my whole life. He forever changed the course of my life with his poor choices that weekend. Oh, I wish I would have kicked him, fought him, and called the cops right then. Unfortunately, I was completely in shock. I was paralyzed and in a daze that whole weekend.

Because of Exboyfriend, I met Exfiance. He didn't introduce me, but I was going out a lot, looking for a good time to get away from the terrors living and replaying themselves in my head constantly.

It's crazy to think that one person can make you hate yourself. They can make you hate your body, your memory, your life, and hate the fact that you wake up each morning to fight another losing battle of a day. They can make you hate yourself enough that you stop feeding your body, you start taking pills, smoking, cutting, or otherwise abusing the very vessel that holds the essence of who you are. One person's choices can make you fight to not pick up the bottle, not down the pills, not pull the trigger, and not crash into a ditch.

So now, I am here. A shell of who I used to be. I can never me back. I can never have the same ability to see the best in people. I can never have the same easy smile and no assumptions that people are only out to hurt me. I can never feel pure, whole, and complete. I can never erase the memories. Who knows if I have some disease that I won't be able to get rid of in addition to the rest of it.

It makes me wonder why we, as a collective people, fight so hard to keep people from suicide. Not saying I would do it, but I understand what it is like for me to not want to wake up another day. Why do we insist on saving those who so clearly see no point in being here on this earth? Why do we call the police if someone is talking about suicide at home/work or place patients on a 72-hour hold at hospitals if they come to us saying they want to die? Why do we put people on antidepressants? Which can potentially make the suicidal ideations worse and help give the people enough energy to go through with the suicide. If people are so miserable with the hand they were dealt or produced for themselves, why are we holding them earth side?

This doesn't mean that I don't support getting professional help and trying to reach out to those having a hard time, but why make people live if they have no quality of life and are sick of being here? There is not a day that goes by that I don't wish that I could have helped Country Boy, but if there was a chance for him to have been able to reach out for help, he didn't extend that plea to me. He had a plan and he carried it out. For him, there was no use in living in a world without his dad. He had too much pain to bear on his own and he couldn't figure out how to share it. Meanwhile, I have a lot of pain (in my own opinion) and even with sharing it, I feel I am constantly drowning. Today, with my panic attack, it showed that my head is no longer staying above the water. The stress of reporting, painful memories, moving, not being able to work, having bills that I cannot pay, and stress I can't even describe is overwhelming me.

It's so hard to surrender your anxieties to the L-rd when your life is stripped from your grasp. It's so hard to ask for help when nobody can hear you from the depths of your chasm. I know I have no control over my life, but I feel like I'm in a car with a sleeping, drunk driver and the car is swerving on it's own. However, the ride sucks so badly I hope it crashes soon so that the drive will come to an end, I don't even care about making it to wherever I thought we were headed.

Odd Feeling

I've been feeling strange for quite some time now. It's hard to explain, but it's one of those things that you can just sense you, yourself, are "off".

Looking through Facebook tonight, because I have very little to do in Small Town without a current graduate nurse permit... anywho, it occured to me that I have had to train myself to live in the present moment for the last several months. Actually, about a year and a half now. Don't get me wrong, I'm excellent at "tuning out" and dissociating. However, my dreams of the future have been dampened dramatically to trying to focus on the "here and now" so that I can get myself through each new hour that I am left breathing here on this planet.

There are still days I wake up startled from nightmares.

I still have several panic attacks a week/month (on a good month).

My eating and self-care is not nearly where it needs to be.

Flashbacks still occur several times every hour.

I don't like people at the door, it freaks me out.

Even in a different state, the sight of trucks freak me the fuck out. Doesn't matter if they're red, green, purple, neon orange, any color of the damn rainbow; they freak me out... again...



Ragardless, these things have become my new normal. Flashbacks and nightmares and trucks still frighten me to my core, but I am not as notably shaken to everyone else because I've been battling this shit for over a year now.

For a year I haven't been able to dream for my future. I can't think about a time when I'll be completely free of these burdens because that day will never come, until the day I die. The suicidal thoughts have subsided a bit. I've been able to cut down on my self-harm and the way I used to take mass amounts of Benadryl, Tylenol, and Ibuprofen to self-sedate my brain into sleep for a few days. Most days, I am able to get myself something to eat and I'm drinking more water than wine, again.

