Ends to New Beginnings

This week was the end of group therapy and my bible study. It's been rough. I've really enjoyed the friendships that have come to be in both groups, the growth that I've shown, and having places to be to get me out of the house. Those few things can really help improve a person's outlook on life and well-being!

I'm fixin' to tell my sweet little counselor that she was right... right about finding community, right about people being out there that are willing to support me, and right about being able to share and not scaring everyone away. She has been such a blessing.

As is normal with the final bits of anything, there is time to remember how far you've come and what has happened. We share thanks for the people that we've met and the things we've learned. There is an exchanging of phone numbers, encouragement, and a "I hope to see you soon" or "email/text me when you get news about..."

And, as G-d tends to do in my life, there is a theme.

It dawned on me partly in the car today, and I began weeping... in traffic... with my dog sniffing out the window and warm spring air blowing in. Then, as I sat down to begin processing all of the things that have happened this week (by typing them here) G-d flat out told me because I wasn't fully getting it.

Then He keeps bringing up more examples as I continue to write!

So here it is: the theme for this week is sex. What it costs, how it's abused, how it's affected me, and how it has shaped the course of history.

You guys know, because I talk about it in most every post, but I have a history of sexual abuse. Not once, not twice, but countless times. And not at the hands of just one, nor two, but at least three guys. It was a realization that hit me hard this week.

In group, we were encouraged to talk abut something on our last day of group that we would regret not saying while we were in group. I couldn't think of anything. And, since my personal counselor is also the leader of the group, she encouraged me again in my personal session and even prompted me on what I could and should consider talking about. I spent all of 2 weeks pondering what it is that I should share, with nothing to say for myself until the day of group. I wrote it down on 3 pages of my journal and walked in.

Group was nearly over when my counselor asked if I had anything to say. I warned them that I was just going to read it, because I needed to say these things but they are hard for me to say (I left out that I often "shut down" *read dissociate* when I begin thinking/talking about these things).

I wept.

I cried as I read.

I couldn't see the pages so I had to lift my journal up in front of my face so that the tears weren't blocking all of the writing.

And I said it. I said the things that I have had such a hard time saying. I spoke the words, "... I have suffered through countless acts of sexual and other abuse. I have never once gotten to choose to have sex or not have sex, these things were forced upon me. I battle daily with my dreams, desires, and my broken sense of the world.

"However, I can see my healing. I have been made clean, and pure, and have been dressed in white. I've seen it!

"Somehow, these evil things will be used for good. I don't know how, but it'll happen."

Of course, I share a little bit more, but those are things that I have had such a hard time being able to say. I couldn't even admit them to myself a couple of months ago and now I've said them out loud.

Then, another girl in our group shared and she cried through her part of sharing. I cried right along with her. It was so difficult to not just reach over and hug her tight! But, knowing how I deal with things, I don't want to be touched when explaining how somebody else has used touch to so seriously damage me. I asked her, when it was all done, if I could hug her and she accepted. My heart breaks that she has experienced the things that she has. I have gone through many of the same things, but it hurts even more hearing that someone else has had to endure that crap.



I told you guys the theme for the week was sex... Well, even in bible study, the video at the end of the study was of the Q&A portion of the conference that the study was based on. Again, for those who have forgotten or who didn't know, I was doing the study Anointed Transformed Redeemed about David. We can't talk about David without talking about Bathsheba, right? But that was such a small part of the study and it was weeks ago!

This week, in the bonus video, it was the filmed portion of the conference that was the Q&A (I already told you guys that). However, this is important because somebody asked something about marriage or how to minister to husbands or something... and Kay Arthur, Priscilla Shirer, and Beth Moore (not so much Beth), began this whole thing about sex!

In a room full of married women, at church, this was a time of great amounts of laughter for them! For me, surely the only single girl under the age of 30 who has not had a great relationship with the subject of sex, this was a serious struggle. Kay touched on singleness and the relationship you should have with sex: she said we should not be having it. Well, duh, and I'm not. It was just a moment where being left out converged with a moment of being triggered and disappointed and all of that happened at church.

*deep breaths*

Through several things, I have been convicted of something that I have not come to terms with, and a huge reason why I'm probably having a hard time this week: sex and I do not have a good relationship. I'm not saying that if we did, that I would be partaking before marriage. But it has been used as such a strong force of evil and destruction in my life that I don't look forward to it. I don't hope for it, I don't look forward to my wedding night or to being married. I don't look forward to "making" kids or to birthing them because it is all a reminder of sex.

I learned this week that many victims/survivors have such a bad relationship with sex because of the abuse, that some of the self harm can be in the form of touching themselves. Trying to find pleasure from how the body reacts and the way that their body probably reacted in the face of abuse. One thing I haven't confessed before is that I have struggled with this myself.

