This blog is not going to be Medusa's normal rants or soul sharing. Instead, I'd like to share someone else's story. She deserves for people to know what kind of woman she is, the struggles she has faced, & the true survivor this woman is. For the sake of telling her story, I will refer to her as JM. She is a woman I have known my whole life, who I love dearly, & for whom I have complete admiration.
JM was born the oldest child of a poor rural family. I really do not know much about her childhood, other than she had a total of seven siblings, four sisters and three brothers. One brother died in infancy or early childhood. Her mother died young due to tuberculosis. Her father relied on JM to help raise her siblings but eventually remarried to a sweet woman who mothered his children. JM's father, from what I know, could be a stubborn and hateful man at times.
At age 16, JM married a man twice her age, 32. I do not know about their courtship, but I do
know that he was physically, emotionally, & sexually violent to JM. I was told a story about how JM would run away from her husband's sexual advances, although he would overpower her & caused significant damage to her genitalia & bladder. JM birthed three children, two boys and one girl. The oldest boy was a welcome addition, although I believe she was around 19 or 20 when she had him.
She worked as a seamstress for a local dressmaking manufacturer, gardened for food, raised chickens for food, & made many of their own clothes. Besides working some cattle, her alcoholic husband did not really work. The conditions were so bad or JM that when she became pregnant with their second child, their only daughter, JM took quinine pills in attempt to abort the fetus. It was unsuccessful. When she became pregnant the third time, she again attempted to abort by taking quinine pills. Her actions were out of desperation. Her husband made it clear to the younger
two children that JM had attempted to abort them, even though she truly loves all three of her children. Her children continued the cycle of emotional abuse by taunting JM about the attempted abortions.
JM's husband's abuse was not contained to his wife alone. He regularly emotionally & physically abused their children. At one point, he was beating the younger son so severely that JM pulled out her single shot rifle, pointed it at her husband and was ready to shoot & kill him if he hit his son one more time.
All through this time, JM continued to work. She had to wear dress shoes to work. The shoes did not always fit well so her toes became misshapen due to poorly fit dress shoes. She would prepare every meal. In the mornings, she would ring the neck of one of the chickens, pluck it, clean it, cut it, & fry the chicken for breakfast along with homemade biscuits & whatever else they could afford to eat. The leftovers would often be lunch, and then JM
would return home from a hard day at work & prepare a full supper from scratch. She did this daily for the majority of her adult life.
Eventually, the kids grew up & moved on, got married, & began having their own families. JM's husband began to have failing health due to years of fatty diet, alcoholism, & smoking. He had multiple strokes, & eventually died when JM was around 60 to 62 years old. She never remarried or dated. She was able to become active in her chuch again, something he denied her. She began selling a popular make-up brand & was quite successful. She has a china cabinet full of awards from the make-up company. She doted on her grandchildren, a total of five. Then she got two great-grandchildren & doted on them as well. She would offer up huge meals & family gatherings for holidays, especially Easter.
During this time, she had an accident that permanently & irrevocably injured her back. Arthritis ate away at her knees & hands. JM has had a total of three total knee replacements. Multiple doctors have been shocked at the severity of her back impairment & JM's level of pain tolerance. JM sold the make-up line as long as possible, & even had to cut back her business due to her back pain before she had to finally give up her career. She has survived her husband, almost all of her brothers- & sisters-in-law, two brother, a sister, her youngest son, & many friends & other relatives. After the loss of her son, JM had a bout of blues where it seemed as though she had given up on life. She was diagnosed with lymphoma, and is in remission. She beat cancer in her late 80s! Now, she is battling pulmonary fibrosis, which has a grim mortality rate.
JM continues to be loving to her children, grandchildren, great-grandchildren, & even a single great-great-grandchild. All who have had the pleasure of knowing JM have felt the warmth of love she radiates. She has an army of neices & nephews
who adore her. Despite all the hardships faced during her 92 years, JM has been the epitome of survivor. She never talks about her hardships, & if one looks closely into her eyes, one is able to see the years of hard work, personal hardships, loss, & worry in the depths of her eyes, yet they also show a kind of love and care that is rare.
Who i JM? She is my grandmother, her youngest child my father. She spoiled me, indulged my childhood make-up wishes, & always given me the kind of love only a grandmother can give. She is the epitome of survivor, even as she lies in a hospital bed on oxygen fighting for breath & life. I hope I can be more like her, in her strength, courage, & unconditional love. I love her. JM is survivor #1!
Friday, December 31, 2010
Sunday, December 19, 2010
The Healing Journey: Medusa's Story
How long do we really feel victimized? How long does it take to acheive survivor status? I know it is a difficult process. I'm learning that the process is longer than I may have previously thought.
I have made my rape no secret. That's what prompted me to begin blogging. I have also discussed some sexual assault (non-rape) in previous blogs. I have mentioned my father, an alcoholic who was verbally abusive, violent, and emotionally negligent. