Monday, December 28, 2009

All for a whopping 18 dollars.

It felt like a car crash, except I had no exoskeleton of a car surrounding my body to protect me from the other cars. The cars that I was being pushed in front of as he bodychecked me into the street.

I did not see it coming. I did not know what was happening, except that he was pulling on my purse, and I held on for dear life. Screaming, yelling, thrashing like a fish as he dragged me on the ground and my knee and hip grated against the cold, dirty asphalt of winter. But if I'm the fish, how come I had the bait? My bait, my purse, I was so desperate to hang on to.

NO. NOT THIS TIME. YOU WILL NOT BE GETTING ANYTHING FROM ME.

I am, ultimately, proud and empowered by my actions. In the past when someone has attacked me, my fight-or-flight had a systematic malfunction, and my best defense was to play dead, as it were. Not this time. I fought, and fought, and fought. Two years of what I wanted to say to my last attacker flooded out of me like venomous bile as I yelled NO over and over again, telling him in variable and no uncertain words what a piece of shit he was, screaming FUCK YOU, you pathetic motherfucker! I couldn't even recall all the things that I said or what they meant, only that I was full of rage.

After he let go of my purse, which felt like an eternity, I actually contemplated the idea of chasing after him and beating on him as best I could. I didn't do it, because I didn't want to put my purse within grabbing distance of him again, but had it just been a "regular" physical assault, I very well may have done just that.

Because you see, this girl? This 5'4," 120 pound blonde girl wearing a pink coat and carrying a purse over her arm? She's not so defenseless as you believed. She's much stronger than you thought, and you must have shit your fucking pants as she struggled, fought, and won against your pathetic ass. Now it's time for YOUR "flight" to kick in, asshole.

And yet...despite the empowerment, the fact that I "won," I still keep having flashbacks, and I feel so afraid of someone trying to mug me again. I was walking with a friend to my car the other night, and I literally jumped 2 feet in the air as a guy ran past me. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you!" he said. I said "That's okay." I feel sorry for the good guys in the world. The ones who don't prey on women, yet have to deal with the consequences of what the bad guys have done.

It's kind of...funny. In a way. Before my sexual assault, I was a Good Little White Girl who was scared of the proverbial stranger who would jump out of the bushes and rape me on a dark night in the big bad city. After my rape, which was perpetrated by one of the closest people in the world to me, I lost that fear of strangers. I had no fear of the streets at night. It was those I knew that I had to be afraid of, not those that I didn't, right? And now? Afraid of strangers again. It seems my thoughts and emotions from the sexual assault are morphing and bleeding with the physical assault from the mugging, and I don't know which way is up right now.

I may have won, but that doesn't mean I wasn't afraid. I just didn't care. The thoughts still ran through my head: What if I get hit by a car? What if I hit my head on the street and have a head injury? What if he has a weapon?

....what if I die?

But if these thoughts had guided my actions, I would've quickly and easily given up my purse, as that would've put my chances of survival at much better odds. No, survival wasn't what was driving me. It was the fight, it was standing up for myself.

And if I died, I was going to go down swinging.

My knee still hurts. The scrapes and bruises are gone now, at least the visible ones. I don't know if it bruised beneath the patella, or if perhaps the impact chipped off a piece of the bone or what. It doesn't feel like ligamental injury...I don't know.

Friday, October 2, 2009

Roman Motherfucking Polanski

(cross-posted from my livejournal.)

This whole Roman Polanski thing is appalling. Not only because of what he did 30 years ago, what he ADMITTED to doing 30 years ago, and fleeing the country so as not to have the face the punishment for what he admitted to doing.

No, what's more appalling to me is just how many people in Hollywood are supporting him, SIGNING A PETITION in his support, and denying what he did. Denying something that he himself already confessed to doing!

So he made some good movies, get the fuck over it! Michael Jackson had some good songs, he was still a child molester! Kobe Bryant is an excellent basketball player, and yes, he's still a fucking rapist!

Whoopi Goldberg stating that what happened wasn't "rape-rape" just perpetuates this cultural myth about what rape is. If rape isn't drugging and sodomizing a 13-year-old girl who said no several times, then I don't know what is. Maybe Whoopi can define "rape-rape" for us. I'd like to hear that definition.