After my first assault, rape, weekend of horror, I was convinced that my body was broken. He was touching me, doing these things that he knew would get a response from my body because he had had sex with other girlfriends in the past. Me, having never done any of that before and having not wanted to do it then, did not react. There was no pleasure, no excitement, no enjoyment. So, I concluded that my body was broken and that I was one of the few people that suffer from not being able to find any pleasure from sex and from being touched.

So, I tried to "recreate" the things that should bring about a sensation that people had described as fun, or pleasurable, or even a need. My body kind of reacted, but I was filled with so much shame and despair and sadness.

Even with this misery, it became a compulsion. I wanted to cut. I wanted to hurt myself. I wanted to feel something.

I didn't cut. I did hurt myself. And the only thing I ever truly felt was hatred, disgust, shame, despair, regret, and ridiculous darkness.

I stopped shortly after attempting this act.

Then came exfiance. After his initial rape, I couldn't get away. There were so many assaults. So much manipulation. So many excuses, bullshit stories, bible verses he used to tell me I belonged to him and that my body was no longer my own. Blah, blah, blah. He introduced me (read *forced me*) to do things I had never imagined. Things that truly revulsed me and I actually begin cutting and self harming and things that made me want to die.

After that, touching myself became a way that I could control things. I got no pleasure from what he did. Sure, my body would react, but I did not like it. So my brain, making its new pathways, associated those reactions with not being a good thing. In fact, it was associated with pain and depression and all terrible things!

By controlling it myself, when he was not with me, I felt like my body wasn't actually broken, like someday it might be okay... aaaaaaannnd it increased my shame and despair ten-fold.

Fast-forward to this week: Things that I did not expect, but that definitely needed to happen, in fact happened. This topic was brought up and somebody that I have admired and loved learning from/with shared about her struggles with this. Then, to her, I whispered "me too."

It was something that needed to happen. That I was terrified of anyone else finding out about. And now, I have to face it. I have to fight this. I have to work through it and learn to deal with these things. Then, I have hope for healing.

I've been studying the ladies of the bible, primarily the Tamar's, Rahab, Bathsheba, and various others (especially those with abuse, sexual misconduct, and those who were broken [all of us]). I'm finding encouragement and hope, but it's also allowing G-d to expose many of my deep, dark secret places. It hurts, but I hope that someday it'll be worth the pain of debriding (I think I spelled that wrong...)

Bain of My Existence

I know it's stupid, but I despise weddings. Always have. I'll attend all of the funerals I'm invited to, or hear about, but weddings get automatic excuses and declines from me. I hate weddings.

With that said, Beauty from nursing school got engaged right before our pinning ceremony. It took them a long time, but her wedding was finally planned for the end of October (2017) and I just so happened to get invited... I straight up told her I probably wouldn't go. I have told her that since I've known her, so it's not like it was even a surprise. Still, she kept begging me to go.

I still regret going.

All through the ceremony I was holding back tears. The tears weren't because the wedding was beautiful, or because the bride and a billion other people were crying, or because of allergies. I was holding back tears thinking of my certainty that a wedding will not happen for me.

There is such a certainty and gravity to this understanding in my heart, I've had it since I was a little girl. I did not go to the father daughter dances. My dad and I spent time at his shop, where I kept busy with "girlier" things and dad taught Brother how to fix cars/trucks/everything under the sun.

Dad has social anxiety and probably a few other hinderances, which I don't blame him for, but they lead to an "un-normal" life for me. While my dad has always lived with my family, there is not much participation on his part. He didn't go to church, except maybe 3-5 times my whole childhood. We never expected to go to a restaurant for birthdays or special occasions because they made dad nervous and so the whole family would be stressed and not have fun. We stopped asking for participation from him, and didn't invite people over to the house, because we didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

So, from the time I was very young, maybe kindergarden or earlier, I've known that we just don't ask dad to do things that involve lots of people. Understanding that weddings involve lots of spotlight, lots of people, and a father-daughter dance, obviously this is not something that sounds plausible in my future...

As I sat in my counselor's office, sobbing uncontrollably (for other reasons that I'll explain later), I explained why I don't believe I will/can get married. I've blamed it on being undesirable, blemished from trauma, making new mistakes (again, I'll get to this), and a myriad of other reasons I've collected over the years. And I explained the wedding thing. I sat there and told her between, "I know it's stupid, and it's probably just jealousy, but I hate weddings."

I didn't look up, but I could feel the gentleness in her voice. "I don't hear jealousy in any of this. What I hear is a lot of hurt."

Now, this whole conversation started because she asked how the wedding went. This explaination of me keeping my eyes from leaking during the service previewed the terrible news that Best Friend and I went too far that night after the reception.

