Pedophile privilege part 2 the journey

I knew at 3AM that I had to go to the lake. I had to go to Lilly Lake. My brother sold the house a few months ago. I have had sleepless nights since. I have mourned the loss of the lake, the peace I got from being in the water, the memories of raising my daughter there, and more. I mourned the loss of my family, the abandonment of everything in my childhood. I woke up and asked my husband if he could drive me there to get the closure that I needed. I had no idea what to expect. A new owner lives in the house now. I knew that “letting go” was not what I was looking to achieve. 

“Letting go” is not part of my vocabulary. 

CLOSURE is what is part of my vocabulary. Closed doors. Trying to move forward with understanding and awareness. My intention was to go to the lake house that I grew up in, was surrounded by abuse in, and find answers to the nightmares. I had no idea what I would I would find. I just wanted some sort of closure. 

I drove the long road to the small town of Melrose. Trees, woods, and swampy area line the roads there. Farm land and dirt roads led us back to my “home.” There is one light in Melrose and a gas station that still pumps gas for you!!!


We turned down Neale road, a clay road that I walked down most of my childhood. We took a turn onto Austin Road. I stopped to look at the clay puddles. I briefly reminisced about the clay animals we used to make on that road with our lake friends. 


A beautiful purple flower caught my eye. Then my husband found my orange flower. The orange flower that I used to skip from my house to my nana’s house and stop and look at and admire. 


We followed Austin road to my old driveway. Turning up the driveway we drove so slowly. I looked at all of the trees. I observed each and every tree, the length of the driveway we walked to get to the school bus in the dark every morning. I even saw the part of the woods that I went to when I was a little girl to ponder this life. 


I brought some special things. I wanted to bury them there and more than just release those parts of me but more give gifts to the painful parts of those parts of myself. I threw a blue gem out into the woods where I sat when I was 8 years old. 

We pulled up the driveway. There is one spot at the top of the driveway that you barely come over the hill and you see the lake. It always makes me catch my breath. You can see the green. So much green. All of the bushes my mother planted still thriving. The moss hanging from the trees filtering the sun through the trees, water, and grass. It is beautiful. 


We pulled up and found a truck in the driveway. I walked to the front door. I stepped up the steps I walked up for 40 years. We moved into this house when I was 4 years old. I knocked. It took him a few minutes to come to the door. I had already planned on what I wanted to say. I needed closure because my twin brother sold the house and I just wanted to say goodbye. 


He was extremely kind and graciously allowed me to go to the water. He went back inside and said it was simply “neighborly” to let me go to the water. I beckoned my husband from the car. I cannot walk to the water. I have not been able to for years. My husband carried me down to the dock. He waited as I took my shoes off and stood in the white sand. I walked to the water. It was clear as always. I could see my toes. The water was warmer than a bath. I saw at the beginning of the dock was a stature of an owl. How comforting was that! 



I looked across the lake to my Nana’s house. I remembered swimming across the lake to her house. 

I sat down and grasped the sand and tried to remember the sand castles my mom used to build with me. 

I looked up and there they all were. The ski team. They pointed at me. Then others pointed at me. 

The water was not so calming anymore. The sand didn’t seem so soft anymore. Watching the waves land on my feet didn’t make me feel free anylonger. 

I brought my daughter to this place where I grew up to try and reframe the bad. I wanted her to grow up in this lake of clear water and white sand. I wanted her to feel the bits of good that I had felt. I brought her to evil. I was too manipulated and damaged to see the truth back then. I sw it now. 

I realized in this very moment that I had tried to reframe something that was unframeable. I brought my daughter to a lake full of people that represented evil. These people were evil. These ski club members were still skiing on this lake. So many people who betrayed, did not protect, and physically and emotionally harmed me were STILL HERE! I experienced what was a completely confused, delusional, groomed, abused girl emotion. I had misplaced, misguided hope. I had not comprehended what these people had done to me until RIGHT NOW> 

I grasped the sand in my hand and started to cry. I had come back to a place that represented nothing but tragedy and extreme pain. I walked to the end of the dock and threw my baby bracelet in the water. It was kind of a gift, to the water for giving me the one peace I was ever allowed to feel away from the hands of men and also a way to let that part of me know I heard her. 