What angers me is that I can do my part to not support certain things that perpetuate rape culture. I can not watch The View (like I would, anyway), or watch any more Whoopi Goldberg movies. I can refuse to watch any Lakers basketball games. I can not buy Michael Jackson albums. I can boycott movies like "Last House on the Left" and "Observe and Report," both of which perpetuate rape culture and use rape as entertainment in their won distinct ways.

But this list of Hollywood and foreign-film heavyweights that are supporting him? Some of my favorite actors and directors are on there. Can I boycott all of Hollywood? Should I?

Erika Abrams, Fatih Akin, Yves Alberty, Stephane Allagnon, Woody Allen, Pedro Almodovar, Gianni Amelio, Wes Anderson, Michel Andrieu, Roger Andrieux, Jean-Jacques Annaud, Tomas Arana, Frédéric Aranzueque-Arrieta, Alexandre Arcady, Fanny Ardant, Asia Argento, Marie-Hélène Arnau, Darren Aronofsky, Olivier Assayas, Alexander Astruc, Gabriel Auer, Zdzicho Augustyniak, Alexandre Babel, Vladimir Bagrianski, Lubomila Bakardi, Fausto Nicolás Balbi, Eleonor Baldwin, Jean-François Balmer, Alberto Barbera Museo nazionale de Torino, Luc Barnier, Christophe Barratier, Ernest Barteldes, Carmen Bartl, Pascal Batigne, Anne Baudry, Juan Antonio Bayona, Xavier Beauvois, Liria Begeja, Matthieu Béguelin, Gilles Behat, Jean-Jacques Beineix, Marco Bellochio, Yannick Bellon, Florence Bellone, Monica Bellucci, Véra Belmont, Jacqueline Belon, Jean-Marc Benguigui, Djamel Bennecib, Luc Béraud, Jacob Berger, Alain Berliner, Gael Garcia Bernal, Pascal Berney, Xavier Berry, Bernardo Bertolucci, Giuseppe Bertolucci, Jean-Marie Besset, Marlène Bisson, Arnstein Bjørkly, Lucien Blacher, Virginie Blanc-Brude Bard, Jean-Marc Bloch, Léa Bloch, Catherine Boissière, Anne-Sylvie Bonaud, Olivier Bonnet, Thierry Boscheron, Renata Bosco, Freddy Bossy, Patrick Bouchitey, Cédric Bouchoucha, Paul Boujenah, Frédéric Bourboulon, Katia Boutin, Ian Brady, Jacques Bral, Sophie Bramly, Paulo Branco, Patrick Braoudé, Guila Braoudé, Edwin Brienen, Adrien Brody, Isabelle Broué, Max Brun, Merima Bruncevic, Anne Burki, André Buytaers, Emilie Buzyn, Anthony Byrne, Marco Cacioppo, Gerald Calderon, Monica Cannizzaro, Peggy Carajopoulou-Vavali, John Carchietta, Christian Carion, Henning Carlsen, Jean-Michel Carré, Esteban Carvajal Alegria, Lionel Cassan, Bryan Cassiday, Miss Catadler, Mathieu Celary, Teco Celio, Muriel Cerf, Dabiel Chabannes, Thierry Chabert, Chagi, Jean-Yves Chalangeas, Daniel Champagnon, Christophe Champclaux, Georges Chappedelaine , Fabienne Chauveau, Claire Chazal, Patrice Chéreau, Brigitte Chesneau, Michel Chevalier, Mishka Cheyko, Catherine Chiono, Catherine Chouchan, Elie Chouraqui, Elie Chouraqui, Souleymane Cissé, Jean- Pierre Clech, Henri