Still, my hopes for a future are essentially nonexistent at this point. On one level, it's a little nice to not keep getting my hopes up, just to have them crushed year after year. On a deeper level, of me as a 22-year-old young "lady" (quotes because let's be honest, I'm a complete tomboy besides these past few months of ridiculous whiny posts) still wants to be able to dream about G-d providing a husband for me, a white gown and walking down the aisle. Someday having children, continuing on with my nursing education, teaching my children how to live with lots of animals and teaching them about the various things in life. This, teaching them about life, is usually where I shift into reverse and convince myself a future needs to not happen.

Getting to the point in my imagination that there is a husband and there are children is a long, long process. It used to be something to look forward to, ponder, and pray about. Now, it feels like pulling teeth and I find myself begging the Good L-rd to have someone who is patient and kind enough to be able to handle my crap baggage. Then it slows even more because I get to thinking about how being with me would not be fair to a single soul. That's about the time that all past roommates and all the negative comments about how badly I suck start playing through my mind...

Anyway, in the off chance I get to the point where I think about the things to teach my imaginary children, I come to a complete stop when I think about them being any older than an infant. How can I handle them going to a sleep over where I'm not there? What if the friend has older siblings? Are those older siblings supervised? What happens when we have to have the "sex talk"? Do I tell them about what happened to me? Will that cause trauma? Will that make them over-paranoid? When they are in high school/college, will they be able to stay safe from the horrors inflicted upon me? Will I have days where I stay in bed and call my mom or mother-in-law to deal with the kids because I simply can't? How do I explain to them the days when I'm weepy, dissociated, sad, numb, or completely unable to function? How is this fair to kids? How would this be fair to a husband?

How the hell is any of this shit fair to me? I didn't ask for any of these assaults.

A year and a half ago, I was going about life, excited to be a nurse and to see what my future had in store. One absolute shitty year changed it all for me.

I'm still taking my life hour-by-hour, sometimes I work myself up to a day-by-day mentality. Those days, where I'm not living hour-by-hour, are surprisingly my "good" days.

Maybe someday I'll get to a point where I can dream about a future. Maybe, someday, I'll have a future.

June 12 was supposed to be my "wedding day". Haha, that was the date I picked for the wedding of exfiance and I. That day came and went and it was one of the best, most freeing days I've had in a long time. It was a day where I woke up knowing that I dodged a bomb. No, he was not bullet to dodge, he was a fucking bomb!!! I'm by no means completely safe, and I have a long way to go before I am healed, but I am free. Praise the L-rd for that.

Doorbells

You may or may not know about my phobia of doorbells and people knocking when I am not expecting them.

I thought this would dissipate when I left Home State, but maybe not.

Somebody just rang my doorbell and I kinda freaked out. I'm hiding in my room, had a mild panic attack when I heard it, and I tip-toed to the front room and waited for them to leave. I probably stood there for a solid 20 minutes before having the guts to peak through the blinds for a window hidden behind some rose bushes. Oh yeah, I have rose bushes at my new place!!!

Anyway, my heart is still racing and I don't know who it was that came over, maybe just some people trying to "spread the Good News" but I don't care. I'm losing my sh!t over someone ringing the damn doorbell because I'm scared it might be him.

It terrifies me to death to think that he would follow me all the way to Small Town because if he was that committed to finding me he's probably committed enough to hating me that he would kill me. Like literally murder me.

Oh I hope he never finds out where I live.

Mom said she was going to get me a surprise house warming gift... I was having a bad day so she decided to tell me what it was! Guess what it is? It's a doorbell that takes a picture of whoever is at your front door, whether they ring the bell or not, and the picture gets sent straight to your phone. That way, I don't have to worry about who is there and if I should answer the door or not. It also allows you to talk to them through a speaker and I can tell the doorbell to not sound, for when I'm sleeping during the day in order to be able to work night shift. I think it's exciting! Very ridiculous, but sometimes recovering from PTSD requires some silly interventions just to make life survivable. I think for most people, a picture-taking-doorbell is unecessary, but for a single woman living by herself in a brand-new town, it is okay. If said woman is also in fear of her life from some psycho who is the incarnation of pure evil... then it's even more okay.

I pray that someday he can change, but some people just can't. Some people are legit evil, all the way through to their toes. They are hell-bent on doing harm in the world and fucking up other people for their own selfish pleasure. What pleasure comes from this, I have not a clue, but it's their motivation for getting up in the morning.

A year of fighting for a 6 month sentence. That's ridiculous!

For those who have followed my story in any capacity, you've probably read about my terrible 2015. I dated two guys, both of which raped and sexually assaulted me.

Since then, I have gone through counseling, been deemed capable of attempting life on my own again, and been sent into the world with warm wishes from my Counselor.