He and his roommate were invited because Beauty was Best Friend's neighbor in the dorms freshman year of college, and he's actually how I ended up meeting Beauty. We've all stayed in touch over the years, and Beauty just wants to have fun, so she invited tons of people to the wedding reception.

Now, I did drink that night, but not enough to black out. I was with it and remained free from stumbles or being too drunk. I couldn't have driven home, but if I had been given water and an hour, I could have driven home no problem.

"Why, then, did I wake up and not be able to remember anything?" I asked my counselor, in much different words.

After rehashing some of the events, I realized that Best Friend had started kissing me once I was back to his house after the reception. Many problems with that statement... 1) his roommate was supposed to drop me off at my house, but Best Friend had talked him into taking me back to their place because BF wanted to see if I would kiss him (after me telling him no ALL FUCKING NIGHT.) 2) I was not privy to this decision and never consulted to see what I wanted to do.

So, back at BF's house, I laid on the couch, nearly falling asleep. At some point, he came over and started to kiss me. About 2-3 weeks ago, I put an end to us kissing. I told him I was not ready for a relationship and that I needed us to go back to just being friends. Obviously that worked really fucking well because he definitely got the message loud and clear after me telling him this about 29474957 over the course of our "friendship". (That was all solid sarcasm.) I shouldn't have had to tell him that many times and he never should have tried to kiss me after me telling him no so many times in one night and over the past several weeks/years. Maybe I need to work on being meaner.

So, we ended up kissing, and he picked me up from the couch and carried me to his bed. Now, he had done this before, I told him a few times that I don't lay in boy's beds and he knows my stories of abuse. He told me he understands, and yet it happened a couple times. Chalk it up to me being naive and believing people when I shouldn't. Man, I'm an idiot.

He kissed down my stomach, which he's done before because he thinks it's funny when I push his face away and yell at him for doing that. Except, this time he was drunk and ended up touching me where he shouldn't. It was at this point, the the rest of my memories are non-existent or 1-2 seconds long. I remember hyperventilating, shoving his hand away, and crying for about 20-30 minutes. He freaked out and went to the far edge of his bed as I laid in the fetal position sobbing. He asked what he could do and what happened and I couldn't talk. I just turned away and cried. He tried to hug me and I pushed away. Finally, after 20-30 minutes, I settled enough for him to ask me what I wanted to do. I told him I wanted to go watch t.v. and sleep. We went back out to the couch and I laid down under the blanket. I don't remember much more of the night.

I do know, however, that in the morning, I knew that we had slept together. I don't know how it started, I don't think that he raped me, but my counselor says that I dissociated because of the first incident of him touching me. This whole story came out in the first 7 minutes of me sitting down in her office and she uncovered the story via questions answered by my 1-2 syllable answers or shaking/nodding my head. I have so much shame, and disgust, and despair over this stupid night.
She tells me it's not my fault because my body was just protecting me the only way it has learned how to over the course of my abuse.

Still, I can't help but wonder how I will ever explain this act of indiscretion to someone, if a guy ever decided that he wanted to date me seriously.  I had just gotten to the point where I could think about dating after 2 years of being free from exboyfriend and exfiance. After this, where it was kind of my choice, I don't know how I will recover and survive, let alone try to date and explain this to someone.

My counselor had me think about what I would tell someone else, if I were in the outside shoes and my friend were telling me their life story that was like mine. Of course I would tell that person that it wasn't their fault, that BF had taken them (me) to the police station to report the other 2 dip-shits and he should have known after the way I freaked out that I needed to not be touched. Still, I don't understand how this all happened.

I praise the L-rd for my counselor, because she spoke such healing and comfort into my life. But I still struggle with the knowledge and memories I have.

This wasn't supposed to be my life!

My counselor says that G-d was still with me through it all. But why couldn't He keep me with it enough to be able to stop it so that I didn't sin? Why wouldn't he prevent the whole mess from coming up? Why would He not just let me get dropped off at my house like I was supposed to so that I could go to sleep? Why was it that I have to be allowed to be in a position to have 1 case of trauma, let alone the whole shit-show that was my life in 2015? Then, on top of all of that, He allows this to happen because my brain automatically dissociated?!? Where was He in all of that mess? Was he standing there watching? Was He sad? Why didn't He step in? Why did He let me go through this? Why is this supposed to be stuff that I  have to struggle through? What did I do but try to follow His Word and be kind and gracious? I know I make mistakes, but why this?

I keep thinking that I'll wake up and realize the past few years, and all of these mistakes and memories are just a bad nightmare. But I keep waking up and I'm forced to survive another painful day. As soon as life starts to get tolerable again, another traumatic thing happens and I have to figure out how to try to survive past that. It's not fair. Not even a little fair.

