What It’s Like Being Raped

While I was sitting there on the phone trying to set up a therapy appointment after calling various organizations, I had a sudden realization. I have been avoiding this.. this confrontation with myself. Cuddled up in my pajamas watching old anime shows. I’m just distracting myself from the pain and panic that occured yesterday.

I started to introduce myself to a lovely scheduling assistant named Andrea when I had a flashback of a paralyzing panic attack I had last year. My boyfriend at the time (husband now), had wrapped me in the softest blanket we had and held me while my body stayed rigid as ice. I was stricken with panic in the deepest parts of my soul. I became frozen in time, muscles spasming as I screamed and cried. My jaw was clenched, my neck and joints were locked. I had never experienced anything like this in my life. This was when I discovered I was raped by my pastor at the age of three.

Something like this doesn’t simply become discovered. It’s hinted at in the back of your mind a thousand times over, as your own subconscious is waiting for you to be ready for the memories..

These flashbacks I continued having began to creep further and further through my mind. I couldn’t ignore what I was feeling. All those years of being lied to and not knowing we’re being stripped away to expose the festering flesh of decades old wounds.

I started remembering that room. That dark, gloomy attic room. The place that haunted my mind for years without my knowing. It was time I let myself out of that room.

After I was raped, my parents separated because my father couldn’t even look my mother in her eye. She supported the pastor and stated how I could never remember these things, therefore I could never be effected by them. After threatening my life and her’s, my father got back together with her. Life went on, but the impacts of that moment lasted for years to come.

I was then molested by my half brother, who I don’t even think can admit these things to himself. Then, I was raped by one of his friends. Then I was gang-banged by my own friends. Then I was drugged at a party and brutally raped infront of a crowd of 15 people who, by the way, never called the police or called to see if I was okay. After that last rape, I locked myself in my room for weeks. I tried starving myself to death.

I was suicidal for most of my two digit years. I still have suicidal thoughts to this day. I couldn’t ever kill myself now, not because of myself, but because of the scene my husband would have to come home to and the pain he would endure. That’s why I called the therapist office in the first place, because I need to discover why I live for myself.

None of these things defines the kind of woman I am, but it has twisted me up inside all these years. I’m crying while I write these words because some things I have hidden for so long, it’s painful to even say it out loud. I can’t believe the level of panic I have felt, decades after the event. The sudden realization as a woman in my twenties of being molested as a small child rocked my world.. and it had determined my fate unknowingly for almost two decades.

I hated my mother for all those years of lies, deceit, and torture. I still kind of do. I still sometimes ponder on how happy I would be if she were to die. Sure, that might sound a little fucked up to some people. Others might say it’s justified. My husband said I should start writing horror stories instead of self-guidance, spiritual poems. I kind of agree with him because damn, do I have a lot of material to use. Hell, at this point I could do stand up comedy but that’s neither here nor there.

The truth is.. I can’t move forward without letting go of my past. I can’t find happiness in myself until I speak about these things, and share these things that have happened to me. I hate my mother. God damn, do I hate her sometimes. She took an innocent life and broke it of almost all it’s purity. But let’s be honest… Don’t you want to destroy something that’s beautiful when you are lying there in pain? I do. Yes, sometimes I do too.

I have to admit my dark thoughts and the cruelty I have felt if I am to relish in the light of my life. I’m sure if I told these stories to a few of the guys that broke my heart, they’d want to kill themselves. It’s terrible, truly terrible. There’s no justification, no meaning, no purpose except to cause pain. For weak men, for weak people to exert power over others. It’s a move of ultimate dominance.. and it sickens me in my gut.

All I pray for every single day is that our future daughters and sons never have to go through this again. That I can keep my children safe and strong. That I can teach them how to be warriors, and conquer all and any evil men. That I can teach them how to fight, and how to love. That I can show them being powerless is okay, and how to live with that feeling. That letting go is what makes us brave.

This is my story of being raped, of having so many innocent years being stripped away. This is the pain I feel in my heart as a woman, as a wife, and as a future mother. This is the sorrow that once wrecked my life, and this is the fuel behind my desire to spread change. This is my life. My moment. My past. My present. This is all that I am.. a person with pain, and a person with hope.

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