The struggle with reporting is an internal war. If I don't say anything, then the guys get off spot (scott?) free. They likely don't even know that what they did is a felony, or they know and they don't care. Meanwhile, if I report then I deal with the police officer, detective(s), re-victimization, nay-sayers, judges, jury, and living through hell for another indeterminable amount of time. It's not bad enough that I am constantly reminded every day and every night of what has happened, reporting would make me have to talk about it all with complete strangers.

And, as many of you know, I'm not a wordsmith. However, there are people out there who are.

I recently came across an article in my Facebook feed about a girl who was sexually assaulted and digitally raped (I called mine finger rape at first, back in April/May 2015). Honestly, I am so very grateful for her ability to be able to use words and speak/write so well. Please, do me a favor and read this article, if you are so able. There are lots of triggers and, honestly, if anyone wants to know what a SANE exam is like, she nails it. There is no way to compare sexual assault and rape stories, all of us survivors understand that well. The only thing we can do is feel for each other.

This woman is so incredibly strong, so brave, so gifted with words, and she has been served a great injustice by the sentencing her abuser received. I cannot imagine having my story published for everyone to read. I cannot imagine worrying about friends and family watching the news and seeing my traumatic events played for them and the rest of the nation/world. She has handled it with such courage and grace. Then, instead of trying to forget it and hide it, she is speaking out against what has happened to her.

Back in Biblical times, rapists were stoned to death... I'm just saying...

Life Goes On

I survived both/all three? first year anniversaries from my assaults. I write both, because it was over two days. I put three, because there were three assaults.

Anywho, I survived them. Yesterday was hard, but I made myself eat (dinner...), I used my essential oils, I had a glass of wine, Roomie and I made a list of 10 reasons why I am better off without exboyfriend, I bought myself flowers, and I skipped the class I could (peds) and did the things I absolutely had to do (world religions). Then, after all that, I woke up this morning. I may have struggled yesterday, and today, but now my two days of anniversaries are done and life will go on for awhile longer... unfortunately.

Today in counseling, we discussed how I probably don't need to be going in very much anymore. I'm cutting down to once a week next week. I know that counseling is only supposed to be temporary, to get you able to survive in life alone again, but I'm sad that this season is coming to a close. Counselor asked what else I felt like I needed to work on and I couldn't think of anything. I mentioned self-esteem, but we determined I am way better in that department than I was ever before in my life... I brought up rational thought and confidence, and we determined I was growing well in those areas as well... I'm becoming more assertive, setting boundaries, and I'm learning how to cope with my traumatic past. She told me she thinks I'm graduated from PTSD to post-traumatic growth. Look it up, I guess it's a real thing.

I saw it mentioned on some documentary that I woke up to, because I sleep with my television on. The psychiatrist on the documentary was saying that post-traumatic growth is being able to be better than baseline after your healing begins after a trauma.

So, imagine your life at baseline. You have a traumatic event and it plummets you past the deepest valley you could ever imagine for yourself. You are suspected to be in post-traumatic growth when you slowly work back up to your baseline (before your trauma) but then somehow surpass that level.

I was reading somewhere online that mentioned that post-traumatic growth can be suspected (that sounds negative, but it's actually a really good thing) when: you find joy in the smaller things in life, stressful things don't phase you as much, you can reflect on your traumatic experiences and they don't completely floor you, you are happy again or happier than you were before (because you understand the value of life), and there were others but I cannot find the article nor can I fully remember. But, whatever the points were, I met them all!

Yes, each day is still full of triggers and many days are a huge struggle, but I get through them and don't stay in bed all day! I am beginning to look forward for my future again, and I am beginning to forgive myself and understand that I could have done nothing to make the situation better. It wasn't my fault. This understanding is still very much a struggle most days, but I'm believing it more days than not.

I have a hope. I have a future. I have a life to live and people to prove wrong. I have guys to give the biggest middle finger to of living a life they told me I could never live.

Counselor and I discussed how I feel guilty but also relieved to say that I hate these guys. I hate what they did to me. I hate that they ruined my life. I hate that they have no traumatic aftermath and I have no permanent healing ever, for the rest of my life!

These fuckers destroyed my life, fucked up my brain, invaded my body in the most brutal of ways, and my life will never be the same. I'll never be innocent again. I will never get back what they stole. There is a good chance I will never get justice.

