RENAISSANCE WARRIOR

To my rapist,

Fucking fuck you, man.

You came into my life under the disguise of a friend. Under the notion that you cared about what happened to me. When I was alone in a new city, I thought you were befriending me. I was alone when my grandfather passed away, and I thought you were being kind. I lost an important person. And you took the rest.

I asked if I could spend the night in your guest room so I could drink at the birthday party. It was the day after my grandfather passed. I was grieving. But I wanted to be near people. I thought you could be trusted. You handed me a vape for the first time. I had been drinking; I wasn’t prepared. You knew that. Control left my body. I needed to pass out and went upstairs. I mistook the master bedroom for the guest bedroom and fell asleep. When I awoke, you were on me. I thought it was a nightmare. Because you weren’t my boyfriend’s face. His was 1000 miles away in the city I last called my home. You weren’t my boyfriend’s body. And that definitely wasn’t my boyfriend’s dick trying to get inside of me.

I saw your eyes by the light of the lamp. I could tell your predator drive was active. As I said, “No, No. NO! No, please god no!” You heard in a porn-star’s voice say, “Ohhhhh yes!” I had no idea where my clothes were. I felt you try to get in me, but my body tightened up my vagina in defense. You tried forcing it in. I cried out in pain. I began bargaining. “Anywhere but there!” I pleaded. You decided to use my mouth instead. You grabbed me by my long hair and shoved my lips around you. You didn’t let go of me until you came. You threw me onto the bed, opposite of the side you sleep on. You passed out. Tears streamed down my face. I laid in shock next to you, unmoving for hours, until I felt sober to drive. I left at 5am in the morning. I went home and slept for the next 24 hours. The next time I talked to my boyfriend on Skype, he yelled at me for not telling him where I had been. I didn’t know what to tell him, because I couldn’t remember what happened. My mind repressed it all.

I became a robot. I automated every minute of every day so that I didn’t have to think about my routine. I worked out 2-3 times a day so that I didn’t have to think.

It took me 6 months to remember what happened. It took me 8 months to tell my boyfriend. It took me 3 years to call it a rape.

You took my life from me. My sense of security from being a martial artist. My love. My heart. My trust. I ultimately broke up with my boyfriend because of you. He accused me of things. I blamed him for not being there to help me. I cut my hair short for the first time in a decade because I hated the thought of someone holding it again like you did. I liked my long hair. But I got rid of 11” of it because of you. I blamed myself. I was wearing a low cut shirt. I was looking for trouble. I was flirting because I was drunk. I didn’t tell our mutual friends because I thought I was in the wrong.

Whenever I saw violence on TV or heard the word rape, I completely froze in my body. I started shaking and looked over my shoulders. I had to escape and go hide. My heart leapt from its chest. I sweat all the time. I laid in corners crying until I passed out. I didn’t know why. I thought I was being sensitive. I didn’t tell anyone.

It wasn’t until I was strong enough to find a therapist that I found out what PTSD was. I had it. Yet another label, because of you. We started ripping off the layers to see if anything was left of me. To my surprise, there was. Just the smallest, tiniest, microscopic, piece of Hope.

“I am not throwing away my shot.”

Never. ever. will I again. 

I am a badass who has conquered so many crisirtunities. 

After talking with my therapist, we decided to give myself a Daily Affirmation challenge. Every day I will have a new sentence that I must look into the mirror and say to myself with conviction. This exercise will be to flood my distorted thinking patterns with positive thoughts in an effort to break old habits (loosely based on the science that positive words do have an impact on plant growth).

I missed making a graphic for yesterday, so here’s Day 1, and I’ll post Day 2 soon. 

Today work punched me repeatedly in the ovaries. Sat in a meeting for about an hour just having people rip into my work without suggestions and without ever saying anything was good. When I started going into pensive look mode, my manager then told me to essentially stop having rbf. I’ve previously gotten feedback that my face is too expressive. 

So while I did tear up in the bathroom, instead of letting myself fully break down I just made a comic about my cats instead. It sucks, I know. But I’ve had Saber for 7 years and just introduced him to a new cat for the first time a couple of months ago. The resulting relationship has been rocky, to say the least. 

So yeah...here’s to cats keeping me from crossing the threshold into insanity.

Sometimes, just sometimes, I get incredibly angry at white dudes who just talk about all the drugs they have done and how it’s changed their life. Then they have the audacity to call me a prude for not ever experimenting like they have. 

Like, good for you and your damn privilege that allows you to feel ok enough to go on a trip for 8 hours and not fear anything will happen to your person. 

I did one benign thing ONCE, and I was assaulted. 

Sunday night blues. Oh, how loathsome you are. 

Life has been going pretty well. I received my first 3-month pap smear check-up after the cancer bullshit. That came back negative. Fuck you, cancer. I won.

For the first time in 20 years in my battle with depression, I finally decided to take an SSRI. It has been helping A LOT. I think. I’m hoping it’s not a placebo effect.

My best friends were due to move here this weekend! Huzzah! 

I finally decided to stop being such a scaredy-cat and confess my feelings to a co-worker/friend that I’ve liked ever since I met him (1.5ish years ago). He asked me out on a date. 

It’s sunnier and warmer in Austin. 

I was feeling on top of the world. Feeling like things might actually be ok. Maybe I could do this thing called life. 

But then the shit starts creeping back in.

Within a week, I’ve had two of my friends call me in tears over the guys they were dating. I avoid the goddamn phone like the plague, but I ended up having to talk to both of them for an hour and calm them down. I’ve never heard either of them cry like that. And of course, immediately I just want to destroy the men’s faces. One of them, it was her damn birthday party. Give them a good old spinnin’ back elbow to take care of that patriarchal bullshit. 

My best friends who moved here are basically going through the worst time ever and I can’t help. They drove 24 hours straight in a truck to get here. The truck got a flat. They slept on the floor. The movers showed up, took all their stuff out, and it doesn’t fit in the apartment. He has to go back to NC to work. She has to deal with the movers tomorrow. It is hurting me that I can’t do anything for them. I don’t even know how I can help them.

My sister is battling her anxiety in Germany and again, I’m helpless.

I was reading a book called, “Will I Ever Be Good Enough? Help for Daughters of Narcissistic Mothers.”  Which is supposed to provide hope, but it basically explained me to a T and demoralized me. How I’m always going to have troubles with trust, vulnerability, self-esteem, self-worth, love, and relying on others, despite how hard I work. Which then lead me to...

Photo stalking my new beau’s Facebook and seeing all the beautiful, fit, blonde women he’s been with. And the distorted thinking patterns were back, like some uninvited house guest. And now I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have told him I liked him. He’s a co-worker. He’s so family-oriented and happy and just a good person. And I am this thing, this cobbled together husk of emotional contradictions. I’m such a work-in-progress. I have trust issues. I never know how to ask people for help. I am so used to having guards up and taking care of shit myself that letting someone else into my heart is the scariest fucking thing in the world. Like, he has been giving the healthy love from his parents during his childhood. Why would he even want to begin to deal with a woman who’s felt wholly unloved her entire life?

Which I know is super vicious insecurity talking, and probably a result of this wicked hormone ride I’ve been on with drugs and such, but it’s wrapping up my weekend in a not-so-nice way.

So here’s a picture of where I’m writing my blog post. I put some work into my backyard today and am relaxing in it. At least I have this (oh yeah, I’m being priced out of and getting into debt) house with fireflies flying around me.