Another post about rape

This makes so much sense! 

Fugitivus

By the by, I consistently use that title because I mean for it to operate as a trigger warning. I write a lot about rape, but sometimes I write about other things, and I don’t want anybody taken off-guard transitioning from “help computer” into wtf rape-talk. Case you were wondering.

I was re-reading my five billion goddamn posts about rape and force, and I realized (surprise!) there is a more succinct way for me to express what I was thinking. I tend to go on and on, circling a subject, trying to get out everything in my head that possibly relates to it, and then sometimes find I didn’t really address the subject at all. So, here is what I wanted to say in those five billion posts about rape:

If women are raised being told by parents, teachers, media, peers, and all surrounding social strata that:

  • it is not…

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My wish for you (to “him”)

 

Once again my thoughts turn to you and it sickens me, because you would like, that wouldn’t you? For me to think of you.

Do you remember that afternoon, when I stood up to you?

I squared my shoulders and I stared into your cold, soulless eyes. My skin was crawling, but I held your gaze. Do you remember what you said to me? I do. Every single word. And you were right, you were my first and I will never, ever forget. I remember those words often and I remember how you laughed in my face. When my thoughts turn to you, I remember what you said and Oh how it makes me hate you.

 

I often wonder what you are doing and if you are thinking of me. Have you forgotten me? Have you forgotten what you did? Have you buried it deep inside?

I’m told you have changed and for the sake of others I hope that is true, but what I hope for most, is for you to hurt the way I did.

I hope you are twisted inside right now, I hope your evil is dragging you down, down into the depths of despair.I want you to drown in your pain, suffocating on your memories. I want you to feel this torture, I want you to face that torment. And I want and I hope that it is utter agony for you.

Then maybe you’ll have a clue, some idea, of what you did to me. Maybe then, you’ll understand some of what I face every single day. Maybe then you’ll see what you left me with. And then you’ll hate you just as much as I do.

And that, is my wish for you.

Demon within

On a roll tonight. I’ve been writing lots in my journal, sharing this one is kinda risky, but given how swamped in shame I am right now, sharing seems to be the right thing to do. This feels right.

So…. Massive trigger warning. You have been warned.

 

Waking into the nightmare

fear gripping your heart

terror ripping through you

back in your body

you have landed in hell.

Looking over your shoulder

confirms your worst fears.

 

You can feel that heat

it’s rising and falling.

Stuck in the rhythm, 

forced back in the cycle

there was never an escape

your sleeping monster

is way too close.

 

Every muscle is screaming,

your purity seeping away beneath you.

The blood will stop, wounds will heal

you can wipe away the urine

even scrub away his semen

but that demon is inside now

and you will never release him.

Stained

 

Saturated by shame,

I am soaked to the core.

Cold and shivering

naked and exposed.

My soul stained by your touch

that can never be undone.

If you were to rip me open

there would be your mark

a darkness encasing my heart

blackening to my bones

My innocence stolen

I have washed away the blood

but can not erase your touch

Every fibre of me remembers you.

The lie is the truth?

Therapy today and we changed gear a little, no disclosure, no past talk, but about what I feel now. It was different, new and scary.

I felt gentle encouragement to say the words I could only write and when I only spluttered out one, I heard him say it for me. I felt myself  brace for impact, oh and was there impact! I couldn’t help but wince as it jolted through me. The pain, embarrassment and shame was inevitable, I guess.

Too much, I steered the conversation away, but my lovely T is way too clever for that, he called me on it. Being the stubborn woman I am, I let him encourage me again, I so wanted to admit the truth out loud.

Falling over themselves the words tumbled out and I so wanted to turn back time, to pull them back inside where they are safe, where they can remain forever, where I can pretend they aren’t real, no matter how loud they get. It’s out and it’s real and I feel it.

I can’t help but feel that what was the lie is now my truth.

 

 

What do you do when you see yourself as they did?

The lie seem to be the truth, the rationality no longer makes sense.

It’s all about those words and all about that feeling and it’s tainting everything you do.

It’s impact is undeniable, it’s been slowly destroying you for years

And what do you do when wrong feels right, when it makes sense, even when it should not?

It’s as you’ve been chained to it for years and admitting should set you free

except it doesn’t, you feel it more than ever and accepting seems so easy

Were you her? Are you her? Is it really true?

That identity should never have been yours they say,

but you can’t deny the relief, you can’t deny how much it fits.

Rejecting it, rationalising won’t work, it’s always been there. It’s you.

Angry, hurt and ashamed.

Trigger warning.

 

I put aside this time to write a little in my journal to prepare for my therapy session tomorrow. My husband is out buying food for a Thanksgiving meal (we will be having a day late) and my children are asleep. I can’t bring myself to open my journal again though. I wrote a lot in it early this morning and after wrestling with myself, I posted one (“Ashamed”). I just can’t seem to go back in that journal right now.

I am feeling pretty bad, but that seems to be the norm at the moment. I’ve been dissociating a lot today and right now I am just full of anger. I’m angry that I’m so ashamed of myself, I’m angry that “he” made me feel that way. I’m angry that I have to feel any of this stuff, I am angry that it was done to me in the first place. I’m so angry. I really, really hate that I was a victim of that abuse, which I am sure is quite a normal feeling. I hate that people know.. yet it’s a relief at the same time. It gets so tiring hiding it, but the point is, I’m angry that anyone has to know. I’m angry that “he” did it, I am angry that talking about it is the only way through.

Sometimes I feel so vulnerable and exposed. I am so private, maybe because of the abuse, or perhaps it’s just who I am.. and so while I’m glad it’s out in the open, it makes me uncomfortable. I was groomed into keeping quiet out of shame. I believed what I was doing (being made to do) was wrong and dirty and that it needed to remain a secret. I believed no one would love me, or could ever love me if they knew the truth. Those feelings have come with me into adulthood and they remain now.

Each time I tell what he did, I am rewarded with a high of taking control, but I’m also fighting shame and that voice telling me I need to stop. Telling helps, but I am so very ashamed of what “he” did- I cannot help it. I was raped and in love with my rapist and that causes a huge amount of shame. I had to take part in vile and lewd acts, I had to say awful things and pretend it was real for me. I won’t go into detail, it’s not what this blog is about, but it was truly sick. I cannot help the shame.

I do know he groomed me to love him and I know he was at fault. I know it’s not my fault, I know the shame belongs to him. I also fully believe that victims of rape have nothing at all to be ashamed of, yet that shame remains.

This is really hard.

 

Let go?

 

I don’t care that it is normal, I don’t care that I am not a freak.

All I know is that is hurts and I’m eaten up with rage

and the shame is smothering me, I feel I can barely speak.

I am trapped by these feelings, it’s as if I’m imprisoned in a cage.

I don’t want to feel that rage and I don’t want to have this pain

because it feels as if  his evil, still lurks inside of me

and it never gives in, it’s always fighting to take the reins.

I know I must let it go, or this is how it will always be

but it it sickeningly safe, I fear it is all I’ll ever know.

I am so anchored by that presence and the familiarity,

will I ever have the strength, to finally let go?