So, living my life the way they told me I never could is my best payback. L-rd, give me a loving, kind, gracious, wonderful husband that shows me the way ladies and people are supposed to be loved! L-rd, provide me with the sweetest, most beautiful, kind, smart, wonderful, blessed children! L-rd, bless me in my nursing career and pave the way for me wherever I may go! Open doors that I never dreamed were possible, even when I was completely "pure" and not polluted by the pure evil these assholes forced upon me. L-rd, show Satan that he does not win by blessing my life and allowing me to live ridiculously joyfully and happy for the rest of my life! L-rd, redeem me and give me justice! Most of all, L-rd, do not turn your back on me. Do not leave me or forget me. Remember the things I've had to survive and give me years of peach, joy, happiness, excitement (only good excitement), love, contentment, and absolute bliss.

Baruch HaShem! Bless you L-rd for all you've done for me so far and heal my heart, my body, and my mind oh L-rd.

It'll Never End

As mentioned in my last post, my day began at about 3 this morning. Not pleasant.

I made it through the sim lab and my group did really well. The instructors were surprised and kept saying they didn't think we would do so well because my group wasn't very interactive on Monday during the skills lab... I think it was supposed to be a compliment but it came off terribly. Whatever, we rocked it and now I'm done with that.

All day, Country Boy has been on my mind. All week, in fact. This morning, before hopping in my shower, I went back and looked at some pictures of him. A few tears fell, but I'm still too overwhelmed in my life to be able to cry much. I went through sim lab and my brain was not working. People kept talking to me and I couldn't even focus. I saw their lips moving, but I couldn't hear anything.

Last night exfiance called me 3 times... They didn't ring through, because I blocked him. However, I woke up at 1:30 a.m. wondering why my phone was lit up, but I decided to ignore it. At 3, when I woke up for sure, I saw the little symbol for voice mail. I was confused, wondering why anyone needed to leave me a voice mail so early in the morning and I panicked wondering if it was family or a friend who needed me. Nope. It was exfiance. I didn't listen to his message because I was scared he would have called me and left a voice mail while he was pretending to die or while he committed suicide just because he knew how badly Country Boy's death affected me. Sick thought process, I know, but he's done terrible things to me and he messes with my head. If you go through something like that (and I pray you never do and never have), you begin to wonder what kind of bullshit they are going to unleash on you this time.

I waited until my roommate woke up, and then I told her about it. She offered to listen to the message to screen it for me. Essentially, it said everything his 9 text messages from Easter said to me. Again, those too were blocked and I didn't get them until a day or two after Easter Sunday.

I didn't listen to the voice mail until my lunch break between simulations today. I went out to my car and listened to all 3 fucking minutes of the bullshit message. The messages (voice mail and texts) went to the effect that he has been attending the church I go to for the last month. He says he wants me to go see him at church and sit with him... He says he's changed and that I'm amazing and all this bullshit. Seriously, he told me I brought him back to the L-rd. What the fuck?!?

Honestly, I hope he did find the L-rd but I don't believe him at all. I don't believe a fucking word he uttered the entire time I've ever known him. I don't believe any of the nice things, I don't believe any of the crazy stories, I don't believe the apologies, or anything else he ever said. I don't. So, you can go pound sand fucker. Leave me the hell alone. STOP TRYING TO TALK TO ME!!!

So sick of it.

After sim was done and I was driving home, I was barely keeping the tears from falling. I was handling myself until I saw his truck. Not Country Boy's, not exfiance's... the other one. I saw exboyfriend's truck passing me on my way home. Fuckin' A. Of course, this is going to happen on one of my shittiest days. He works on the exact opposite side of town. Why the fuck is he on my way home?!?

I lost it. The tears started, my panic attack began in earnest, and my brain shut down with that last straw. It was the last straw to break my mind from how it had been dealing with all of the overwhelming nonsense I had been dealing with all day. Seeing exbf's truck is what did me in.

I got home and Roomie asked how I was doing. My chin and voice began quivering as I told her the extremely shortened and condensed version of the shit I survived today. She stood there quietly and told me she was sorry. She suggested I go climb into bed and watch a movie or take a nap. My beautifully happy and cheery roommate didn't know what to do. She doesn't know what to do when I don't even know how to handle my life circumstances. I don't blame her.

She left a few minutes later for work and her dog followed me into my room. I collapsed on my bed crying because I was finally done with the shit show that was my day. Oh my goodness, the dog flipped out! She jumped on my bed, started licking my face and acting all frantic. She licked me and tried to climb in my lap (she's 50 lbs) for a solid 10 minutes, as the tears streamed down my face. She kept making me pet her and push her from my face because she was taking away my tears. She jumped down, ran out of my room, but returned about 30 seconds later and began barking at me! She put her front two paws on my bed and started barking and whining at me in her scared bark. I pulled myself together, stopped crying and then the dog left my room. I don't know what else happened, but my eyes opened about an hour and a half later, and I didn't know where I was or what time it was. I woke up another hour and a half after that in the same condition, but laid in bed answering my 9 text messages that had accumulated, as I stared at my ceiling for an hour.

