Ever since my first instance of sexual abuse, I have begun to take "encouragement" from people differently. I have struggled with things they intend as being caring, and often become angry. While I try to listen and accept what they are saying with grace, there is often misinformation and ignorance behind these words.
One of the worst offenses for me comes with the phrases:
"G-d meant for this to happen."
"He only gives certain things to people that He knows can handle it."
"This was meant to be a way to help shape you for further life purposes."
{fill in from your experiences}
While I agree that G-d can bring forth beauty from ashes and healing from unimaginable pain, I truly do not believe that He causes things like trauma to happen.
Often, I have heard from pastors, rabbis, teachers, and mentors that G-d does not cause bad things to happen. Yet, in the very next week's sermon, they teach about how G-d causes things to happen so that you might be taught lessons and these just so happen to occur as hard times, traumatic instances, and sins.
These two separate teachings sound like contradictions to me.
He might allow them to happen, but He does not cause them to happen. G-d cannot cause sin to occur, nor does He tempt us. He does not cause traumatic instances, death, or destruction to occur. It's not who He is! G-d is wholly good, ALL of the time. Isn't that what we are taught from the same stage that is instructing us that we screwed up to allow devastation befall us?
With this argument that G-d does not cause bad things, my mind is drawn to the story of Job. G-d did not cause Job's children to die. Nor did G-d cause Job's servants and livestock to perish. G-d did not steal away Job''s wealth, happiness, health, or destroy his life. What we see in this story is something that continues to shock me and cause turmoil, because G-d essentially allowed Satan to have full control over the circumstances befalling Job. Then factor in that this occurs in what seems to be a BET of Job's faithfulness. However, G-d did not cause a single thing to happen to Job, only Satan did that. G-d allowed it all to happen, within very precise boundaries that He gave Satan.
I don't know about you, but it bothers me to my core that G-d does not completely protect us. However, He does only allow things to happen to us that He knows we can bear. Still, HE DOES NOT CAUSE US HARM!!!
Am I getting my point across?
This is why, when people tell me that G-d only gives us what we can handle, and He meant for us to go through certain traumas, it is incredibly offensive to me. In these times, the words coming out of their mouths are telling me that G-d chose my abuser, gave him the idea to sexually assault and rape me, and that all of this was in His (G-d's) plan for my life.
THAT'S TOTAL CRAP!
It is not the picture we are given in the Bible. It is not the teachings that are given from the mouth of G-d. And I completely understand why people walk away from G-d after traumatic life happenings, if these are the only things they are taught about G-d!
I understand that people do not say these "encouraging" things out of malice, or hatred, or from a place of trying to harm others. However, it is still not G-dly encouragement nor is it truth. I get that my personal offense is taken, basically, due to an issue with semantics and the way these leaders and teachers use their words. Not all survivors are able to process the sermons in this way, though, and so they simply hear that their abuse was their fault according to religion and religious leaders. How can anyone come into the healing and peace of G-d if they believe G-d caused them this anguish and that He and His people hold the survivor at fault for what has happened?
Recently I watched a video of a pastor telling people not to ask "Why me L-rd?" He recounts a sermon he had taught about brokenness, trials, and life struggles. He encourages his flock to not ask G-d "why me" when going through seasons of difficulty because G-d chose them for that difficulty. That He uses these things to teach people how to be people that G-d needs them to be. While I appreciate the heart and meaning behind this message, I think we often get trauma mixed up with seasons of teaching and the trials that are meant to teach us things. No wonder there is so much shame in the body of believers! This teachings tells survivors of horrendous evils that it was their fault that a particular thing happened because: they weren't strong enough, G-d wanted something bad to happen to them, they weren't good enough, their life is destined to be a life of pain, and they deserved the things that happened to them. Along side them (teachers, pastors, etc), and often reinforcing the teaching of these things, are people who have not necessarily been through such traumas.
Sometimes G-d does want to teach us things, but sometimes Satan plants an idea in somebody's mind and they carry out an evil act against another. The key here is to not get the 2 mixed up, and to allow people to come forward freely to talk about their pains, seasons of struggling, traumatic experiences, what they've survived, and what they are going through.
The other thing that really bugged me about this particular pastor's teaching, is that he is essentially cutting off a major form of intimacy and communication with our creator. When looking at the story of Job, Daniel, David, the disciples, Naomi, Ruth, Esther, and countless others, we see them questioning the circumstances and teachings in their lives. QUESTIONING DOES NOT NECESSARILY NEGATE FAITH!