Codenie, Robert Cohen, Catherine Colassin, Suzanne Colonna, Jean-Paul Commin, Anne Consigny, Alain Cophignon, Alain Corneau, Jérôme Cornuau, Guy Courtecuisse, Miguel Courtois, Antoine Courtray, Guillaume Cousin, Morgan Crestel, Rudyard Cretenet, Dominique Crevecoeur, Penelope Cruz, Alfonso Cuaron, Estelle Cywje, Frédéric Damien, Sophie Danon, Olivier Dard, Luc et Jean-Pierre Dardenne, Isabelle Dassonville, Bruno de Almeida, Bruno de Almeida, Marion de Blaÿ, François de Lamothe, Hervé de Luze, Artus de Penguern, Valérie de Saint-Do, Virginie De Wilde, Olivier Debert, Viviane Decuypere, Guillermo del Toro, Benoît Delmas, Michel Deloore, Jonathan Demme, Nicolaine den Breejen, Ruud den Dryver, Louisa Dent, Edwin Dervaux, Dante Desarthe, Romain Desbiens, Sophie Deschamps, Thomas Desjonquères, Alexandre Desplat, Chris Devi, Rosalinde et Michel Deville, Guillaume D'Ham, Christelle Didier, Kathrin DiPaola, Claire Dixsaut, Julien Doger, Xavier Dolan, Ariel Dorfman, Jean Douchet, Jean Douchet, Fabrice du Welz, Marina Duarte Nunes Ferreira, Danièle Dubroux, Marc Dufrenois, François Duhamel, Sissi Duparc, Jean Dusaussoy, Georges Dybman, Daniel Edinger, Arne Eickenberg, Yaniv Elani, Gerónimo Elortegui, Gerónimo Elortegui, Elrem, Sam Enoch, Peter Lucas Erixon, Ernest, Ann Eyckmans, Jacques Fansten, Joël Farges, Gianluca Farinelli (Cinémathèque de de Bologne), Etienne Faure, Maud et Romain Ferrari, Michel Ferry, Jean Teddy Filippe, Aurélie Fiorentino, Alan Fischer, Martine Fitoussi, Sebastian Fleischhacker, Joy Fleury., Michael Flynn, Hugues Fontenoy, Harrison Ford, Scott Foundas, Werner Fraai, Jean-Robert Franco, Stephen Frears, Marion Frelat, Thierry Frémaux, Marc Freycon, Nadine Fruchard, Sam Gabarski, Jean Francois Gaillard, René Gainville, Sara Gandolfi, Matteo Garone, Louis Garrel, Yves Gasser, Tony Gatlif, Catherine Gaudin-Montalto, Jean-Marc Gauthier, Costa Gavras, Nathalie Geiser, Lizi Gelber, Isabelle Gély, Jean-Marc Ghanassia, Whoopi Goldberg, Alain Gil, Véronique Gillet, Terry Gilliam, Christian Gion, François Girault, Stéphane Gizard, Nelson Gonzalez, Carlos Miguel Bernardo González, Christophe Goumand, Michel Gras, Eric Gravereau, Martin Gregus, Thierry Grizard, Philippe Gruss, Florent Guézengar, Marc Guidoni, Marta Gutowska, Mikael Håfström, Ronald Harwood, Dimitri Haulet, Geert Heirbaut, Buck Henry, Nicole Herbaut de Lamothe, David Heyman, Laurent Heynemann, Joshua Highfield , Dominique Hollier, Isabelle Hontebeyrie, Frédéric Horiszny, Robert Hossein, Jean-Loup Hubert, Wendy Hudson, Alejandro Gonzalez Inarritu, Jeremy Irons, Gilles Jacob, Eric et Veronique et Nicolas Jacquelin, Just Jaeckin, Thomas Jahn, Olivia Janik, Jean-Baptiste Jay, Anne Jeandet, Marie Jergan, Alain Jessua, Renate Jett, Sébastien Jimenez, Arthur Joffé, Pierre