Hello everyone. It’s been a couple of weeks since I put a new blog out. Honestly, I had a few bad weeks, and being honest at the moment while I put out a tough subject scared me of judgment. Even though I write blogs to show who I am and allow others to know that if you feel this way, you are not alone. I had an anxiety attack late at night, and I wrote through it. It was too real to fast,, and I wasn’t ready to publish it. I did anyway, but then about 30 mins later, I deleted it.
I want to give a little insert— This blog is filled with triggers; if you have been through trauma, rape, verbal abuse, mental abuse, physical abuse, anxiety, anxiety attacks, and depression, this may not be good for you. If you do need help with any of these, it’s essential to talk to someone. It’s okay to talk about what happened to you when you are ready. It’s okay to be open. It’s okay to say it out loud, to cry about, to scream. It’s okay not to talk about it too. I’ve been there. I can’t say that talking about any type of trauma will help you move past it, or make it go away. But you will survive. You are a survivor. If you do want or think you need to talk to someone, I’d recommend using Talkspace. They have licensed therapists that help with a wide range of issues, and you can do it from the safety of your phone/tablet/computer.
I tell myself every day that I am a survivor. I have too. One reason for that is because they didn’t define me. If you’ve read my other blogs, you will find that I am a kind and quiet person. I still am. They took something from me that I will never get back. They hurt me, they put me through something, and I will never get it back. I will always keep the part of me they didn’t take; they didn’t take my kindness, my quietness, my love, my laughter, my good days, and, most importantly, my LIFE.
I had two parts of my life that have been used against me when others are mad. Let me tell you, you who might have gone through something, or someone who doesn’t understand what I am writing about but should keep these words in the back of your head. If someone you love, like, care about has opened up to you about their trauma, whatever the trauma might have been or is. Remember, whatever you say now isn’t going to change what happened to them. They don’t need to hear that they didn’t deserve it. Nobody deserves to be abused or to be raped. Them opening up to you is a HUGE milestone that they’ve worked through. Be proud of them to share this part of their life with you. Please, Do Not Use their trauma as a way to get back at them. Don’t take something that hurt them for the rest of their life, and use it to gain something from it. If that’s your intention when they start to tell you about their trauma, you need to be honest and show them that you care, but you don’t feel comfortable knowing. I am saying all of this because my trauma has been used against me. I’ve had people tell me that I dressed a certain way, and that’s why I was raped. I’ve been told that if I had just gotten out early in the relationship, I wouldn’t have been abused. If I knew he was mean, I should have moved on, If I just spoke up, then it would have been fixed from the start, and someone could have helped me. I’ve been told that it’s been a long time and I should be over it. Lastly, I’ve been told that I made it up. These people who have said these things to me are people I was comfortable sharing a part of my life with that I will never get back, a part of life I wish I could erase because it’s painful. I wish I didn’t get raped. I wish I never met that guy. I wish I could go back to fix that part of me. But I can’t. Can’t go back in time. I can only go forward. I can take what happened to me and make my life for the better. This is the last paragraph before it gets dicey with my trauma. If you’re triggered easily, the next sections aren’t for you.
I didn’t talk about being raped once it happened. I didn’t tell anyone because I didn’t know how to talk about it. I also didn’t know what rape was until I looked up on Google. The first person I told was my therapist at the time, and I made her swear not to tell my parents. She didn’t. I never reported it to anyone. I didn’t talk about it until I was in my early 20’s. There was a show on tv, and something was said by someone who was also watching tv. What they said triggered me. They said, “If she didn’t wear that, it wouldn’t happen.” This statement is far from the truth. I was going fishing at one of my favorite spots to fish. I was wearing a t-shirt and capris’ with sneakers. Nothing about my outfit was “trashy,” “provocative,” “slutty”, or “asking for it.” This guy showed up with fishing gear as well. He said hi to me and asked how the fishing was going. I told him it was “meh.” There was nobody else around. It happened so quick, and he was behind me, he wrestled me to the ground and sat on top of me and touched me. He said if I moved I’d be fish food. I didn’t move. I laid still. He finished, grabbed his fishing gear, and left. I just stayed there until he left. I packed up my fishing gear and went home and showered. I cried a lot initially. I eventually moved on from it. I’m not saying I got over it, or I act like it didn’t happen. I never went back to that fishing spot ever again. I don’t remember his face, his voice, his tone, his vehicle, the license plate, what he was wearing. Even if I did tell someone after it happened, I’d be no help. I had no idea who this person was. After years of silence, I finally spoke out about it. I told my mom first. I didn’t worry about how she’d feel once I told her. She didn’t cry, which helped me talk it out.