I don't know how to explain times like this, but when I have a bad enough day, I can stay in bed and stare at the wall or ceiling for hours with no thoughts going through my head. I snap out of it a couple hours later, but it only felt like 5 minutes at the most. No thoughts, no emotion, no ability to move my body. I legitimately shut down all the way and can do absolutely nothing.

Days like this, I don't even need alcohol. I know that on a day like today, drinking would simply get me stuck in the sad, terrible existence of my brain when my brain is literally refusing to think about it. My brain is overwhelmed and refusing to think about the stressors because it's unable to handle it anymore. Why would I drink and remember if I can just disappear into nothingness?



Today, everything that I needed to not happen, all happened... Today, was one of the hardest days to survive. Today, but not just today, I wished Country Boy would have taken me with him. I get mad at him for leaving me here.

I just don't want to be here anymore.

This is bullshit.

Life After Sexual Assault

I feel like I scare my friends, and you all in blog land, on a regular basis by the words I put forth from my brain. There are ridiculous amounts of anger, explicit language, and some emotions that have never been put on a radar for humans and have no labels for them.

I hate some things that should be beautiful. I despise my body for the things others have done to it. And, let's face it, I'm a regular downer. I'm processing life and I went from a more up-beat person to one filled with rage and pain.

Today, I read an article by Bethany about birthing after sexual assault. In fact, I think that's the name of the article... You can see how well my brain is working tonight...

She mentions many similar emotions to what I express, but she simply names them to keep focus on her goal. Her goal was to explain how birth actually helped her heal and see the beauty in her body. Her body is not a toy or piece of amusement for some person. Her body grew and housed a tiny, brand-new human being. He body produces milk to feed said infant. Her body is a work of art that produces and sustains life. It brought about her daughter, who is proof that goodness comes from sex. She is with a man who loves and appreciates her and does not take her body for granted. She is in a stable, committed relationship full of love and that love resulted in a baby, whom she absolutely loves.

While, at this point in my "healing" process, I don't fully trust that my body will be loved and respected the way I so desired to be treated, her article brings to light some important details that were absent from my irrational rant from last night.

1) Sex is supposed to be wonderful, fun, healthy, and an expression of love.
2) Such sex is possible after sexual assault and rape.
3) Having a child may not re-traumatize a sexual assault victim. In some ways it might, but it may also help to empower the woman and prove to herself how strong she is.
4) Healthy relationships exist (though I'm not certain I've really seen one...)
5) My negative emotions are okay and understandable after what has been done. If you've gone through a similar experience, it is okay to be upset and angry and frustrated. Just remember not to take it out on those who love and cherish you. Those in your life who are trying to help you heal should not be hurt on your path to healing.



I'm still not convinced sex will ever be a positive experience in my life, but I'm 21. I might have a lot more life to live and G-d may choose to prove me wrong and make it okay someday...

For right now I don't like it. It makes me angry thinking about it or hearing about it.

My poor dear friend got to hear a shortened, sweetened version of my rant today. I don't think she was prepared. I told her I hated it and that it has completely ruined my life. She was shocked and asked if I ever liked it. I told her I never did because it was never my choice. She didn't know how to respond. I didn't expect her to know how. I ended the conversation on a few jokes, but I think I upset her.

Maybe someday I'll learn to keep my thoughts to myself. In the meantime I get to deal with the aftermath of my runaway mouth, broken brain, and abused body.

***Probably Don't Want to Read This One***

*****This post is going to be all anger and some really bad language. Just don't read it if you don't want, it's going to be bad.*****









I hate sex. I hate it, I HATE IT, I HATE IT!!!

Yes, it is supposed to be some beautiful thing that brings about closeness in a relationship with your spouse and it results in babies occasionally.

You know what else it does? It ruins lives when forced upon someone.

Now, something that I was so excited to share with my husband and only my husband has been used to completely ruin my life and desecrate my body. It fucked up my brain and has utterly ruined my life.

I will never be okay.

Have I had sex? I don't know because I didn't choose to allow that to be done to my body!!!

Am I a virgin? I have no fucking clue because a penis has been in my vagina, but I DID NOT want it there!!!