Jolivet, Kent Jones (World Cinema Foundation), Neil Jordan, Peter Josy, Alexandra Julen, Paola Jullian, Roger Kahane, Pierre Kalfon, Elisabeth Kalinowski, Reena Kanji, Nelly Kaplan, Wong Kar Waï, Nicolas Kermel, Darius Khondji, Ladislas Kijno, Muriel Kintziger, Richard Klebinder, Jonathan Klein, Harmony Korinne, Jan Kounen, Chantal Krakowski, Sylvia Kristel, Diane Kurys, Elzbieta Kusak-Majchrzak, Emir Kusturica, Irene Kuznetzova, Jean Labadie, Eliane Lacroux, Eric Lagesse, Michel Laigle, Stéphane Lam, John Landis, Claude Lanzmann, David Lanzmann, André Larquié, Pauline Larrieu, Jacques et Françoise Lassalle, Marc Latil, Carole Laure, Christine Laurent-Blixen, Pierre Laville, Emilien Lazaron, Eric Le Roy, Pierre Le Scouarnec, Fábio Leal, Vinciane Lecocq, Patrice Leconte, Linda Lefebvre, Béatrice Lefoulon, Delphine Legros, Claude Lelouch, Ann Lemonnier, Julieta Lencina, Alain Lenglet, Gérard Lenne, Les Nanaqui, Larry Levine, Charlotte Levy, Lorraine Lévy, Pierre et Renée Lhomme, Katarzyna Lipinska, Jean-Claude Irving Longin, Marceline Loridan-Ivens, Michael Louis Wells, Boris Loundine, Rachel Lowenstein, Catalina Lozano, Hugo Luczyc-Wyhowski, Flore Luquet, Laurence Lustyk, David Lynch, Bania Madjbar, Krzysztof Majchrzak, Laurent Malet, Tim Malieckal, Guy Malugani, Erling Mandelmann, Michael Mann, Yvon Marciano, François Margolin, Jean-Pierre Marois, Tonie Marshall, Alain Martin, Sandrine Martin, Danielle Martinetti, Florent Martinez, Didier Martiny, Mario Martone, Thierry Mathelin, Christine Mathis, Esmeralda Mattei, Nicolas Mauvernay, Yannick Mazet, Christopher, Spencer et Claire Mc Andrew, Natalie Mei, Guillermo Menaldi, Sam Mendes, Mathieu Mercier, Muriel Mercier, Frédéric Mermoud, Laura Metaxa, Allison Michel, Radu Mihaileanu, Jean-Louis Milesi, Claude Miller, Lionel Miniato, Nelly Moaligou, Jean - Marc Modeste , Mario Monicelli, Jeanne Moreau, Frédéric Moreau, Sarah Moreau-Flament, Gael Morel, Omayra Muñiz Fernández, Stephanie Murat, Christian Mvogo Mbarga, Anna N.Levine, Charles Nemes, Juliette Nicolas-Donnard, Sandra Nicolier, Rachel Noël, Rui Nogueira, Olivier Nolin, Alejandra Norambuena Skira, Fabrice Nordmann, Fabrice O. Joubert, Marc Obéron, Michel Ocelot, David Ogando, Mariana Oliveira Santos, Szentgyörgyi Ottó, Martine Pagès, Eric Pape, Abner Pastoll, Alexander Payne, Nicola Pecorini, Richard Pena (Directeur Festival de NY), Lindsey Pence, Olivier Père, Suzana Peric, Jacques Perrin, Cesare Petrillo, Thomas Pibarot, Michel Piccoli, Arnaud Pierrichon, Stéphane Pietri, Anne Pigeon Bormans, Samuel Pinon, Claude Pinoteau, Michele Placido, Sabrina Poidevin, Agnès Catherine Poirier, Natalie Portman, Jean-Yves Potel, Stéphane Pozderec, Harry Prenger, Jean et Marie Prévost, Gilbert Primet, Marie-Hélène Raby, Philippe