I don't understand how some people go their whole lives and never experience trauma, and some people have shit dumped on them their whole lives. I don't understand it at all!!! How do I get off this shit-list?

Yesterday, I had another talk with Best Friend. Instead of gently suggesting that we take time so that I can have some space. I flat out told him that I need to not talk to him for weeks. He kept sending me relationship snapchats this past week, after that night. Even after a 3 hour drive where I spilled my heart out to him about how badly it hurt me and how much I hated that we slept together. He has apologized profusely for the night, but he hasn't gotten the gravity of the situation because sex is a big deal to him, but it's not a part of his faith and not a part of any abuse that he has sustained. People just don't get it. Sex is not fun for me. It's been nothing but trauma. There is a very real chance that it will never be a healthy part of my life because of the continued abuse that I have sustained. For him, it was something "special" to share with someone he "liked" or maybe thinks he "loved". For me, it was a huge set-back in my 2 year recovery and now another shameful part of my past I will have to explain.

I told BF that him sending the relationship crap "hurt my heart" and that I didn't want to see it. I told him that about 17 times. He would apologize, but continue to send another "cute" one that he found later. He just doesn't get it. If he got it, then we wouldn't be in this fucking situation to begin with because he would have fucking stopped when I freaked out and I probably wouldn't have freaked out because he wouldn't have touched me that way in the first damn place!

I wasn't angry at him until yesterday and today. At counseling, my counselor told me it was okay for me to be angry with him. At that point, I was still fully angry at only myself. Now I'm just pissed.

I was so pissed on Friday (Thursday was counseling), that I finally scheduled my appointment to go see the nurse practitioner. I'm scared that the tests will find something. I'm terrified. However, I'm so sick of being scared and not knowing. So, I'm having the results sealed in an envelope, and my counselor agreed that I could read them at my appointment with her.

Guys, please pray that my body if free of disease from the first 2 assholes, and also from Best Friend. I hate that I have to worry about this. I hate that I had to take yet another Plan B pill. I hate my life and the fact that I keep having to fucking survive another day, every day.

I'm so over it all. I just want to be done.

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.

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.

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!!!

Forgiveness?

I have found, in the past few years, it is easier to forgive others than it is to forgive myself.

I keep waking up with panic attacks because I feel like I have failed my future husband, G-d, and myself. I feel unlovable and ruined. The nightmares and flashbacks are becoming too much for me. I keep playing what has happened in the past year, over and over again in my head. I could have fought harder. I could have prevented so many problems by breaking up with these boys when I had originally wanted to, if only I had had the guts and the strength to do it. I am quite convinced that I have made too many mistakes to be able to have any kind of a future like the one that I wanted so badly.

I wanted a sweet guy, who waited for marriage before having sex. I don't deserve that anymore because I allowed my body to be used by guys other than my husband. I wanted to save my first kiss for my wedding day and I blew that on a guy who was 5 years older than me because I was feeling pressured and didn't stand up for myself the way I needed to. Granted, I have learned a lot, but at a steep price.

I have lost the little sanity I was born with, and I feel as though I've been trampled.

I keep going back and forth between wondering if what happened to me was my fault, or if I did all I needed to and was able to at the time, to protect myself and my purity.

I am downright disgusted with myself and the way I have turned out.

Counseling starts Tuesday but I'm scared that I won't be able to work out all that I need to in the time I have a counselor. Maybe light will be shed and it will show me that all of these things were my fault. Maybe it will prove to me that believing these guys had any control over their actions was futile and I deserve to be locked away.

My nausea is back full force and I've almost lost my stomach a few times today. I can't escape my life, especially in my dreams. I keep breaking down and sobbing because I feel as though I have no hope left in a future, let alone a happy future. Flashbacks are constant and no longer just intermittent. Nightmares are guaranteed every night once I finally fall asleep around 3-4 a.m. from exhaustion. But I was with panic attacks around 9-10 a.m.

My head hurts from the whiplash I give myself by believing everything was my fault and then knowing that I had no control over these guys. They had their talons in deep and made me believe I made them enter my body. That's what they've told me. I was told it was my fault because I didn't say "no" seriously enough. It doesn't matter that I repeatedly said it and tried to push them away.

I don't think I'll ever be able to sleep normally again. If I ever do get married, will sex even be enjoyable? Or will it be a source of too much pain that I push my husband away and avoid it all together?

Should I even hope that I find a husband? If I were a guy, I wouldn't want me. Especially if I were the guy that I wanted before I was ruined and I found a girl like how I am presently.

I am unworthy, broken, dirty, impure, unlovable, and completely damaged goods. Maybe this is the Adversary saying mean things to me, but it's believable.

Some days, I want to know what a jury would say. Would they say that I am making stories up so that I can hopefully clear my concience? Or would they understand that I am telling the truth and see that I never wanted any of this? Would they see the hours of being yelled at over the phone for not being willing to "try" sex because I was waiting for marriage, only to be fed drinks all night until I was unable to walk and puking? Would they say it was my fault because I wasn't smarter that night and I kept drinking? Would they believe him when he says I started it? Would they believe me that I had told him a million times I never wanted to, but then woke up next to him, completely naked, next to him in a hotel? Would they believe it was my fault? Is it my fault?

The dozens of times he came onto me after that and I said flat out "no" several times, but he still "went in", do those count in my favor or his? Were those my fault too? Does pushing him away but not being strong enough to actually be able to get him off of me count for him or me? Why does he believe all of these are my fault because he was "thinking with his penis"? Are they my fault?

Why was I allowed to be able to meet him? Why would the L-rd allow this to happen again? More than that, I don't believe it was G-d's fault, I believe I made so many foolish choices that this is all on me. I believe He cares for me and tries to protect me, but where was He all those nights? Was He watching when I tried my best to keep my pants on as these guys ripped them off? Or did He turn His head? I believe I was set apart for Him, but if I was, why was I not protected? Am I that bad that I was banished to be able to be used by any guy that just had a hankering to get his rocks off? Why is this supposed to be my fate? Why was I not allowed to die when I wanted to in the 8th grade? If I had been allowed to, I wouldn't have had to live through this. What did I do that this is justifiable punishment for my sins?

WHY ME??? What did I do?

A Nalgene and a Half Later

I got an ultrasound done today. It was unbeknownst to me that one has to have a full bladder for an ultrasound to be done so I showed up after just having gone to the bathroom. Let's back up the story just a little bit, though.

The day started out at one of the hospitals that I work at for a day of playing hookie in order to attend a cardiac conference. Not a bad day! Especially because I did not have to do a careplan the night before or tonight because my instructor didn't feel like grading them! The conference allowed the clinical day to be cut short allowing me to get to my appointment (at the same hospital) early. Score!

We show up and ask to be taken early. They agree to do it. We wait for what must have been about 30 minutes to be taken back into the room, and that brings a whole set of fun question. Oh, and my nursing school buddy came along with me because she wanted to see what an ultrasound was like. She was the third person I explained my full symptoms to and I was not expecting to tell anyone but my mom and my NP.

So we get into the room and the ultrasound tech asks if I'm sexually active. No. She asks if I've gotten a Pap smear. I explain that my NP wouldn't do it so no. She then informs me that she was going to do an internal ultrasound but decided to do an external one because I am a virgin and have not experienced anything that invasive yet. Great.

Then I am asked to lay down so she can see how full my bladder is. It was teensy! I was instructed to drink as much water as I could so I down another Nalgene bottle (32 oz.) and a half in addition to the half Nalgene I had already consumed since last using the restroom. Keep in mind I have not eaten since 0630 and it's rounding on about 1330-1400. Anyway, my friend and I go back to the waiting room and she's drinking water with me to help me fill up my bladder.

Another 30 minutes and about 15 funny videos later, the tech comes back out to check my status and the ultrasound shows that my bladder is full enough! Yay!

So pants are unbuttoned and pulled down to just low enough to expose where my bladder and uterus are. The tech pours some warm jelly on the exposed area and starts pressing right where she needs to not press because I'm fixin' to lose all the urine in my bladder if she presses too hard. Pretty soon my uterus gets pointed out to me and it turns out I hang to the left, just a little bit. Haha, comedic relief is helping me get through this and I was slap happy because I was so nervous and I laughed for a solid 5 minutes at my own joke.

10 minutes of smooshing around above my full, and still filling bladder, and she started zooming in. Measurements were taken of each ovary and some labeling, no big deal. I noticed that one of my ovaries was black while the other was gray. She then went from traditional 2D ultrasound and switched to 3D. I thought nothing of it at the time, but the more I think about it, the more freaked out I get about that. It looked bigger, to me, and she looked through different levels of it with the 3D ultrasound thing. She didn't do that to the other one.

Being an ultrasound tech, she wasn't allowed to diagnose me or share the findings because she has to wait for the MD to look them over and then call my NP and then I may get the results at some point during the course of what feels like 80138474536947 years from now.

In the meantime, I'm trying to limit my panic attacks but that's not going well. I came straight home and peed, for the 3rd time in 30 minutes, and fell asleep on the couch. I don't know why because I got a solid 9 hours of sleep last night because I didn't have to do a careplan. Then I woke up from my map with a panic attack and a realization that she investigated the black ovary but not the gray one.