When the #metoo started a couple of years ago, I was hit with emotion. I didn’t know how to sort it out. I was going into my local co-op store and there was a poster with over one hundred “#metoo,” and I walked passed it at first. I couldn’t concentrate in the store. I kept thinking about that poster. I started to have a flashback. On the way out of the store, a lady, maybe around 60 or above, stopped and wrote on the poster. She walked away, but what she wrote broke me with tears. She wrote, “50 years until today nobody has known #metoo” I held my tears back, and I stopped to write it. My guy kept walking, but he stopped once he noticed I stopped walking with him. I took a deep breath, picked up the sharpie, and wrote, “#metoo, I am a survivor.” A lady behind me put her hand on my shoulder and asked for a sharpie. She began to write, “#metoo.” The lady didn’t know me. She asked if she could hug me. We did. I hugged a stranger who was also a survivor. -I’m not saying all this with a dry eye right now. I am tearing up. I am a survivor, but my heart hurts because others were hurt by someone and kept it in for years. I went back to the co-op and looked at the poster board one last time, and it was filled with #metoo. I mean filled, you couldn’t find space to write anymore. On the back was filled too. The bravery to speak out about being raped is HUGE. I am a survivor. I can only hope that this will help me as well as you. Don’t allow people to shut you down when something traumatic happens to you. You have a voice, so speak it, use your words in sound or on paper and tell someone. If you want to email me. I have my email on my “Contact” page. Don’t hesitate to email me. I’m here for you. I’m a good listener.
This next paragraph is about verbal, physical, and mental abuse. If you are still here after that last paragraph, thank you. But also this is the next paragraph can trigger you. Please use caution for your emotions. This isn’t going to be comfortable reading, it’s certainly not easy to write, no dry eyes here. If you need immediate help text “Home” to 741741, it’s Crisis Text Line. I’ve used them a lot when I was in a crisis.
Back in late 2012, I met a guy off a dating app. Crazy, right, a dating app. But I thought I could find a nice guy there. He seemed kind, happy, hard-working, friendly, and he asked me on a date. He was a couple of hours from where I was living and thought that I’d have no problem making a date. A couple of weeks later, I met him. He was just as lovely as he was in the texts, over the phone. We started to date after a month of talking. He was busy working, or so I thought. He had a lot of friends, or so I thought. He wanted to meet my parents and friends, so I made it happen. My parents were okay with him; my siblings didn’t seem to like him, I figured that out later on. My friends thought he was cool; they didn’t get any bad vibes from him.
In early 2013 we were doing good until he said he lost his job, his home, and needed help. I tried to help him find jobs. He wanted new clothing to look good at these interviews so I spent money I thought I’d get back but never did. The relationship went through the honeymoon phase. At the end of the phase, he was an asshole. Looking back at it, I’m not sure why I stayed with him. But that’s not the point. I thought he was just having a hard time because he was jobless, homeless, and ultimately having a hard time. Eventually, we moved into a place together, and he had finally got a job. Little things started to arise, and he suddenly didn’t have a job, he needed money, he needed a car, he didn’t have this or that. I tried helping him. The one time I didn’t help him was when it got bad. I was scared. I was numb, just like when I was raped. He started telling me that I was a horrible person, nobody loved me, everyone hated me, people were just nice to my face, I was fat, I was ugly, I was going to make ugly kids, I was going to be alone forever. He started to tell me every day that I was something terrible.
Every day like clockwork, I was another harsh name. I’m talking like the B-word, S-word, C-word, and I thought if I did nice things for him, he’d leave me be. He started to hit me when the house was dirty, he’d choke me until I’d turn white and then let me go and say if I weren’t such a slob, he wouldn’t have to do those things to me. I cleaned every day; the dishes were done every day; the bathroom was cleaned every day; the laundry was done. One night I remember he said he needed to borrow my car and he’d be back in an hour. He didn’t come back for three days. I missed my shifts at work because I didn’t have a car. He showed up and was drunk that night, he pushed me on the bed and raped me. I kept saying no. He called me names, he hurt me, he punched me in the stomach this time, he said I wasn’t loved, nobody would save me. He just told me if I didn’t want to die, I’d do what he said.
