There was a man I had a huge crush on when I was about 19 years old. We went mud bogging (redneck backwoods kind of thing) in a jeep with another guy. We were covered in mud. We were in a jeep and bouncing all around spinning mud all over ourselves. It was so fun. I hoped the guy liked me. His name was Roger. I had a mad crush on this guy. Later that night he invited me back to his place with his friend J and everyone had beers and watched TV.
* I cannot proof read this for errors due to my vision being blurred because of forgetting to take my seizure medication on time. Please overlook the typos and any misprint as I am only typing but unable to read the words I am writing
In the middle of all of us watching TV J just hoisted me over his shoulder and took me in the bedroom. There were no sheets on the bed. J was someone that every girl on earth wanted to date. He was gorgeous. He was sought after. I didn’t want anything to do with him though. I wanted to actually date Roger. J took me in the room and took all my clothes off and had sex with me. This was so closely after all of the abuse and dissociation that I don’t recall anything about the experience except the pattern on the bed with no sheets. I kept looking at it and tracing my finger around the flower pattern and the stitching. It was as if nothing was happening. I remember I was wearing this snap at the crotch tank top thing with a shirt and jeans over it. I remember that every day after that I wore layers and still do because it was far to easy to unsnap that snap. While J was having sex with me, Roger came in the room. I stood there and watched. I had my head turned to him looking at him. I thought he would do something or say something. He didn’t. He just closed the door. I didn’t want him to close the door. After J was done with me he got up and left. I got dressed and walked out into the room with the guys drinking and watching tv and no one even looked at me. I walked out thinking..well nothing.
I recall this event because I received an email notification that I had been Facebook friended by J. This could not come at a worse time. I am not using facebook for one. And I need no other memories. I have plenty.
Last night I watched a movie where a girl was raped. In the end the rapist was murdered and vengeance or justice or whatever you want to call it was served. The movie left me unsettled. No one EVER stood up for me, fought for me, did anything in regards of even speaking up for me. Nothing! No fight. All the fight I have done has been on my own. It left me wondering how I would have handled J and all of the other men who have taken advantage of me, used me, and abused me, had just one person shown me that NO we will FIGHT for you!
I was a child. I could not fight for myself. I grew up and still could not as a teenager fight for myself. Whether out of not wanting conflict, not wanting to cause a scene, not living in a society where it is appropriate to fight for a victim, I’ve heard ever reason for not standing up for me but never actually known how it feels to be stood up for.
I literally have no idea how it feels to stand and watch someone fight for me. Not just in violence but in words in stance in action or even in presence. My life has been full of passive when it comes to the crimes committed against me.
In this movie they used the word rape. At one point the good guy gets the bad guy to admit, yeah, I raped her. And I thought all day about this and even more so after the memory of J. That word rape. Just that word. A 4 letter word. Shouldn’t it be a 20 letter word. I mean, lets see, destruction, devastation, catastrophe, catastrophic, abomination, monstrosity. Can we not name what is done to us something more than just a 4 letter word that no one even knows really the GRAVITY of what it means.
I woke up this morning wishing no men even had penises. I was sick of them. Sick of their power and how they use that power to penetrate a woman in a space that was meant to have a child and create life and yet they use their penis to violate and destroy all the beauty. Then I realized that one of the men that harmed me didn’t even use his penis at all. He caused probably the most harm and no penis was even involved. Men with their power and their control, I cannot stand it. And the damage that is done should be more than just a tiny word that is rape. Why do men get to do this. Why do men get to get away with it. Why are there no vigilantes. Why is the law there to protect the guilty. Why is there no justice.
I have to many why’s. in reality I just want it all to go away. Most days I wish I were dead so I had no more memories of these men and what they have done to me and the after affects that I live with.
Here I am trying my best to find joy and beauty and love in the world and fight this fight and at the end of the day it can take the tiniest thing to make me wish I didn’t have to wake up tomorrow. All because of man. What man does. And for that matter the women who follow like my own mother.
I keep going back to a comment that was written on my blog about the sandhill crane protecting her baby and that really touched my heart and it made me realize too that was it really too much to ask for just anyone to stand over me and protect me. Every single time a man hurt me there was an opportunity to save me. Every time. But no one did. I feel, unvindicated. I guess that is not a word.
I know facing my abuser doesn’t fix anything and therapy has not taken away the parts of me that were violated. Allowing myself to feel has not fixed anything. Denying my feelings has done nothing. Finding joy has not fixed me.
I am in a boat and it is sinking and I just want one person to swim out to me and paddle for me. One person that will scoop up the water that is filling the boat and paddle me home.
Yesterday I reconnected with an old friend. What I did not say is that this friend is the one whose husband assaulted me 11 years ago and this is why I have not seen her. The reconciliation was needed. The closure was needed. Driving up to her house took me 3 times before I could walk to that front door because of the memories of what her husband did to me. But forgivness and closure and love were the most important thing for her and me. He is no longer in the picture. But i was reminded of him.
I am reminded of all of the men who took pieces of me that were not theirs to take. They took them by manipulation, by grooming, by knowing I was easy prey due to past abuse, took them by force. They took. And days like today I feel all of them and wish I could make them go away. But there they are on facebook. There they are living out their lives with their kids and new wives and fresh lives. Even my own parents living their lives like the ravaging and rape and savagery of my body didn’t take place and does not matter.
Today it all matters.