Boyfriend doesn't know about the ultrasound yet, I want to tell him so badly but I think it needs to be in person and after I get the results. We talked on the phone last night about a bunch of deep stuff and he asked what I would do if we found out that one of us was infertile. It was completely out of the blue and without knowing my fears of cancer/infertility/other scary things that I am experiencing right now. He told me I could think about it for a few day but I didn't need to. I responded saying that I had wanted to maybe adopt a kid or two anyway so we could just do that. He agreed and we moved on to more tough questions. Even after asking what brought him to ask that, he said it was just a though he had had but it was weird to me because I am actually terrified that may be my reality.

I'm struggling.

If I find out I have cancer or I'm infertile, I think I'm going to break up with Boyfriend. That's not fair to him to be stuck with me through that. We've been going out for a few days shy of a month and there's no reason for him to feel like he has to stay with me just because I am sick (if I'm sick) or through my (possible) infertility.

My heart is heavy, my mind is racing, I think I might explode.

I finally told my roommate about my symptoms. She knew I had gone to the doctor's and that they ran the STD panel, UA, CBC, thyroid test, and the ultrasound. But she asked why the did the ultrasound so I had to explain everything to her. I'm getting better about talking about things that normally make me really uncomfortable. That's likely, largely helped by Boyfriend helping me to discuss stuff I wouldn't mention before. You know, feelings, kissing, sex, marriage, etc. So Roommate knows and I've been freaking out to her a little bit but I hold off a lot because I don't want to bother her or my other nursing school buddy that I told about it with my problems and irrational fears.

I'm going to bed. Pray with me if you think about it.

So I went to the doctor...

I went to the doctor today, except it was actually the nurse practitioner because I was hoping for some nursey care instead of another experience with a doctor (I haven't had good experiences with them in the past). Anyway, it was dumb. I have been having some weird symptoms but I highlighted nausea and dizziness for the past year as well as increased shedding lately. She was in the room for a solid 5 minutes and left to go write up her orders for me. However, in those few moments she was present in the room she asked if I was sexually active a few times. When I told her no she moved on briefly and then asked: "are you sure you haven't been messing around? No sex?" Oh my gosh! Lady, it's not like people trip and end up with a penis in their vagina!!! I know that I have not had sex! I am absolutely positive! What more do you want from me?!

Anyway, she ordered a CBC, thyroid blood test, pregnancy test, and a full STD panel because she obviously still does not believe that a 20 year old could have their "V card". I just lost my hand-holding and kissing virginity, the sex virginity card is not going to be given to anyone but my husband and not until we have a wedding. That is a certain, guaranteed fact of my life. I was struggling with the kissing, but there is not wavering in my mind about sex. No. No. No. No. NO!

Also, she wouldn't do my well-woman exam because I'm not 21 yet. I have a freakin' month until I turn 21, it's not like the day before my birthday I'll be fine and then BAM! I suddenly get cervical cancer the day after my birthday so they miss it for a whole year or two until I go get another one. Well, let's be real, I've lasted about 8-10 years without a doctor appointment so far and I would probably last another decade or two before I ever go back after this whole fiasco gets finished up in another MONTH AND A HALF.

Moral of the story: going to the doctor accomplishes nothing for me except raising my blood pressure, causing me anxiety, making my hypochondria flare up, getting me thoroughly frustrated and my blood drawn.

Oh my gosh, I had to get my blood drawn twice today! My insurance company sent me a biometric screening kit and so they needed some blood. They told me to go to my doctor. Okay, fine. I take the kit to the doctor/NP office and they tell me they don't do that there. The NP orders blood to be drawn and sends me downstairs to the lab where they actually do draw blood. They won't draw it for me either! So I have to drive across town to the hospital I work at because they are actually able to do the stupid blood draw and they were for the same exact tests my NP had already ordered. *facepalm* The sheet even said I could have the doctor send in results from any labs they had ordered. Does she do that? No. So I look like a drug addict today because both of my arms were tapped for my two seperate 30 second blood draws that could not be done together for some odd reason.


Well, that's the end of my rant. I need to go take my anxiety meds and try to get some sleep by avoiding thinking about lying to my NP about drinking and depression...

Confessions of a College Prude, Part 2

Lately, in my life, there has been an abundance of sex talk. It's getting on my nerves, to be honest because nobody is discussing the desire to refrain from it but merely rumors and desires to take part in it.

There have been stories of people losing their virginity in middle school. Many conversations about "numbers" (the amount of people individuals have slept with. Some people have begun describing in vivid detail certain acts or positions. Still others discuss their sadness that they have not yet given themselves entirely over to another person in that way. Most of these conversations were cut short on my end because I proceeded to plug my ears and began humming in order to drown out the information being presented.