I stood on that beach and I faced my fears. I did not run away. I did not live in denial or fear. I drove out and faced my fear. 

This photo is the only one taken by my husband:


My husband carried me to my car. 

He stroked my back. I wanted to drive to my Nana’s house now. I wanted to feel what it felt like to see as an adult how far did I walk alone after I swam to her house, walking back home. It was much further than I thought. 


I drove to nana’s driveway. I left a small piece of something special there too. Something to remind me that part of me and my love for her would remain. Her driveway will always fill my heart with peace. So here it is:


We then drove to the church where abuse also occurred.


It was pouring down rain. 

You can see the farm land here in the rain too. 


In each of these places that I visited today I outwardly said, “ I don’t need these memories any more.” I went to these places to purposely, with intention, bring closure to their thoughts and nightmares. I TRY. I have no idea what my efforts will bring in results wise  but I still try. I still find the flowers. I still went to see the only  light in town. I went to see the Hardee’s that we frequented when we were teenagers as a hang out place… even stopped by my first ever job on the corner. 


We drove through town and the one light that is still there. We stopped at Mallards to see the five and dime storewhere my nana used to get me dollar barbies. We stopped to see where I learned to swim and the park nana took me too after we went to the library. We STILL found good!


On the way home I wanted to see my Nana’s grave stone. I have never seen it. It has been 21 years. I was forced to hide my pregnancy when y nana passed away. God forbid me bring shame to the family. Not that my mother had a child out of wedlock! Not that my family did NOTHING but continued skiing witha child molester. But I was pregnant with a man I loved and have been married to for 20 years now. But it had to be hidden . My family has and always will be ashamed of me.  When THEY SHOULD BE ASHAMED. Sickening. 

I wanted to visit my nana’s grave stone. We couldn’t  find it. Drove forever searching. My husband got out of the car in the rain and searched the entire cemetery for what felt like forever until he found it. He was determined. 

I left a picture of my daughter, as my nana was the only one other than me that knew I was having a girl, on her grave stone.  Nana passed away when I was only 4 months pregnant. She told me she knew I was having a girl and to take good care of her so I felt it appropriate to leave a picture of my daughter on her grave stone. I cried again. I left a picture of myself, a stone (for my Jewish heritage), and my necklace that I felt led to leave. I took it off my neck and left it over her name “let God” with a cross. 

I set out on this journey with the intention to get closure. I had no idea what I would end with. I will never go back to Lake Lilly. Lake Lilly is a representation of a LARGE group of liars, denials, betrayals, and family that are willing to choose a pedophile over a good girl. Yep, I can tell you this beyond a shadow of a doubt. I am a good girl. My heart is pure. I put others before myself. I put animals, children, those I love, before me. I know when I look at myself in the mirror that my heart is pure. When I looked out on that lake all I saw was evil. My own family willing to sacrifice their own daughter/sister to be…what? Why? Because of the stigma of abuse? To have a “name” in this country dirt road town where white church going men get to get away with raping little girls. 

Shouldn’t they be more concerned with their honor, their integrity? Their little girl? Their daughter?  

I cried on that lake at the fury and hatred that I felt for all of the ski team who trafficked a little girl and discarded her over and over again. I cried at the people assigned to me as my family. It was their job to love me no matter what. 

They did not. 

Pedophile privilege. It exists. It lives. It destroys. 
I stood on that beach and I knew I did not matter to any of those people and I never would. So no, I will not forgive them, I will not let them go, I will not release them. The damage they ALL did to me is on them. It is their shame. They can decide what they want to do wtih it. 

For today, I will just close the door on them and walk away and watch the sunset instead. 

I have not given up. I CHOSE to face these Demons with my “fear no evil” shirt on for a purpose. I stood on that beach and I discovered the truth. Finally. 

Thank you God. I am finally HOME!

Pedophile privilege

I was looking up the title of my book: The Secrets of Lilly Lake, and up pops this news article about Lily Lake. It is spelled different ways on different signs/sites  so I am not sure what the real spelling is but here is the article. 

http://www.gainesville.com/news/20040610/home-to-world-class-water-skiing

On the cover of the article is this picture:


I was so sickened by this article and this picture that I lay awake late into the night. This man is the man who molested me through out my childhood. We calculated the times and dates today and he had over 200 opportunities to assault me. 