Radault, Tristan Rain, Florence Raphaël, Florence Raphel, Jean-Paul Rappeneau, Joseph Rassam, Rolandas Rastauskas, Brett Ratner, Raphael Rebibo, Carol Reid, Jo Reymen, Laurence Reymond, Yasmina Reza, Christiane Rhein, Jacques Richard, Dominique Robert, Margarita Robski, Jean-Jacques Rochut, Christian Rogler, Yannick Rolandeau, Paul Rondags, Avital Ronell, Frank Roozendaal, Graciela Rosato, Elisabeth Roudinesco, Kontochristopoulou Roula, Laurence Roulet, Joshua Rout, Paolo Roversi, Isabelle Ruh, Martin Ruhe, Sonia Rykiel, Anita S. Chang, Esteban S. Goffin, JOAQUÍN Sabina, Marc Saffar, Ludivine Sagnier, Gabriela Salazar Scherman, Walter Salles, Jean-Paul Salomé, Jean-Frédéric Samie, Marc Sandberg, Léo Scalpel, Jerry Schatzberg, Richard Schlesinger, Daniel Schmidt, Georg Schmithüsen, Julian Schnabel, Pierre Schoendoerffer, Barbet Schroeder, J. Neil Schulman, Pierre Schumacher, Pierre-Alexandre Schwab, Ettore Scola, Luis Gustavo Sconza Zaratin Soares, Martin Scorsese, Kristen Scott Thomas, Carole Scotta, Steven Sedgwick, Andrea Sedlackova, Frank Segier, Michèle Seguin-Sirhugue, Guy Seligmann, Elis Semczuk, Lorenzo Semple Jr, Julien Seri, Joël Séria, Catherine Sermet, Ken Seton-Vyhnal, Sophie Sharkov, Boris Shlafer, Antoine Silber, Pierre Silvant, Charlotte Silvera, Noel Simsolo, Christophe Sirodeau, Abderrahmane Sissako, Beatrice Sisul , Petter Skavlan, Steven Soderbergh, Marcin Sokolowski, Loïc Sorel, Paolo Sorrentino, Vassilis Sourapas, Roch Stephanik, Karen Stetler, Denise Stieglitz, Guillaume Stirn, Bernard Stora, Gérard Stum, Jean-Marc Surcin, Tilda Swinton, Piotrek Szymanek, Jean-Charles Tacchella, Radovan Tadic, Mickael Tanguy, Danis Tanovic, Bertrand Tavernier, André Techiné, Cécile Telerman, Harold Alvarado Tenorio, Marie-Ange Terrier, Alain Terzian, Christian Texier, Jean-Paul Thaens, Valentine Theret, Virginie Thévenet, Pascal Thomas, Jeremy Thomas, Marc Thomas Charley, Cyril Thurston, Giuseppe Tornatore, Serge Toubiana, Daniel Treichler, Nadine Trintignant, Julie Turcas, Mitja Tušek, Tom Tykwer, Alexandre Tylski, Stephen Ujlaki, José Antonio Valdés Peña, Jaques Vallotton, Phil van der Linden, Betrand van Effenterre, Leopold van Genechten, Christophe van Rompaey, Dorna van Rouveroy, Elbert van Strien, Vangelis, Alessio Vannetti, Lucília Verdelho da Costa, Christian Verdu, Jean-Pierre Vergne, Sarah Vermande, Julien Veyret, Francesco Vezzoli, Régine Vial, Vivien Villani, Marc Villemain, Jean-François Villemer, Daria Vinault, Verde Visconti, Diane Von Furstenburg, Alain Vorimore, Thomas Vossart, Gilles Walusinski, Eric Watton, Monika Weibel, Dominique Welinski, Wim Wenders, Andy Whittaker, Anaïse Wittmann, A Wolanin, Margot Wolfs, Peter Woltil, Arnaud Xainte, Steve Yeo, Paule Zajdermann, Christian Zeender, Terry Zwigoff.


And this is just the list at the time of this entry. And I bolded just the ones I recognized off the top of my head. You may recognize more. Seriously? Holy. Jesus. Fuck. No wonder rape victims don't come forward: Because no one believes them. No one takes it seriously. No one wants to believe that someone they know could possibly have done something so horrible, EVEN WHEN THAT PERSON HAS ADMITTED TO IT.

And the precious few who have been willing to speak out against the petition?:

Kirstie Alley. Allison Anders. Alison Arngrim. Patricia Arquette. Roseanne Barr. Luc Besson. Carrie Brownstein. Beth Chamberlin. Noel Clarke. Paul Cornell. Michael Cudlitz. Lexa Doig. Jesse Eisenberg. Even Ensler. Darren Ewing. Neil Gaiman. Martin Gero. Melissa Gilbert. Christopher Gorham. Javier Grillo-Marxuach. Greg Grunberg. Hart Hanson. Jewel. Jimmy Kimmel. Lisa Kudrow. John Legend. Robert Llewellyn. Bill Maher. Joshua Malina. Denis McGrath. Dennis Miller. Tom Morello. Mo Rocca. Chris Rock. Michael Seitzman. Sherri Shepherd. Kevin Smith. Jon Stewart. Alison Sweeney. Bo Zenga.


Notice anything about that list though? Very few of them are Big Name Hollywood types. So maybe more of the A-list and B-list are supporting his extradition, but are afraid to speak out. That saddens me just as much, that not only do victims have to live in fear, but people who support victims have to live in fear of being blacklisted for standing up for what is right.

Hollywood. Just a microcosm for rape culture in the world at large.

Mel Gibson goes on an anti-Semitic tirade and few people in Hollywood spoke up for him. Michael Richards goes off on black people and lost virtually everyone's respect. So basically, the message is....it's not okay to be racist, but it is okay to be a rapist. Gotcha.

I feel sick to my stomach. Oh, I know, don't tell me: I just need to Get Over It.

Saturday, August 8, 2009

This is not comparing apples to oranges, this is comparing apples to apples.

I suppose I haven't had much to say in here lately because I've been doing pretty well with my recovery. Something my therapist said to be about a month ago was that "sometimes thoughts are just thoughts. We think they always have to mean something or that they are who we are." So we end up getting stuck in this cycle of having the thoughts, then thinking about what the thoughts mean, then thinking about what those conclusions mean. And it was like a light turned on for me, and I felt like I could relax. You see, these thoughts I was having, I always thought were something that I needed to deal with, and if I didn't deal with them (i.e. think about what they meant), then it meant I wasn't making progress, because I was obviously in some form of denial if I wasn't thinking about these thoughts.

Phew! Are you as tired from reading that as I was from, er, thinking that? Like a fucking hampster on a wheel.

And what was so beautiful about this revelation is that it meant that these intrusive thoughts started to happen less and less! By accepting that the thought was just a thought, and not trying to figure out where it fitted in the grand fucking scheme of Recovery, I was able to fully accept the thoughts. Because when we're constantly examining something, we haven't (and we won't) fully accept it. It's like going to the grocery store: You know precisely what you want, but if you stand there holding the apple and looking it over, comparing it to the next apple, and the next, and the next, well...you know you want an apple, and you know you'll get an apple, but in the meantime, you're still standing in the fucking store.

And this is more than one apple. This is many apples. How many, I don't know, but I do know that I'll know exactly when it's time to leave the store, and when it's time to go back.

Not to say that last night I didn't get the wind knocked out of me as I was trying to fall asleep, and something triggered that shocking realization of Holy Shit this really happened, and this is how it felt, this was the sequence, the smells, the closet door and the sheets and the bedside table and the curtain over my door and yes, where did that come from?

I guess sometimes there's a few decoys in the fruit bowl.

Saturday, July 25, 2009

Criminal Suits vs. Civil Suits

Posting this link is mostly for my own posterity, but the people over at Yes Means Yes have nicely broken it down exactly why a victim would choose to file a civil suit versus a criminal suit when it comes to sexual assault. So for anyone who thinks that victims who settle out of court, specifically when it comes to celebrity cases, are just golddiggers and extortionists, please do read.

Monday, July 13, 2009

Small victories

I was drawn. Desperately searching for the aisle in the store that would house those plates of steel that would make me feel alright. Debating with myself as I frantically searched and navigated my way through the food aisles that were giving me enough trouble of their own.

"If they cost less than $5, I can get them."

I found them. They cost significantly less than $5.00. In fact, they were only 89 cents. I picked them up, feeling the searing pain in my hand just from holding the package in my fingers. That pain hurt, and it throbbed.

I want the blood, but just not the pain.

I put the package back. In the end, it was as much out of convenience as anything. If I got the blades, I would end up telling my therapist about it on Thursday. He would then be obligated to ensure that they are no longer in my possession. Last time that happened, my then-therapist called Scott, and that was a big fucking mess that brought on a huge fight between me and my best friend. Making me feel like ensuring my safety was a burden. That I, myself, was a burden.

Besides, then my therapist would end up asking me all these questions that I hate, questions like: "What are you going to do to prevent yourself from buying more blades?" "How do I know that I do not need to be worried about your safety?" As much as I love therapy, sometimes it drives me crazy being asked the same questions over and over again, and giving the answers that I 'know' I'm supposed to give.