We all wonder why things happen. We wonder why G-d allows certain things to take place and we question the meaning of our lives. When we are able to bring our questions about life and life events to the One who is overseeing all that happens, even in our deepest most intimate places, we are able to hope for answers.
We will not always get answers, and we aren't always supposed to. But sometimes, G-d gives us an answer, an explanation, or He allows us to see how His hand is playing a part in our life. For me, I am beginning to see how my ability to empathize with others has grown exponentially because of what I've experienced. I am learning that what I say matters and the patterns I see in my life have value to others that are on journeys to healing, as I still am. I am learning how to better walk beside people near me in their lives and struggles and to offer encouragement and friendly "counseling" (more of a listening ear). My heart has softened to the pain of others. I have moved from a place of sympathy to a place of empathy to a place of wanting to ease other's burdens, if by merely being a presence while they walk a very difficult path.
Personally, I still wrestle with G-d and ask Him why I was allowed to be abused, assaulted, raped, and cast aside. I ask Him why I was taught about life in the ways that I was, as a child. I question why I was allowed to be so traumatized, when I simply lived life according to the rules I was taught in church and what I believed He had taught me thus far. Why He didn't intervene in any of the countless times I was taken advantage of, held down, coerced, manipulated, and otherwise hurt. I also inquire as to why He didn't allow these guys to be persecuted when I went to the police. Why the judge decided exfiance wasn't dangerous enough to get a restraining order against to keep me safer and on the spectrum of being able to have police backup should he breech my boundaries (which he has many times since).
I don't think I will ever get answers for these things. However, I have not been punished for asking them. G-d allowed me to wrestle with Him, to yell and fight and punch and get it all out. Then He held me in His arms and allowed me to have peace. He gave me peace. He brought me close to His heart. After all of my fighting was through, even my fighting against Him, He drew near to me. In this place, I was given peace for the first time in years. It's a process though, I couldn't have been given peace without having been able to fight and yell and scream and wrestle with Him. It wouldn't have been the same, I wouldn't have the same understanding.
He doesn't cause bad things to happen to us and He doesn't require that we always follow with blind faith without asking questions. Just look to the Bible. Sometimes people were asked to follow "strange" instructions while being given no answers, but they asked questions. They didn't lose faith, but we are questioning in nature, that's how G-d created us. So, I think He can handle the inquiries we make of Him.
Showing posts with label sexual assault. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sexual assault. Show all posts
Friday, April 6, 2018
Friday, March 16, 2018
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.
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.
Tuesday, January 2, 2018
"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.
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.
Sunday, November 5, 2017
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.
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.
Thursday, August 24, 2017
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.
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.
Sunday, August 13, 2017
Trigger Happy
Today was a rough day. Work was not bad, I had a nice preceptor. I learned a lot, and orientation is going well, considering it was only my 3rd day. However, I swear that every trigger I have was hit today.
Dealt with domestic violence reports all morning. Talked about the local domestic violence safe house/counseling program that I was able to go to for counseling. That discussion took me by surprise. I didn't tell anyone that's where I went, but first thing we did in the morning was order a consult so that one of our mom's could be referred to that program. Knife to the heart.
Dirty jokes at the nurse's station almost had me in tears. Deep breaths as I suffocate in the wide open.
We had a baby born from a sexual assault. Another jab.
My friend's nephew died by suicide today because he couldn't handle life after his dad had passed away a few months ago. Flashback to Country Boy, and my heart nearly stopped.
First thing that came on t.v. was a show about a girl who was being abused by her boyfriend, and it almost sounded just like my story with ex-fiance. What are you doing to me L-rd???
I change the channel to find something a little less triggering and one of ex-boyfriend's favorite movies comes on. Just let it be done, let me escape this life.
From the people, to the smells, to the sounds and songs, to the jokes, and everything else that happened today; I was bombarded with triggers. I excused myself during some of the conversations to go get my aromatherapy, but it wasn't the one that is strong enough to get me out of my flashbacks. I don't know if I will be able to work postpartum if this is going to keep up.
A couple days ago I had a drink with a friend and learned that ex-fiance (who told me he was moving to another state "because I called the cops")is actually still here. I haven't even started the other job where ex-boyfriend has family working, who know me and probably despise me now. That probably won't be a good situation if they are still working there.