When an individual says: “Forgive and forget….move on….let it go…” I am pretty sure they are unaware of social media reminders (hard to forget when reminded) PTSD, triggers, and the burden they are putting on the individual to have to DO something. I want to know if the person who throws out this insensitive advice knows what it even feels like to BE raped. Now, the man who abused me,  HE can apologize, but How am I burdened to let him go. How am I burdened with years of therapy to somehow learn how to release the chains he has over me, release the power he has. It is not that he has any power over me at all. He HURT me. My body and my mind remembers these things through nightmares and PTSD. I go through all of this therapy and still suffer immensely and someone has the NERVE, the gall, the audacity, to suggest, let it go!!! 

I am not educated enough on the ins and outs of white privledge to comment on that topic. I can tell you that this man has a good amount of money, well known in society, and is PRIVLEDGED!!!! He happens to be white. Does that have anything to do with it? I have no idea and therefore I don’t want to get into the color of his skin. Somehow though, someway, I feel if he had a different skin color, different socioeconomic status, his outcome would have been different. Just a thought so try not to tear me apart on this issue. Right now, his color means nothing to me. 

I care that he is featured on a newspaper article as some sort of superman. But he is just a pedophile. 

I went to bed last night thinking about how he has no power over me. I just have unwanted memory of him. The nerve of someone to tell me I need therapy., Tell me I need different modalities to help me. You can tell me any suggestions you want to tell me but the truth of the matter is that evil happened to me. Nothing will take that away. Good can exist within it and within me and around me. But the evil that has been done to me by this man and others is a part of who I am. PTSD did not happen on it’s own. I very much wish I could send the thousands of dollars of bills for mental health (that by the way have still not allowed me to “let him go.” 

Furthermore I am sick and tired of the stigma of mental illness or mental health. If I explore and examine and express my rage, my anger, my depression, my anxiety, my ongoing issues with the abuse then I am judged. Yes some asshole can park in a disabled parking spot and just be called an asshole. Someone at an office can send me the wrong bill, over charge, over bill, late fee, as a mistake, and I am supposed to THANK her for fixing HER problem. 

There are no stigmas for being a straight up asshole and there should be. But stigmas for anxiety, OCD, PTSD galore. “I had an OCD moment earlier.” I has a total “panic” when I forgot my keys. ” I had a total “crazy” episode when my mother in law wanted cheese trays at my wedding. NO! These terms are not lightly used. A PANIC is what happened yesterday when I could not feel my legs, dissociative did (another misunderstood stigma word) an had no clue where I was for a good hour. I hate the word crazy. But if you were to use it it would be the screaming that happens in my head when a person comes up and hugs me with the cologne the man who raped me was wearing and my head goes manic(preferred word) and I have to then scrub myself in the shower until I almost bleed. 

All because of MR. Famous up there in his picture and his glory. So “get over it” is not in my vocabulary. Telling me to “calm down” won’t help me. If you take the time to learn about PTSD you will understand me. But people won’t any more than they will try to understand what multiple chemical sensitivities are or my muscle disease. 

Hence. Me feeling alone. 

I said it a few days ago and I will say it again, I am not Okay. And I am Okay with saying on MY blog that I am not Okay. I am overwhelmed wtih the magnitude of weight put on my shoulders of healing from abuse, healing from a muscle disease, caring for my daughter, and living with the consequences of these disorders in the face of constant judgment. 

This man gets to be on a cover of a newspaper, our newspaper, honored. Where am I? I overcame his abuse to become a professional waterskier myself. But they want to focus on his family who along with the entire ski team AND my family covered up what he did to me. 

And I am the one who needs to “let go?” Because it will “heal me to feel peace and love.” I will NEVER feel peace and love for a pedophile and those who support him. EVER. That does not keep me or hinder my healing. Anyone wants to honor that man on the cover of a newspaper you go for it. 

God will see fit to do what HE so chooses with that man. 

It is NOT MY responsibility to do ANYTHING FOR HIM in the name of somehow helping myself. 

I will just step over his memory as best I can like I step over a dropped piece of food on the floor. Step over and move towards the best things I can like love for my family, animals, friends, but him? He gets nothing from me. 

Poetry


I went to the garden of hope.

I sat there feeling

Alone.

I tried the door 

At the house of God,

Nobody was at home.

I prayed at the cross anyway,

There I poured out my soul. 

I looked at the raindrops

On each flower petal

Feeling a tiny hint at peace.

I looked back at the cross

And prayed

One more time

That He would somehow

Heal me. 

Dark poetry recounting a traumatic event. 

*photo of me. Copyright protected as are all my photos on this blog. May not be used without permission.

He’ll let me out.

The gold ring on my finger says he will.

He’ll let me out.

Please God make him let me out.

I run my thumb over my ring. 

I spin it round and round.

My eyes dart from him

To the door

To the ground.

I’m bare.

LET ME OUT!

His words come and go.

They are pounding in my head,

Then fade to a dull roar.

I watch his mouth moving

As I spin and twist my ring. 

I can no longer feel my legs.

He commands.

I cannot move.

I think my body is dead,

But I will it to stand.

Let me out, I scream in my head.

I cannot plan my escape.

There is only one door, 

And my feet are glued to the floor. 

He pulls me close.

I smell the beer on his breath.

I watch his lips whisper his request.

I reply with the tiniest squeak,

“Let me out.”

Then I repeat,

I repeat,

I repeat,

And this time I even say please. 

“Please just let me out.”

1, 2, 3, times, twenty. 

My head over his shoulder.

His hands upon me.

I just repeat

Quiet as a mouse

“Please let me out.”

He was going to kill me. 

My left eye saw the gun.

My right eye his fingers gripping me.

One last plea…

Then he screamed,

“GO! Get OUT!”

My hand reached the door.

How my legs made it there I will never know.

My back felt his ghost.

My ring 

On the gold handle knob 

Made a clink.

I heard the sound 

As clear as I heard my eyes blink. 

I believe I floated 

To the door of my car

It made this loud creak as it opened.

Panic rose,

As I turned my head 

To look back,

In slow motion. 

And heard myself finally breathe.

He was nowhere to be seen.

I was free.

There was no doubt. 

I looked at my ring on the steering wheel.

He’d let me out. 

He’d let me out. 

An alligator adventure!!!!!!!!

Today I learned that my fight or flight needs a bandaid. It needs a tune up. I needs some sort of reprogramming. I already knew that it had gone awry with PTSD, my easy startle reflex, my panic mode, and my freeze mode. I don’t have the answer on how to fix it, assist it, or heal it, but it needs some serious TLC. Yes, I am in therapy. Boundaries and voice have been part of the focus. Reframing traumatic experiences another. This fight or flight though…
A few days ago my husband and I went out on an adventure to find alligators. I wanted to see one in real life. What I imagined I would see was an alligator lying on the islands in the middle of the lake or off on the side of the bank of the lake. We saw no alligators. 

Today I wanted to go to the butterfly museum. It is a huge screened in wonderland for butterflies. I don’t ever like to see something in a cage. This was different. It was very beautiful. There were trees and flowers and waterfalls galore. AND we were there 5 minutes before we were told lightening was seen in the area and we had to leave. I took a few pictures as we were being rushed out the door as if a tornado was about to it. We live in Florida. We went outside to the free butterfly garden where we spent a lot of time with surprisingly no lightening or thunder or rain. I was very excited to FINALLY get a picture of the elusive blue butterfly I have been searching for. It isn’t the most fantastic picture but here she is, along with the garden path and a few flowers. I haven’t gotten to the fight or flight yet. Pause for pretty pictures:

The underside of the blue butterfly was brown with a few green outlines and then orange circles with white dots in the middle outlined again in yellow. Then when he opened his wings the blue was brilliant! Just brilliant! 