I don't even know what I am. I don't know what I can be classified as. I don't know how to proceed to answer these seemingly simple questions because how to you answer when these things have been forced upon you?

Guys don't like the answer of "I don't know" to the question of if I've had sex or if I'm a virgin. Honestly, what the fuck am I supposed to say? How do I be honest and yet keep the pain from my past concealed for awhile longer?

I hate sex.

When i find a nice guy to simply talk to, it seems futile because they want sex because they've gotten it from other girls.

I hate sex.

I hate sex because it left my parents with me. Because of sex and some damn sperm finding my mom's egg, I'm here and they had to get married. Messed up life plans, stuck them together, and fucked it all up.

I hate sex.

I can't watch most movies, read many books, even drive down the street without flashbacks.

I hate sex.

I have nightmares and crying spells, even on my best days, because of some guys fucking penis being shoved into me.

I hate sex.

I HATE SEX!

I HATE SEX!!!

The Wishes I'll Never See Fulfilled

There are days that you may wish you could go back and relive. There are times in your life that you wished you could go back and redo. There may be times that you wish you never had to live through.

Well, I wish I could go back 3 years ago and not live these past few years at all.

I know, this is a wish that will forever go unfulfilled. I was also told that this is not productive thought because of it's impossibility. It doesn't change the fact that I keep praying I wake up from my nightmare and take it as a life-lesson through sleep to never repeat it in actual life.

I want to go back to the days of college when I was so full of life, looking forward to the future, and excited at the amount of friends I had and the excitement I had when I was first accepted into the nursing program.

I was pure. I was hopeful. I had a whole world full of possibilities just waiting outside my door.

Today I am damage, beaten, weary, and waiting for the day when the Good L-rd decides to free me from my real-life nightmare.

It's hard today to not fall into my bad habits that have helped me to cope with my struggles thus far. However, I want to be able to wear short sleeves and a bikini when I go on my graduation trip with my family, so my physical coping methods are out of the picture. I probably couldn't drink enough to actually get anywhere in the way of numbing because it just shuts off the smart part of my brain and brings forward all of the terrible things I want a break from. Sleep doesn't help because from the time I lay down, through my sleep, and up until I begin my day, my head is filled with the worst things I couldn't even imagine I would have survived, but I did live through. Painting and coloring only get me so far before memories invade again.

I have no relief.

I could have gone for a walk, but it's dark now and I'm scared exfiance would be waiting outside my apartment.



I've had several friends tell me lately that I didn't seem like I was having a bad day, even though I had told them hours earlier over a text that I was having a really bad day. They tell me that I look fine and seem to be enjoying myself.

Well, I've been lying too long. I've gotten it down to a science and have a tendency to push everything out of my head in order to prevent telling those around me what has happened. I don't want to bring down the fun mood by spilling all of my dirty laundry for those who had no idea of my life's happenings before that point. For some, it is the first time they've ever met me. No need to bring them down with my internal scars.

Just for fun, let's go over my "checkered past," shall we?

I have:

• cut, scratched until I've bled, and other forms of self-harm (8th grade)
• attempted suicide 5 or more times (8th grade)
• avoided eating except for dinner every other few nights for a solid 6 months or so. I lost 25-30 pounds in a month or two (high school)
• lived through a friend's suicide
• been in 2, count them TWO! abusive relationships in the year of 2015 (I'm talking the beginning of January to the very end of December)
• relapsed into self-harm
• dealt with the unmedicated bipolar ramblings of various family members that typically result in me being blamed for their miserable lives, countless times
• gone through 3 different roommate situations that were very unhealthy and ridiculously stressful
• began drinking occasionally to calm my mind and pain temporarily
• been raped so many times I can't count them all
• been drug through the mud*, beaten beyond recognition*, damaged beyond repair*, and been so mentally tortured that I wished my previous suicide attempts could have stuck (*not really physical situation if they have the *, but the pain is similar, just lasts much longer)

Now, looking at that list the way it's written, it doesn't seem so bad. Knowing that I've been battling with myself for over 9-10 years and knowing that many of those difficult things have been occurring over extended periods of time makes it seem like the list does no justice to what has actually happened.

No, I don't feel sorry for myself but I do wish these weren't my burdens to bear. Some are self-inflicted, and those have stopped. Those are also burdens I'm ashamed of, but I know that I caused them to myself so I can't blame anyone for those. However, it is hard most days to not drop back into those habits. Sometimes those bad things I did were the only thing to keep me grounded in the world, if even for a moment.

I know, I know! I'm not supposed to think like this! But some days I can't help it. I mean, c'mon! There has to be a break eventually, right? You would hope...