I don't know what I was thinking!!! How am I supposed to be able to survive living here, with all of my past a part of my every day journey to the bottom of a deep chasm that I had climbed out of when I moved to Small Town last year.
Survival was barely feasible there, 8 hours away from this place. What on earth would make me believe I could survive by facing my dark past at every turn of every day?
Dealt with domestic violence reports all morning. Talked about the local domestic violence safe house/counseling program that I was able to go to for counseling. That discussion took me by surprise. I didn't tell anyone that's where I went, but first thing we did in the morning was order a consult so that one of our mom's could be referred to that program. Knife to the heart.
Dirty jokes at the nurse's station almost had me in tears. Deep breaths as I suffocate in the wide open.
We had a baby born from a sexual assault. Another jab.
My friend's nephew died by suicide today because he couldn't handle life after his dad had passed away a few months ago. Flashback to Country Boy, and my heart nearly stopped.
First thing that came on t.v. was a show about a girl who was being abused by her boyfriend, and it almost sounded just like my story with ex-fiance. What are you doing to me L-rd???
I change the channel to find something a little less triggering and one of ex-boyfriend's favorite movies comes on. Just let it be done, let me escape this life.
From the people, to the smells, to the sounds and songs, to the jokes, and everything else that happened today; I was bombarded with triggers. I excused myself during some of the conversations to go get my aromatherapy, but it wasn't the one that is strong enough to get me out of my flashbacks. I don't know if I will be able to work postpartum if this is going to keep up.
A couple days ago I had a drink with a friend and learned that ex-fiance (who told me he was moving to another state "because I called the cops")is actually still here. I haven't even started the other job where ex-boyfriend has family working, who know me and probably despise me now. That probably won't be a good situation if they are still working there.
I don't know what I was thinking!!! How am I supposed to be able to survive living here, with all of my past a part of my every day journey to the bottom of a deep chasm that I had climbed out of when I moved to Small Town last year.
Survival was barely feasible there, 8 hours away from this place. What on earth would make me believe I could survive by facing my dark past at every turn of every day?
Friday, April 21, 2017
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.
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.
Friday, September 23, 2016
Doctor Searching
I've been thinking about finding a doctor lately. I feel like I should go in and get checked out and try to be a "good patient" that sees a doctor every 5-6 years... instead of my current method of thinking I'm dying of cancer, going in to get checked out once every 15 or so years, then finding out I'm completely fine. I mean it works, kinda, but that's not the example a nurse should set for her patients, right? At least they're babies and won't ask about the last time I went in for my sniffles or the weird lump on my hip.
Along with thinking about finding a doctor, probably an OB/GYN, comes the thought of how to tell them to be extra careful with me. I have read about it some, and it usually gets the point across by simply saying I have a past history of sexual trauma. Short and to the point. I was gonna say short and sweet, but let's be real, there's nothing sweet about it.
Now, I was contemplating all of this, while throwing the ball for my dog in my backyard, when I remembered a completely random memory: I remember being at a karaoke pub with the girls from my senior year OB and peds rotation, celebrating that we were all done with clinicals. Exfiance was there, and it was after I had already gone to the cops, I believe, but the detective hadn't issued a warrant for him yet, so he didn't know about what I was doing. At some point I had to follow my friends out to the parking lot to make sure they had a buddy to come back in, and he caught me alone. He kept calling my name and I just walked away. I walked away with all of the strength and pride a woman can muster after finally leaving her abuser. I walked away knowing in my heart, that I am fighting for justice with all the courage and strength I could muster. I walked away from him with confidence that I was no longer in his grasp and he now has plenty of stories recorded with his name plastered ALL over them so that if some other girl happens to come forward (and I pray it's no girl that ever meets him after me), then his ass will end up in prison for the rest of his days because of the atrocities he committed towards myself and the other girls.
For having been struggling with insecurities, the sadness of realizing I can't handle a relationship right now, and the thought of ending up alone (which I am more and more okay with as the days go by), this random little memory gave me such strength and hope. I was able to be near him, and his tentacles could no longer permeate my heart because I am already gone. Yes, the damage has been done, but I finally had enough of his shit. I finally got the window to escape, the resources to help me do so, and the time needed to separate myself from his grasp.