He eventually sold anything I had that was easy to sell. Every week he’d hold me down and rape me. One night he took my car and came back with lobster and fancy side dishes. I thought I was being appreciative, but according to him I was a “fat and ugly low life B-word.” He locked me in the bathroom, took my car, wallet, and left for a week, came back once to give me a box of crackers. I had an emergency phone with me in the bathroom that he didn’t know about. Every day my dad would call and talk to me. I’d tell him I was busy cleaning the bathroom. The day the guy came back I heard him come in. He said the person he had with him to wait in the room, and he’d be right in. I made up a lie that I had to cover for a girl at work since I had been on vacation. (Yes, I was on vacation for a week in a bathroom with a box of crackers.) He allowed me to leave, I went into my bedroom to grab stuff, and there was a girl butt naked on my bed. I grabbed my things, and I left. I checked my bank account once I left, I had no money. I used my actual cell and called my mom and said I needed help. I didn’t have to go to work. I started to feel my chest get tight, and I struggled to breathe. I called 911 and said I was having a heart attack. The ambulance was instructed to show up with their lights off so that the guy wouldn’t see the lights and my car. I left my car in the back of a store. I told them I had no money, a phone that was dying, and I needed help.
Once I got to the hospital, they said I didn’t have a heart attack. They did a physical on me though, I had 23 bruises that were fresh to ones that were yellowing and old, I was dehydrated, and I needed to eat. They asked if I was abused, I said yes. They asked if I was raped, I said yes. They asked me several different questions and I said yes to all of them. I wanted my mom so much. I missed my family, and I missed my friends. Eventually, my mom showed up, and she helped me bring me to my car and to the apartment, I packed up most of my stuff. He was trying to be all kind and act like this was okay. I called the landlords and let them know that I didn’t have the rent because the guy stole all my money. I told them I was so sorry. I would try and pay them back as soon as I could. I was told not to worry about it.
He caused so much heartache, so much pain physically and mentally. He sold all my stuff for him to have money for who knows what. I eventually moved jobs again and found a better place to stay and work. He found me. He broke into my car and stole my checking book and wrote himself checks and forged my signature. He had stolen over six thousand dollars from me. I had to get a restraining order because the last time he was in my car, he hit me over the head with a tool of some sort and I got injured severely. He stole my money again out of my account. Finally, the restraining order was given to me, the next time he called my work, I told him that everything would be okay and I would come to see him after I got out of work so we could talk, this was a trap. He gave me his address and I gave it to the cops so that he could be picked up for assault and a bunch of other reasons. He was picked up and processed. I spent days in court, and I spent time going to groups about how to speak about this. I didn’t want to be seen as a victim. I didn’t want to be around anyone. He showed up in court cause he was in jail custody. He grinned at me, and the judge snapped at him to not look in my direction. I spoke up about what he did to me with the judge beforehand and didn’t want to show my face during court while he got his sentence.
After he went to jail and I was able to get my career back on track, I was able to find a home closer to my job so that I could work on my life and recovery. I got tired of people looking at me like I was a victim. I wanted to just look like and be like the person before I went through 2013. That was not as easy as it seemed. It’s been seven years and I can’t say that I am the same person I was in 2012. I know I grew up, I know that I survived and I know that I became stronger because I had to. I still am cautious when I go to gas stations or when I see a lot of guys around the opening of the stores. Sometimes I’m just nervous and can get past it; other times, I will leave and go back at a different time. I’m not perfect when it comes to recovery and I won’t get over all of this that I’ve gone through. I won’t move on and snap my fingers, and all of the pain goes away. I still get nightmares of him putting a knife to my neck, threatening me, punching me, raping me. I have vivid nightmares. I won’t sleep once I wake up. I have to tell myself that I am safe, that I am okay, I am a survivor, I am strong. I don’t tell anyone usually because it’s very vivid, it’s a lot of tell someone how I feel when those nightmares happen. It’s a lot to speak of. I can’t allow people to hurt me because of what I’ve been through and I can’t allow others to feel bad for me. I don’t want that. I don’t want others to see me differently, either. I don’t want people to know my past, and it is a reason they treat me differently or even use it against me like I have mentioned it’s already happened.
This is apart of my story, but it’s not the end of my story. I’m a fighter. I am enough.