That right there, is the hardest part. Making yourself give the answers that are true instead of the answers you know they want to hear. Which is exactly why I would tell Casey about the blades in the first place. Otherwise...what's the point? Why waste his time and mine, not to mention my money?

Honesty is painful.

And as I drove home from the grocery store, knowing that I should feel proud of myself for not having purchased those blades, it just felt hollow. Not only did I not feel proud, but I felt the weight of the world pressed down on my shoulders, as I slumped in my seat.

Why does doing the right thing have to be so goddamn hard? Because...in the end...I know that I have to deal with this shit, for real, and not bleed or purge or drink it away.

Saturday, July 11, 2009

Every once in a while I'm able to stop. and breathe. and feel peace. Going outside after the last strands of sunlight have faded, turning the sky dusky. A grey cloud arching across the sky, with lighter grey rings around it. Even if it's not a silver lining, it'll do for now.

And if I stop--for a moment--and truly live in that moment...I am okay. Not thinking about what happened, not worried about how broke I am, not thinking about how I need want to lose weight. Just being.

It doesn't happen as often as I would like.

I've been connecting with people a bit more lately, which is relieving. I am revitalized by the love of those who care for me, and those that I care for deeply. It makes me feel like everything's okay, that I am okay, that I can get through this and be a regular human being again, instead of a Human Being That This Happened To.

On the 4th, my neighbors had this huge party. They are a couple around my parents' age. As I was talking to the man, I kept feeling this sick feeling. His face looked exactly like Rich's face, if Rich was 15-20 years older than he is, and his face wasn't so round. Same small, fucked up teeth, squat nose, beedy eyes and weak chin. I had to keep reminding myself this is not him, this is not him, this is your neighbor, he is a nice guy, this is not him. It was disconcerting, but so...irrelevant? I mean...silly. Stupid. It's one of those things where I have to force myself to stop and ask myself how much am I making this event and this person who did this to me the center of my life? At one point in time, it deserved to be the center. It was the epicenter. But it's not anymore, and I keep telling my brain that. But just because it's not the epicenter anymore doesn't mean that I'm not still feeling the aftershocks. Sometimes they're smaller and smaller...and then sometimes there's another miniature earthquake, like when I saw him 2 weeks ago. It wasn't The Big Earthquake, but a quake, nonetheless.

Quake. Quack. Quack, quack. Lame Duck. Onward, ho!

Saturday, July 4, 2009

I remember you proudly proclaiming that you were a narcissist.

"Men afflicted with Narcissistic Personality Disorders expect to be admired by women and coveted by other men. Expectations of admiration may include physical affection and sexual activity. Rejections of amorous advances are viewed as unacceptable and incongruent with the individual's ego. Rejection may result in anger, degrading insults, and nonconsensual sexual contact. In serious situations, the victim may be raped. The disordered person believes that he is entitled to the sexual contact and, when not consensually provided, may force it." -Duane L. Dobbert, "Halting the Sexual Predator Among Us: Preventing Attack, Rape, and Lust Homicide"

36% of sexual offenders meet the criteria of having NPD. I remember you always joking about how you wanted to make a t-shirt that said "I'm an arrogant, self-loathing narcissist." Too funny, eh? I knew it to be true, even then. I just didn't know that it would manifest in this ultimate crime against me. I knew you couldn't accept the fact that I had no romantic inclinations toward you, but once I made it evident that you hadn't a snowball's chance in hell of being with me, you became so vindictive. Passive-aggressive, cold, resentful.

"Their grandiose sense of self-importance, their conviction that they are in the right, and their unwillingness to respect the needs of others may explain why they have an increased risk of committing sexual offences which might be understood as vindictive rage in response to personal insults and as an almost obsessive desire to make sexual conquests without recognizing and respecting the feelings and needs of potential partners." - Dudeck, M., Spitzer, C., Stopsack, M., Freyberger, H., & Barnow, S. (2007, December). Forensic inpatient male sexual offenders: The impact of personality disorder and childhood sexual abuse. Journal of Forensic Psychiatry & Psychology, 18(4), 494-506.