For those of you who keep going back to abusers, who keep getting sucked in to their lies and manipulation, or who have to stay for safety reasons or children, I get it. I understand the needing to stay for just a bit longer, or accepting the burden of going back because there isn't sufficient safety in leaving just yet. I get it, I understand, and my heart is heavy for you. I am terribly sorry that you are going through that. I pray that one day, you are able to find your window to escape, and that you run and don't ever look back. Sure, the legal system will drag you back and make you relive the memories. Anniversaries will pop up and bring you down. However, keep fighting and moving and running and working towards your freedom. I promise you deserve it. I pray that once you get to leave, that you never see your abuser again, unless required by the legal system and then only in the presence of the cops that are required to guard him/her and a whole bunch of witnesses. More so, I pray you find your freedom and then peace and confidence to be you.
Praying for you victims and survivors tonight.
Along with thinking about finding a doctor, probably an OB/GYN, comes the thought of how to tell them to be extra careful with me. I have read about it some, and it usually gets the point across by simply saying I have a past history of sexual trauma. Short and to the point. I was gonna say short and sweet, but let's be real, there's nothing sweet about it.
Now, I was contemplating all of this, while throwing the ball for my dog in my backyard, when I remembered a completely random memory: I remember being at a karaoke pub with the girls from my senior year OB and peds rotation, celebrating that we were all done with clinicals. Exfiance was there, and it was after I had already gone to the cops, I believe, but the detective hadn't issued a warrant for him yet, so he didn't know about what I was doing. At some point I had to follow my friends out to the parking lot to make sure they had a buddy to come back in, and he caught me alone. He kept calling my name and I just walked away. I walked away with all of the strength and pride a woman can muster after finally leaving her abuser. I walked away knowing in my heart, that I am fighting for justice with all the courage and strength I could muster. I walked away from him with confidence that I was no longer in his grasp and he now has plenty of stories recorded with his name plastered ALL over them so that if some other girl happens to come forward (and I pray it's no girl that ever meets him after me), then his ass will end up in prison for the rest of his days because of the atrocities he committed towards myself and the other girls.
For having been struggling with insecurities, the sadness of realizing I can't handle a relationship right now, and the thought of ending up alone (which I am more and more okay with as the days go by), this random little memory gave me such strength and hope. I was able to be near him, and his tentacles could no longer permeate my heart because I am already gone. Yes, the damage has been done, but I finally had enough of his shit. I finally got the window to escape, the resources to help me do so, and the time needed to separate myself from his grasp.
For those of you who keep going back to abusers, who keep getting sucked in to their lies and manipulation, or who have to stay for safety reasons or children, I get it. I understand the needing to stay for just a bit longer, or accepting the burden of going back because there isn't sufficient safety in leaving just yet. I get it, I understand, and my heart is heavy for you. I am terribly sorry that you are going through that. I pray that one day, you are able to find your window to escape, and that you run and don't ever look back. Sure, the legal system will drag you back and make you relive the memories. Anniversaries will pop up and bring you down. However, keep fighting and moving and running and working towards your freedom. I promise you deserve it. I pray that once you get to leave, that you never see your abuser again, unless required by the legal system and then only in the presence of the cops that are required to guard him/her and a whole bunch of witnesses. More so, I pray you find your freedom and then peace and confidence to be you.
Praying for you victims and survivors tonight.
Monday, August 8, 2016
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.
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.
*****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.
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.
Friday, July 22, 2016
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.
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.
Thursday, July 21, 2016
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...
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...
Saturday, July 16, 2016
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.
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.
Friday, June 24, 2016
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.
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.
Monday, June 20, 2016
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.
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.
Thursday, June 16, 2016
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.
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.
Friday, June 3, 2016
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...
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...
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Overwhelmed, but Not Stressed
This weekend was an odd one. It's the one actual weekend where I can point to on a calendar and show people that my family fell apart. I went back home to help my parents move, this last weekend. They've been talking about separating for years, but they never actually go through with it because they somehow find a need for each other, usually financially.
Well, this time, it actually happened. Mom bought an RV a couple months back and Dad told her he refused to live in it. Long story short, the landlord for their house decided she wanted to now sell the house instead of renting it out anymore, so she gave them 30 days notice. Dad found an apartment and Mom found a place to park her RV.