I don't want to know the details of acts, or numbers, or anything else that I do not need to know about sex! In my book, I need to know that: 1) it's how you get babies, STD's, funky rashes, and other various conditions that one may find themselves in that require medical treatment, 2) there are psychological and emotional scars that can develop, 3) THAT I DO NOT NEED TO BE PARTAKING IN THESE ACTIONS UNTIL I AM MARRIED!!! That is it! All other information simply chips away at my dwindling innocence and causes me to have nightmares and panic attacks (on a regular basis).

My dating/marriage rules are strict, I understand that. However, those rules only apply to myself, I do not expect anyone else to follow them. If they don't follow them, I simply ask that all conversations about sex be held until I am out of hearing range. People cease cussing due to simple requests, is it too much to ask that inappropriate talk be held too?

It was brought to my attention that one of my friends is not pleased with the amount of physical contact they have had with the opposite gender. This conversation was light and was mostly about kissing and holding hands which are both okay for me to discuss with people because those are "normal" dating practices that are mostly started when dating anybody (with me and maybe a handful of others in the exception). When talking about these things, though, most people don't realize that I abstain from these little gestures as well. This may have a large part to do with my tongue ring, which I have been informed is used for unsavory acts of the sexual nature (things that I do not partake in). So people begin talking about these things and they haven't known me long enough to know that I am saving hand holding for my engagement, or kissing and beyond for when I am married.

Bringing this up with other people has proven slightly foolish in my experience because my closest friends and mentors all advise me to not wait for these things. I was encouraged and told that "it would be highly unlikely for me to be in a relationship with someone I really liked without kissing them." Yes, it will be hard, but that doesn't mean that it is bad. I am not forcing these rules on anyone else and I understand that if G-d sends along someone who I really like and who really likes me, there will be a pull for physical contact like kissing and hand-holding. However, by saving these little gestures, it's not going to cause any harm to me or my beloved. We won't get an STD or become pregnant before marriage, we won't become ill or suffer any psychological issues by waiting either. Why, then, is everyone counseling me to just go ahead a kiss whatever guy comes along? Why are they encouraging me to date, just to get the first one out of the way? I "tried" that, it was one of the biggest regrets of my life because I don't want to date just anybody, I wanted to wait until it seemed like the L-rd was guiding us both into the relationship instead of me getting talked into it by someone who had put me up on an unrealistic, unhealthy pedestal.

Seriously, the most waiting could do is make me become a cat lady. Which would make my death folder come in mighty handy because I am allergic to cats and they would likely suffocate me in my sleep.

You know what makes me the most sad? I feel embarrassed discussing these things with people because I have gotten such negative reactions from them so far. Some of my friends have decided they are going to take me to a bar, try to get me drunk, and then attempt to talk guys into making out with me. There are so many holes in that plan, but it bugs me that my closest friends can't just leave me be. It's not they are intervening for self-destructive behavior, they are attempting to make me do things that I don't want to do but that aren't causing harm to anyone. My mentors have continuously told me that it is okay to kiss boys and I shouldn't go any farther than I am comfortable with, but that lines should be past the hand-holding/kissing/cuddling things to really only prevent "real sex" from occurring until marriage. It's almost like skinny shaming where people tell thin people to go eat a hamburger or gain some weight even though the person is not anorexic or bolimic or anything else unhealthy.

I want another chance with this kid. I want to explain that while many people lose their virginity or hold a lot of emphasis on getting to a certain point in their physical relationship, that is not the general consensus among everyone. Yes, it may seem like everyone is sleeping around and has done more than you, but that's just because the people that hold-off are either not talking about not doing anything or they are getting drowned out by the people with the crazy hook-up stories. I just want to explain that this tongue ring was an attempt to not go back down my self-harm path that I have a history of. I want to explain why I am choosing to not kiss or hold hands right now. I want to explain that I am in the minority, but I CHOSE to be in the minority and it's not as small of a group as it may seem. Oh I pray I get the chance and I pray that this person is receptive!

Developmental Stages

So, in developmental psych, we have taken a turn and our last class seemed more like an A&P lesson than a psych lesson. Despite my confusion at that matter, we are studying something that interests me a lot. We are discussing and learning about the different developmental stages in pubescence.