I don't foresee life getting much better for me. Oh, I pray that it does! But, honestly, sometimes I can be so far in the pit of despair that there is no way to see anything but the darkness overwhelming and engulfing me.

I just want to be put out of my misery. I've got no fight left.

Ups and Downs

Roomie's boyfriend turns out to be pretty cool. I'm keeping my distance from everyone right now.

Brother got a 1 a.m. text from me freaking out because nobody is ever going to want me and my brain hates me so it's bringing up all of the terrible things from my past to show me, all at once, in an attempt to kill me slowly. It's not working.

I finished a bottle and a quarter of wine off today once I got home. I'm hoping I'll fall asleep soon.

I have homework but I honestly don't care because my brain isn't even working right now.

Counseling went about how I thought it was going to. Crying and increased flashbacks/nightmares are normal at this point. I'm normal. It's okay for me to be frustrated, but I made a lot of progress in a really short amount of time and now it's time to regress again.

Great.

I'm tired but I'm gonna go for a walk.

Oh the Legal System

My Thursday was spent at the courthouse this week. I went in and was there at probably 7:45 a.m. It took me about an hour and a half to fill out all of the pages for a restraining order. Then, I filed it and sat in a courtroom with 20-30 other people waiting to have their cases read by the judge to see if each of us would have our individual petition awarded or denied.

I wasn't the last one to file, but I was the absolute last one that was called to be talked to. I don't know if it is because the judge wanted to think about it more or because there was some other reason. It doesn't matter. I was last.

It was denied.

Normally, when she denied a protection order for the others, she would thank them for their time and that would be the end of it. When she denied mine, she told me she was going to deny it, but she told me it was okay for me to disagree and that there were other avenues I could take to get it accepted. She said I could get a lawyer and try to go farther. Again, she said this to nobody else the entire day. The courtroom was nearly empty. Maybe she saved me for last so she could tell me this? I think she wanted to grant it to me, but she got hung up on the immediacy of his threat to me. He hasn't texted me in a couple weeks so she said she hoped that would be the last time he would try to contact me.

I was followed into the hall by a domestic violence advocate. This sweet lady had helped me fill out all of the paperwork and had gotten me ready for court. She is the contact my counselor has been trying to get me in to see for a few weeks now and I am so glad she did.

When the advocate (now her new name for this blog) followed me into the hall she told me she was sorry and that my case really should have been approved. She seemed disappointed, but I don't know why. I figured she told everyone this because after many of the cases were denied, a different advocate would follow them into the hall and hand them a business card. So, I blew it off and figured she was just trying to get me to feel better. I wasn't shocked by the denial, though I had really hoped for it to be approved. Advocate told me she would talk to a lawyer, if it was okay with me, and also my Counselor to let her know what happened. I told her that was totally okay. Then I left.

I got onto the elevator and walked the two blocks back to the parking garage where my car was parked. It's all a haze now. I've grown accustomed to living life in a haze when things become difficult for me. By the time I got to my car, I had already called my mom 2-3 times. She didn't answer so I figured she was with a client. I called Brother when I was in my car but he didn't pick up. That's when the sobbing began. It was uncontrollable. The kind of sob I haven't had since a few days after Country Boy died and there is a gut wrenching noise that escapes my lips but comes from deep within. The kind that increases the pain and that people experience when they've lost someone they love dearly after a trauma. This is the kind of sob that will rip you in two if you truly allow yourself to be taken over by the pain.

15 minutes of this, I pulled myself together and knew I needed to go home to get my backpack for school. I hadn't expected to stay at the courthouse all day so I didn't think I needed it when I left that morning.

I cried the whole way home. There was a constant flow of tears, but not the sobbing. I was okay to drive, though the road was blurry.

When I got home, I collapsed onto my bed and the sobbing began in earnest again. I can't remember if I called my mom, or if she called me, but we talked on the phone. The conversation went a bit like this:

me: Mom! She said no

Mom: Oh honey, I'm so sorry!

me: I can't do this anymore (barely understandable because crying began)

Mom: It's just a roadblock, it must have needed to happen this way for a reason

me: But I'm so sick of this life! I don't want to be here anymore! (I don't even know how she knew what I was saying because my hyperventilation methods had kicked in really hard and I don't even know what words were supposed to be coming forth from my mouth. I sure as hell couldn't figure out what someone were saying if they were talking like that. I mean, it took me like 5 minutes to spit out those few words!)