At first, when I was told about 6 months ago that they were talking about splitting up, I was relieved. I know that this relationship has been hard on both of them, and they only really stayed together for us kids (my brother and I) but that's not fair. As the date approached, I started getting more stressed. Then the anticipation led to fear and all of a sudden I felt like my whole family was going every-which-way and that I would be all alone, in a big ol' world, to fend for myself. *Flip BedpanAlley's panic attack switch...*
It was rough going for me for awhile. After talking with Counselor about it, I ended up realizing that my parent's relationship wasn't the only thing that I was losing. I felt I was losing touch with family, I was losing my home, I am coming to the end of school, I'm losing "friends", I'm moving to another state in a month or two, I'm having to start a new job, and I am on the brink of a complete life turnover. That's intense. I don't know if you've gone through things like this, but man alive is it hard. Plus, I'm "graduating" from counseling, which has been one of only a couple steady relationships that I've ever had in my life. So, lots of bitter-sweet things happening.
Well, since my parents have been living apart for the past 2-3 days, they both call me almost every day to check on me. Granted, that's because I'm sick. However, they both sound happier and lighter. Sure, I'm certain they might be sad, but I think they figured out their feelings awhile ago and dealt with those while still living with each other. Granted, they are only living separately. My Dad went over and helped my Mom hook up her RV at the little park place. Dad is still going to go back to help finish setting her up. Mom is still going to be nice to Dad and probably continue to give him haircuts. The only thing that is different is that they don't live under the same roof or pay bills together anymore. It's super weird, but hey, if it works for them it works for me. They are talking nicer to and about each other and they're keeping nice because they like each other as friends, but can't handle staying together all the time without kid buffers. That's a normal developmental stage, according to some psychologist that I was supposed to learn about in my Pediatric Nursing Class... that I don't pay attention to... because I'm coloring in the back...
So, whatever. It only made me cry a couple times when thinking about it. However, once I think about it even more and look at the good in the situation, it's much easier to see that this is just something that needed to happen and that it was actually a good thing.
People keep snapping at me. Maybe I'm just that irritating or maybe everyone's just stressed. It could be a combination. Honestly, everyone can be irritating if someone is already stressed. The thing about snapping at me is that you can't simply slap a "sorry" on it and make the whole thing better. I shut down when someone yells at me, in any capacity. It's something I've always done and I am working my hardest to get past it, but it may be one of those roadblocks that I never fully get over.
For those of you who love someone or know someone who has been a victim of sexual assault, an abusive (in any sense of the term) relationship, or comes from a tough childhood background, please be extra cognizant of how you treat them. Some of us in this world have been given a lot of people who push us into the ground. In order to survive, our fight or flight has been molded into more of a shelter in place and become as small as possible. Don't mistake this as weakness, understand that this was our survival tool that kept us from more trouble than we had already experienced. We can still take "criticism" and you can still fully express yourself to us, but be gentle. Remember to think about what you actually need to and intend to say, and say it calmly. Make sure not to make personal attacks, but communicate clearly and logically. We need time to process, in many cases, before we can be able to respond. Do not demand an answer right away, because we may not have one for you yet. If you open up the talk as more of a conversation where we can be heard too, things will go smoother. Then, just know that we may be more reserved and quiet for a few days or a few weeks. Be patient with us. Many of us have learned that trying to have our voice heard about issues only causes more problems for us so we have a tendency to avoid conflict and be slow to warm up. Pick your battles. If it is something that is not a huge deal and you can handle it for awhile longer, please do so. Even better, learn to drop it. If it is something that needs to be addressed, address one or two things at a time and don't bombard us with a huge list of things that we do wrong. We'll see that as us being a failure and that you don't like/love us anymore. Trust me, we know what pisses everyone off about us and we do our best to not do those things. Some things are unavoidable and we are flight risks. It doesn't take much to set me off and shut me down for weeks. Something as little as a 3 second snap at me can cause huge problems for weeks that I have to work through.
So please, just be cognizant that some of us have a hard time with communication and with our thinking process. It's not that we're dumb or incapable of discussing things with you, sometimes we just need more time than people who have learned how to be able to discuss or fight for themselves. We haven't necessarily gotten the opportunities to learn how to do that.
Well, this time, it actually happened. Mom bought an RV a couple months back and Dad told her he refused to live in it. Long story short, the landlord for their house decided she wanted to now sell the house instead of renting it out anymore, so she gave them 30 days notice. Dad found an apartment and Mom found a place to park her RV.