You know the ones (probably), right? They were super awkward to talk about but they were likely covered in sex ed in elementary/middles school. I woudn't know, my parents didn't allow me to go to sex ed. Instead, I got to chill with the librarians in the print shop. The entire grade (all 4 classes) knew I was the ONLY kid not in that class. But, hey, I didn't like those kids anyway. You know, it makes me laugh that my parents kept me from sex ed, but at this point in my life I have seen more penises, butts, and other actual unmentionable things than I ever would have guessed. I'm a straight up virgin (I was even a dating virgin until I made the idiot choice to ruin my friendship with Best Friend). Regardless, nursing school stole my innocence and yet I'm still innocent. I know all about sex. Well, the anatomy, physiology, hormone, and other simple scientific/medical stuff. I've probably handled more guy's junk than culturally acceptable. I have grown far beyond my years because I have been put in positions of care giving for people who are elders and I'm only 20. Never would I have guessed that this would be where I ended up at this point in my life. I never realized you see so many people naked in nursing. It just doesn't even phase me anymore. Granted, I probably would if it was a friend or my new husband, but perfect strangers could run around in their birthday suits all the day long and I would be fine. Me, on the other hand, refuse to show any more skin than my hands, neck, and most of my face. I'm a hypocrite, what can I say?

I'm getting off subject. The whole development, "puberty" thing has always fascinated me. Can I admit something to y'all? I'm also obsessed with sex but from a purely medical curiosity. Truly, I'm not just saying that. It is fascinating that G-d designed all of this stuff to happen to our bodies so that eventually, two people can produce 1+ more other people (depending on participation, circumstances, etc). He made chemicals to attract us to each other and more chemicals to make us feel "love." He created women to house the offspring until they were hopefully developed enough to breath independently and survive as their own little being. That's only the beginning! There is so much more to all of this stuff and it all begins with hormones fueling the growth of gonads and such. I mean, this stuff is so intricate and amazing! These are the types of things that take my breath away. For some people, it's mountains, sunrises/sunsets, the ocean, outer space, or what-have-you. Personally, it is the intricate nature in which we were designed to carry on life and produce more life.

Wow.

That brings me to a weird point: According to my book's chart of when certain parts and pieces of us are supposed to develop, breast development should be completed around age 16 (on average.) Read this over and let me know what you think of their findings. Now, everything is based off of average and there are always exceptions. However, these time frames just seem odd to me.

Full breast growth at age 16!? Is that what most people have found? Menarche at 12.5? Yikes. I didn't have this childhood...

Funny Quotes

Here are some things people have said to me lately that made me laugh just a bit:

"Coffee is better than sex!" (A new resident when asked if he wanted coffee with lunch)

"Don't call me mister. Call me lover, call me sexy, call me anything but mister." (Same resident when I was walking him to his room to get a jacket. I didn't call him mister, ever...)

"You are sexy!" (A lady resident to me because she heard t.v. infomercial say sexy. This one made me blush!)

"What does you future husband look like?" (A resident out of the clear blue sky when I asked if she wanted lunch. Ironically, it was after one of my pregnancy dreams and I was thinking about my country boy at the time. Very odd timing!)

"My goodness, she is so tall!" (A group of lady residents as I was walking away. I feel like a giant at work because the staff and residents are all shorter than me but I'm only 5'6"!)

"Are you pregnant?" (Female resident to a male CNA. It made no sense but I was sitting with 3-4 other CNA's and we were all in stitches from this one!)


There are some other gems but I can't think of them right now. I think this will be a new on-going post though because I am laughing all the time at funny things people are saying everywhere I go.

Fun Facts

Just a warning, this next post talks about sex, artificial and natural insemination and some other random things that may be considered offensive. Forgive me for the images that may be brought to mind and also for bringing up this subject. Seeing as I am hoping to be a midwife, these things do not bother me and I am actually quite fascinated with reproduction and babies and everything, but I understand that it may not be deemed appropriate, especially for a woman of faith (such as myself). Unfortunately, I cannot discuss such matters with my friends because they will all leave me for being even weirder than they had originally discovered...

So, I am writing a paper about the views of college students on marriage and yada, yada, yada. Anyway, I was encouraged to do some research about counter arguments to my claim, one of the counter arguments being that infertility treatments are often expensive and time-consuming and stressful. You know the whole thing, I'm sure. Anyway, I was looking into the costs of in-vitro and artificial insemination and I ran across an article explaining how to do artificial insemination at home... on your own. Of course, this is joked about in movies when women say they will just use a baster, but it never occurred to me that women actually do that at home. If you're at home, wouldn't natural insemination be easier than trying to collect everything and then put the "seed" into a cup and then into a needle-less syringe and everything else? I suppose it makes sense to no do it the natural way though because then that would involve all the hormones that bond you to someone else through sex, even if you don't kiss, because that's just how G-d designed it. Kinda funny how the girl who refuses to kiss anyone until she is married is wondering why people aren't just shacking up if they are trying to have a kid. I know, I am full of ideas and thoughts that make no sense and I promise, the constant incongruities drive me nuts too.

Just something to think about.