I felt disappointed that we did not get to stay in the butterfly museum and since it was right around the block from Lake Alice where we had gone to look for alligators we drove back to Lake Alice to look again. We were not disappointed. My husband and I were there alone for most of the time. I drove my scooter again through all of the grass and tree roots and sat at a look out spot by the lake. We spotted an alligator right away. He was way in the middle of the lake. He was small. Maybe 3 feet long. I wanted him to come closer. I even sang him a come a little closer alligator song to see if I spoke alligator as well as I spoke owl. NEVER SING TO ALLIGATORS! Here is the little guy:


We then saw a massive alligator on the corner of the lake.

Here he is. My husband took this photo. All the other photos taken by me. 


 The tiny alligator started swimming fast as the massive alligator was headed straight for him. There was a pursuit. All of a sudden there was this huge splash and I thought the big alligator had eaten the little alligator. I turned on my video and videoed the big alligator for 11 seconds. That is how long it took the little alligator who I’d sung my come a little closer song to to get right to me! He jumped up, I believe saw me and scared himself away not before I screamed and the two people that were there next to us ran. I thought oh my gosh I’m going to throw up. I was so busy looking at the big alligator way out in the lake that I did not even see the little one come up. Little alligators are JUST as scary as big alligators. So I thought.  Here is the video of my filming the big alligator. And then me screaming as the little alligator jumped up but you can’t see him. Lots of alligator drama. 


It seems that the big alligator was trying to scare the little one away because he thought someone may feed him and he wanted the food. This spot I was sitting in must be a spot that someone has been feeding these alligators because that big alligator came right up within I’d say 2 feet of me. He was very scary looking. Looking into an alligator’s eye is very different than looking into an owl’s eye!!! My husband had me move back after I took a picture of him. I looked at him though. I have a tight feeling in my chest just writing the thoughts I have when I look at how close he came to me. And I felt NOTHING.  In fact later in the car I laughed at the entire scenario. 

This is the part I realize  my fight or flight is broken. I can smell a smell, have a trigger, and feel 1000 times more than I did when the little alligator scared me and I screamed or when the massive alligator came right up to me.  Here is the alligator that then swam up to me. You can see my shoes and the distance he was away. 



There was a man that was standing with a woman who was going to throw something out at the alligator so that the body of the alligator was more visible. I said (which I am very proud I used my voice which is rare), don’t do that because if he jumps up here I cannot run AKA muscle disease AKA scooter right there. They left. This man had said a few insulting comments about natural selection and basically if the alligator got me it would just be part of natural selection. Even to a stranger I was disposable. I wish I could go back and throat punch him. He was a pompous know it all asshole that really did need a throat punch. I’m glad I didn’t let him ruin our experience. I’m glad neither alligator mauled me either in hindsight! 

Alligator has been seen CHECK!  I NEVER EVER WANT TO SEE ANOTHER ALLIGATOR AGAIN. But we went on an adventure! We set our intention to see an alligator and we were NOT disappointed that is for sure. Most excitement I’ve had in years. For that one moment that I screamed I felt normal. Like this is what fear is supposed to do. Something scares you , you scream, then you deactivate, calm down, and are ok again. But that big alligator…fight or flight broken!!!

We had quite the adventure. I’m not dwelling on my fight or flight. Just being aware of it and how it is absolutely haywire enough for me to not feel the need to get up and run away at an alligator at my feet. 

Oh and again: never sing to an alligator to come over closer because apparently I DO speak alligator! 

A visit with my owl

The last few days have been exceptionally hard for me. My legs stopped working. They occasionally do this. They feel disconnected from my body and I cannot lift them. If I can move them they have stabbing extreme pain. I knew it was coming and so  I took a quick shower. I thought the warm water would help. It caused extreme cramping. I actually started yelling at my leg to “be strong! Stop this! Come on! Buck up! Work already!!!!” Yelling at my leg did not work. As soon as I got out of the shower I could not lift my leg to even get dressed so my husband helped me.  For 14 hours I could not move them. I tried about 5 hours in  because I had to pee and the extreme pain caused screaming in agony. So I had to pee in a cup. Yep. The truth of living with a disease is not always pretty! But we do what we have to do. I was unable to move after I fell on the futon that is in my room. I had to sleep there for 2 days. My bed is to high to get in and out of. 