Mom: Honey, I need you here. I know this is hard, but just stay here with me. Start thinking of fun stuff, put in a kids movie. What makes you happy?

me: Nothing!!! Nothing makes me happy! I don't want to do this anymore *sobs, ineffective breathing patterns, hyperventilations, periods of hardcore apnea*

Mom: Sweety, what else do you have today?

me: Just meeting *sobs* with my group *sobs* for a *sobs* group project *sobs* and then *sobs* class. But *sobs* I'm not *sobs* staying *sobs* for claaaasss! *apnea*

Mom: Okay, well just focus on breathing. Go meet with your group really quick, play happy music in your car, and then I'm coming down.

me: No, Mom. You don't have to come down today.

Mom: Okay, I'm coming down tomorrow after work. Just think about happy stuff. Funny animal videos, what about your barn with all the rescue cows that you like on Facebook? Go watch Veggie Tales. Don't think about court, just focus on happy things. Then come home and you can sleep and watch good, happy movies.

me: O-o-o-o-k-a-a-a-a-a-y *sobs, apnea, sobs, apnea*

Mom: I love you. Stay with me, I need you okay? I love you so much.

me: I love you too Mom.

We hung up.

My group was so supportive. I showed up 30 minutes late and looked like crap. My eyes were red, splotchy, swollen, and glassy. I apologized for being late and they said no problem, are you okay? I replied that I was okay and that I was just having one of the worst days. They were so sweet and just told me that they made me the dad in our little skit. I said, "I am so sorry! Are you sure I can't help anymore? I feel really bad I'm so late!" They told me it was okay. I said I was going to go ahead and go home, I wasn't staying for class. I said I had been at the courthouse all morning dealing with legal stuff and I was just stressed beyond belief. They told me to go home and get some rest. They asked if it all got sorted out but didn't press me for details because they saw I didn't want to talk about it.

How can my group, with a couple of the nosiest and most gossipy girls I have ever met in my life, be able to accept that I didn't want to talk about it? Yet, Jersey expects me to share all details of my life and then she wants to go share it with everyone she passes on the street and ever single person in our class? I don't get it!

So, I was there for a solid 5 minutes before leaving.

I headed home, but stopped by Brother's work on my way there. I told him what had happened and the tears started before the story. He came around the counter and hugged me for a solid 10 minutes while I just stood there grasping onto him for dear life, as if I were drowning, and sobbing into his shirt. My sleeves were soaked with the tears I had been wiping since I left for the group project and that was after changing sweatshirts because my other sweatshirt's sleeves were beyond soaked. So many tears!

He told me to go home, take a nap, and not worry about anything else that I needed to do that day. Then, text him when I woke up and let him know I was okay. I asked if mom had called him and he said she had. "Was she worried about me" I asked. "Yeah, she's super concerned but didn't really tell me why."

My poor family, having to deal with this crap from me. I know they love me, but I feel like such a burden because this will never end. In fact, this is all about to get significantly harder.

Next day, (Friday) was counseling. I hadn't gone on Tuesday for my session because my clinical schedule was changed without much warning. So, I only had one session this last week. That's not good. I'm on a two session a week schedule because I just can't handle my head for more than a couple days at a time on my own.

Counselor told me, first thing, that Advocate had talked with me. She asked if I wanted to talk about it. I said sure and went on for a couple minutes. I told her what the Advocate and Judge told me. She looked concerned. Then I asked if Advocate says what she told me to everyone. I asked if Advocate usually says that it can be taken farther and that a Lawyer should be consulted to get my case heard and the restraining order put in place. Counselor said that she has never seen Advocate try so hard to fight for a case. That is encouraging. I figured it was just the norm, but I guess she sees the danger that I'm sensing here. I told Counselor that I thought the Judge did too and that I thought she actually wanted to give it to me, but was hesitant because of the exact wording of the law. Counselor told me to believe that thought.

So, I went from feeling absolutely insane because I was denied a protection order, because I thought that meant the judge didn't believe me, to now believing that these women actually see the danger and the scariness of the situation but we have to work around the laws.

Guys, I'm telling you, this back and forth is making my head hurt. However, it's encouraging to have so many women who have seen other cases who all want to fight for me because they believe me when I tell them what has happened.

I don't know where I'm going from here or what will happen, but that's for the L-rd to know and orchestrate.

I heard from someone who I recently met, that ex-fiance is well known for beating girls and for being a sex addict... Yikes. This makes me so sad that I ever had to meet him. I hate that my story has gone from a happy, kind girl, to a story of so much pain that I don't even want children or a boyfriend/husband anymore.