At first, when I was told about 6 months ago that they were talking about splitting up, I was relieved. I know that this relationship has been hard on both of them, and they only really stayed together for us kids (my brother and I) but that's not fair. As the date approached, I started getting more stressed. Then the anticipation led to fear and all of a sudden I felt like my whole family was going every-which-way and that I would be all alone, in a big ol' world, to fend for myself. *Flip BedpanAlley's panic attack switch...*
It was rough going for me for awhile. After talking with Counselor about it, I ended up realizing that my parent's relationship wasn't the only thing that I was losing. I felt I was losing touch with family, I was losing my home, I am coming to the end of school, I'm losing "friends", I'm moving to another state in a month or two, I'm having to start a new job, and I am on the brink of a complete life turnover. That's intense. I don't know if you've gone through things like this, but man alive is it hard. Plus, I'm "graduating" from counseling, which has been one of only a couple steady relationships that I've ever had in my life. So, lots of bitter-sweet things happening.
Well, since my parents have been living apart for the past 2-3 days, they both call me almost every day to check on me. Granted, that's because I'm sick. However, they both sound happier and lighter. Sure, I'm certain they might be sad, but I think they figured out their feelings awhile ago and dealt with those while still living with each other. Granted, they are only living separately. My Dad went over and helped my Mom hook up her RV at the little park place. Dad is still going to go back to help finish setting her up. Mom is still going to be nice to Dad and probably continue to give him haircuts. The only thing that is different is that they don't live under the same roof or pay bills together anymore. It's super weird, but hey, if it works for them it works for me. They are talking nicer to and about each other and they're keeping nice because they like each other as friends, but can't handle staying together all the time without kid buffers. That's a normal developmental stage, according to some psychologist that I was supposed to learn about in my Pediatric Nursing Class... that I don't pay attention to... because I'm coloring in the back...
So, whatever. It only made me cry a couple times when thinking about it. However, once I think about it even more and look at the good in the situation, it's much easier to see that this is just something that needed to happen and that it was actually a good thing.
People keep snapping at me. Maybe I'm just that irritating or maybe everyone's just stressed. It could be a combination. Honestly, everyone can be irritating if someone is already stressed. The thing about snapping at me is that you can't simply slap a "sorry" on it and make the whole thing better. I shut down when someone yells at me, in any capacity. It's something I've always done and I am working my hardest to get past it, but it may be one of those roadblocks that I never fully get over.
For those of you who love someone or know someone who has been a victim of sexual assault, an abusive (in any sense of the term) relationship, or comes from a tough childhood background, please be extra cognizant of how you treat them. Some of us in this world have been given a lot of people who push us into the ground. In order to survive, our fight or flight has been molded into more of a shelter in place and become as small as possible. Don't mistake this as weakness, understand that this was our survival tool that kept us from more trouble than we had already experienced. We can still take "criticism" and you can still fully express yourself to us, but be gentle. Remember to think about what you actually need to and intend to say, and say it calmly. Make sure not to make personal attacks, but communicate clearly and logically. We need time to process, in many cases, before we can be able to respond. Do not demand an answer right away, because we may not have one for you yet. If you open up the talk as more of a conversation where we can be heard too, things will go smoother. Then, just know that we may be more reserved and quiet for a few days or a few weeks. Be patient with us. Many of us have learned that trying to have our voice heard about issues only causes more problems for us so we have a tendency to avoid conflict and be slow to warm up. Pick your battles. If it is something that is not a huge deal and you can handle it for awhile longer, please do so. Even better, learn to drop it. If it is something that needs to be addressed, address one or two things at a time and don't bombard us with a huge list of things that we do wrong. We'll see that as us being a failure and that you don't like/love us anymore. Trust me, we know what pisses everyone off about us and we do our best to not do those things. Some things are unavoidable and we are flight risks. It doesn't take much to set me off and shut me down for weeks. Something as little as a 3 second snap at me can cause huge problems for weeks that I have to work through.
So please, just be cognizant that some of us have a hard time with communication and with our thinking process. It's not that we're dumb or incapable of discussing things with you, sometimes we just need more time than people who have learned how to be able to discuss or fight for themselves. We haven't necessarily gotten the opportunities to learn how to do that.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)