That, right there, in and of itself, petrified me. It scaresd me to death. The vulnerability. The helplessness. The pain an agony. The, what will happen next. It is very very scary. My shoulder is so fragile that I cannot be lifted by my arms because my shoulder would just pop right out. I can’t use my arms to push up. It is just a lose lose. I cannot get into my scooter because then I cannot get out of my scooter. 

So that has been my last few days. 

I got up today and my legs started working again. The pain is there but it is less. I got in my scooter this evening determined to go out and find something good. I found a feather. It was the fluffy undercoat feather of an owl. It was softer than cotton. Then I found another feather that had some owl markings on the end. As I went around the block another, then another then another, and then, my owl. There she was. In all of her glory. She did not speak to me. I heard two owls hooting in the distance. She just looked at me. Her big eyes seem smaller now that she is so big. She was so beautiful. I told her about my last few bad days. I mean this owl has been listening to me for going on 6 months now. She just looked into my eyes and listened. I took a few pictures of her but this time I really didn’t want to photograph. I wanted to just be. So I sat in her presence and just let us be together. I said to her with a flick of my hand, ” Alright I know you want to hung just go on.” Sure enough she flew away. 

After I left her I turned around and there was a rainbow in the sky. I took a quick picture and my ipad died. Battery dead. When I came home and charged it I looked at the pictures. The owl had these sparkling colors all around her. She was way above my head so she is not so clear. But the colors. I have never seen that before. Purple, green pink blue. Is this just a camera thing? Whatever it was it was really spectacular to look at. Maybe just something the camera did. And the rainbow. There was not a cloud in the sky. No rain. Just a rainbow. A beautiful rainbow. 

Something good was found.

Things not to say to a person who has finally spoken about sexual assault SoCS guess

The Friday Reminder and Prompt for #SoCS Aug. 12/17

This is part of SoCS # guess. And as you may GUESS I am full of fury. This has trigger warnings. But it is an educational blog that should be read by those who will not be affected by the trigger.

It took me 43 years to fully be able to talk about what happened to me when I was 11. I tried to talk about it when I was 15 or so but I was shut down time and time again. It takes all the courage one can muster to utter a tiny word of the events that happened in sexual assault. As I have discussed in previous blogs I have been assaulted  a number of times. It started when I was 11 years old. I was sexually assaulted 12 years ago by my best friend’s husband.

It took me 3 days to tell my husband. I came home. I fell asleep. I took a shower. I stumbled through the next day in SHOCK. I was in SHOCK. I stayed in shock from the moment he attacked me until the moment I told my husband. Even then and for months after I remained with residue, fear, and levels of shock still going through my nervous system.

We brought his wife over to our house, my best friend, to tell her what happened. The first things she asked, ” Why didn’t you scream. Why didn’t you fight?” I am aware of the classes that teach women to fight off their attackers. I took Karate. I lifted weights. I had the ability to fight. I did not. I was paralyzed wtih fear. I could not move. I could not run. I could not fight. My mind went into many different scenarios in slow motion. Was he going to kill me. Would I survive. No one would hear me. We were locked in a garage and no one else was around. The fear set in the moment that he locked me in the room. I dissociated. Something a person does as a coping mechanism for trauma. Trauma was about to occur. I could have never outpowered im and gotten away.

The shame that women feel for not fighting and not screaming is put onto them by others who ask “why.” Then women ask themselves “why me.” Why did I  do that? Why didn’t I know that this could happen. Why did I get in that car, go in that car, trust my best friend’s husband. Because we do not naturally assume men will be rapists!!! 

A woman throws in alittle alcohol, a party, being alone with a man she did not know and BOOM she put all the blame on herself.

I will say it again as I have for the 2 years of writing this blog and I will say it forever.

The blame lies on the sex offender, the rapist, the molester. The shame and the blame do not lie on the victim. 

Asking me why I did not fight by the sex offenders wife was like getting punched in the stomach and kicked in the face. What she is saying is,” Couldn’t you have stopped it?” No. I could not have.

There are many classes held in our town called RAD where women are taught to fight off their atacker. Attacker. The scenario does not involve multiple men in a hidden area. The scenario does not involve a gun, which was involved in my case. It also does not involve a woman/man who is unable to defend themselves due to intoxication or illness.

