I was a good girl my whole life. I waited to have sex, I waited to get married, I tried to do everything right.
And then he took my life and ended it. He would have been more merciful if he'd just killed me dead and dumped my body somewhere. God knows it would have been easier on me.
In some ways, you're lucky not to feel anything. It's called dissociation. It's healthy believe it or not, it's your mind trying to protect you from the horrors of what happened.
Fantasies? Yeah, wow. I was a good girl. All those years of being a good girl I fantasized about falling in love, getting married, building a future, a family, an enduring love that makes life more than marking time between cradle and grave.
That was before he killed me. Before I died. Before he introduced me to a horror so real, a death so hard, that I don't know why I'm still alive at times. Other time I wish I wasn't, so I didn't have to keep feeling the helplessness, the isolation, the filth, the shame, pain, flashbacks and nightmares that make me want to kill myself so I don't have to do THAT again.
And then of course are the fantasies now. That I'll be walking somewhere and some complete stranger will rape and murder me one more time. Slowly, painfully. ONE. LAST. TIME. So that finally I really will be dead, and the pain of it all will be behind me, and I don't have to think, feel or remember it again. So that I won't have to stay locked away in my house forever because once you've been destroyed like that, it's so over. Life. Love. Everything and nothing. Done.
So I'm numb in a different way. I go shopping at three in the morning at well lit, well protected grocery stores with self check out lanes so I don't have to be near people. I don't let people close, because once someone you gave yourself to willingly, uses and abuses you and then throws you away like garbage how can you ever trust anyone again. Once someone uses your heart, mind, body and soul against yourself, and violates everything, what's left?
When someone tell you that your feelings, your desires, your boundaries mean nothing, and will just be ignored, well it more than hurts. I kinda envy you in ways. You and Britni both, because you're both stronger than I am. Britni's right, you are an amazing woman.
First time I was raped was ten years ago this year. But it was a slow, painful, abusive build up to it. From there it was all down hill. I was just a thing to him, less important than his cat. But I stayed and it happened again, and again . . . But that's a whole different story.
So I guess what I'm saying is in ways, you're lucky. Growing up, I dissociated. God knows I had plenty of reasons. My father abused me from the time I was five until he threw me out of the house at seventeen. I still don't feel anything about that, and I hope I never do. Living with what my husband did is enough like hell.
I'm dirty, damaged, worse than a . . . I don't know what. The darkness he poured into my heart and soul onto my flesh, I'm trying to get it off me, out of me, away from me. So yeah, I have dark, horrific fantasies that both horrify and repulse me, and at the same time turn me on. Why? Because HE told me, showed me, that was all I was good for. Rage and despair? Yeah. I feel some of that. I'm so terrified of anger that it all turns to soul crush despair. So I fight every day to stay above the water and keep from drowning in all the darkness. To find some bright spots, to hold on to whatever bits I can and slowly heal and grow.
And I wrestle with the demon inside me that makes me want to go out and put myself at risk. To have someone take me again, and this time as he's raping me to say, by the way bitch. the moment I have my fun you're life is over. Because I'm going to fill you with AIDS. And have him laugh manically as he's raping me. And in that fantasy when he tell me that I'm going to die from this, I just lay back, relax and enjoy myself. Not because he's raping me, but because I will know finally, that death is coming for me. That I'll finally be able to sleep, that it will be over. Or at least I tell myself that, even if I know it's not true. And because it means it really was my fault all along, and that it was my fault and I should just get over myself. That I brought it on myself. That I asked for it.
Wow. I'm sorry. This was one of the hardest things I've ever had to write. Harder even than "Everything and Nothing" that I wrote four years ago. Why? Because I wasn't detached from it quite the same way as I was back then.
This is a long, long way of saying that I hope you find your way slowly and gently to some feelings. Or that maybe you get to skip past the worst part and find yourself at the end of the grieving cycle. Cause I wouldn't want you to have to go through some of the stuff I'm . . . dealing with. I hope you don't mind but I'm going to cross post this on my blog. In part because I can't believe I wrote this and because somehow, and I don't this, I feel a little better than when I started reading you post, after finding my way here from Britni's blog.
Yeah, deleting and retyping words? Oh yeah, I get that. I get how hard it was to say "I was raped." Wow, there, I said it too. Wasn't exactly my first time talking about it, and I don't know if it's the first time I've said it in so many words, or those words exactly. Why? Because while I can remember in perfect detail what he did to me. I cannot always remember other things.
I feel quite often like "Sam Beckett" in "Quantum Leap" my memory all Swiss cheesed. Can't remember what I had for breakfast this morning, but I remember everything he did in startling clarity. I'd much rather remember breakfast. Heck I'd even be happy with not remembering how it all felt. That would be a start.
Wow. I'm sorry you had to go through what you did, and I'm sorry I kinda vomited all over your blog.
Sunday, May 17, 2009
WARNING, This post is dark. I'm sorry in advance.
A comment I left on another blog struck me as something I needed to preserve here. This isn't pretty, in fact it's nothing even close. This is about the most harsh, dark and horrific thing I've shared here. Worse even than Everything and Nothing four years ago. But it's part of my healing and growth, it's part of how I feel, and what I've been through to become who I am now. It's why I've often said transition, wow, that was easy compared to some of what I've lived through in my life. This may be triggery for anyone else who has ever been abused and raped, so read carefully and at your own risk.