Personal insult. It is truly fucked up that someone, your best friend, diplomatically indicating that she had no feelings for you would be taken as such a great offense that you felt that you had to get back at her--at me--by overpowering me.

I did nothing to you. Nothing deserving this. You truly are a fucked up man, and I hope you get the help you need. It's just too bad that this help will come too late to have saved me from the trauma you inflicted upon me.

I understand this all...abstractly. Logically, from a psychological perspective. Yet somehow, this understanding doesn't take any of the pain away. And sadly, I doubt that the despicable act that you committed did much to relieve your feelings of worthlessness, did it?

"A person who commits rape has performed inappropriate sexual conduct in less serious behaviors before the rape." -Dobbert

Less serious behaviours. Like unexpectedly groping me on a dancefloor as your girlfriend was passed out drunk on a couch in the club. Like barging in on me changing in my bedroom, with the feeble excuse that you were wanting to show me your new jeans. I should've known this would happen, why did I not see the signs?

Friday, July 3, 2009

The Broken Girl

My therapist tells me that I need to lean on others for support right now, after dealing with the retraumatization of seeing my rapist. It's so hard though. It's hard for me to put myself out there, to reach out, because no one says anything anymore. No one knows what TO say. Everyone is sick of talking about it. I'M sick of talking about it. So I sit, alone with these thoughts and this pain. Which in turn further isolates me.

I just want these thoughts to go away. They're constantly churning through my brain. Y'know that statistic that says that humans think about sex every 6 minutes or something like that? Well, sex has been replaced by my assault, and the ante has been upped to every 3 minutes. It. Never. Goes. Away.

I just want some tool that will make it stop. Some magical psychological tool that will work to free my brain of this. Because this is no way to live.

I had such high hopes in the beginning of my recovery. Now? Now I don't see anything ever changing. I feel like I'm unraveling.

I worry that this is how people will always see me. The Girl That Was Raped. I worry that I'm pushing myself into that role. I worry that talking about it more furthers that concept of me. So I don't talk about it. But it's always in my head.

So what do I do? Oh, I'm supposed to talk about it. To people who either a) don't care, b) don't know what to say. I understand, you want it to go away. You don't want to think that this really happens, certainly not to people you care about. You don't want to think that this is such a traumatizing event that your friend will be forever tortured by.

I'm sorry to shatter your wishes. Mine were shattered, too.

Sunday, June 28, 2009

I found myself sitting in the shower last night, with a knife. A serrated one. I didn't cut. Not really, anyway. It takes so much more effort with a knife, with a serrated blade...if I had razors in this house, this would be a different story. Instead of one pathetic half inch long mark that could actually pass for a cat scratch, I'd...well...I'd have the same fucking thing on my arm that I do right now. What's the difference between 63 ugly, fat scars, and 100 of them?

I found myself sitting in the shower last night, with a knife. In my vagina. I certainly didn't cut there, either. But it did scare the shit out of me.

I really just wanted to feel something. I wanted to get drunk, I wanted to eat, I wanted to binge and purge, I wanted to not eat, I wanted to swallow all of the pills that I've been hoarding over the past year.

Sad thing is, the biggest thing that stopped me from slicing the shit out of myself or taking every little pharmaceutical that I had was that one of my best friends is visiting me tomorrow. I can't be put on a 72 hour hold while he's supposed to be here, that wouldn't be very...polite, now would it?

No one knows what to say. They all change the subject. No one cares, they think that if they ignore it, they can push it away. All they end up doing is ignoring me, and pushing me away. Further and further, back into the hole.

Holed up, alone. This is where I belong.

Monday, June 22, 2009

Never get a $150 parking ticket in Denver.

One hundred twenty dollars.

One hundred twenty dollars to buy me, to feel justified in doing what you did to me. The way you thrust those twenties into my hand, eagerly whipping out your wallet as you would so eagerly whip out your cock just a few hours later.

Did you always think that I was a whore?

I remember you always making jokes about girls "ordering the lobster" on dates. Jokes...but this is truly the way that you think, isn't it?

It's no wonder I threw up most of the meals you ever bought for me. They were laced with entitlement, poisoning me like cyanide.