So what should you say to a woman or a man who has confessed, opened up, shared their story with you.

1. Your bravery in speaking about what has happened to you is very courageous.

2. I am here if you want to talk any more about it.

3.  I am so so sorry that happened to you.

4. Can I help in any way? Do you need me to be withyou to share what happened with a friend, family, police, etc? Would you like me to be with you becasue I will.

5. Be a prescience. Be a friend. Be a listener. We do not always need words. We need to feel heard. We need to feel validated in the trauma. We need to feel loved through it all and the times that will come after.

What not to say to a woman or a man who has confessed, opened up, shared their story with you. 

1. You do not get to question the circumstance. That is not your role.

2. You do not get to ask why. Why was she dressed that way, why was she in that location. Why was she drinking. Why was she alone with someone she did not know. Why did she trust this person.  It is not your role to ask why or question this victim.

3. How drunk were you? Could you have said no? Could you have fought back? Why didn’t you scream or kick or fight.

And here comes the educational part of my post. This comes from years of therapy. Years of trauma counseling. Years of advocacy. Years of being married to a man who works with sexual abuse victims.  You may not think what you are doing is blaming. You may try to get your head wrapped around the why and understand who this horrendous thing could have happened. There is only one why. A man chose to rape a woman. Period.  Her behavior is not relevant. I was in a swimsuit. Is that relevant. I said not one word while a man was lying on top of me. Is that relevant. I went BACK to the abusers house when he got me and did not say a word as a little girl while he molested me time and time and time and time again. Is that relevant?  Someone who knows nothing about sexual assault may think it is because they are thinking, ” why didn’t you try to save yourself.” In MANY scenarios there IS NO saving yourself.  Why? If you even ask the question why you are blaming the victim whether you think you are are not. Why did she not save herself.

Had I fought the man who attacked me he would have killed me. He said so. He had a gun. I could not fight. I could not speak. I was paralyazed in fear. The other scenario when I was date raped at the age of 1l7. If you were to ask me if or why I did not scream. I would tell you that I was unable. I was trapped. There was no one to scream to. The man intent on raping me was not planning on stopping. Screaming would have angered him and more violence would have proceeded.

I have written this after reading a blog post where a man “innocently” asked the question, after this woman tells her story of rape, why did she ont scream. Why did she not do anything. I felt fury at this comment all night long. Why didn’t you do anything. The damage that that does to a woman’s healing path and journey is irreparable. Now this person could have apologized for saying something hurtuful. He did not. He made excuses.

I’ve heard the excuses all of my life. There are no excuses. My blog is for victims of abuse and I will always advocate for the victim. Forever more. If that means education, I will do it. If that means sharing my story, I will do it. If that means anger at an insensitive comment, I will call it out.

You don’t get to be curious about why a woman/man who has been raped nor do you get to ask why she did nothing. 

NO ONE has that right. EVER.

If a woman/man ( I add man because I know men who have been raped and they get the same validation) has been raped, they cannot afford to be revictimizes by ignorant questions. And if you have asked them. Admit to their ignorance. Apologize. Go back to this person and tell them, ” I am just so very sorry that anyone took something from you, violated you, tricked you.”

The language is not out there. The details are not out there. The voices of men and women invovled as victims in rape are just being spoken. “Rape” may just seem like a word to someone. To a person who has been raped it means life long recovery. Suppression of emotions. Post traumatic stress disorder. Anxiety. Trust issues. And not to mention what has occurred with in the body. The tearing of the vagina, the tearing of the anus. The ripping apart of the body with objects wtih fingers with penisis. The victimization is horrendous. There will be years of therapy. There will be denial in various forms. There will be acceptance and growth and recovery.

But there should NEVER be a person who asks “why” EVER.

A person is raped because there are rapists. If you have ont already guessed, Rape is a crime of violence. Not sexuality. It is an act of violence. Never ever again ask why. 

Can you guess again at my anger?

It is 2017. Educate. Learn. Advocate. And stop revitimizing the victim. I think being raped was quite enough for us!!!!!!!!!!!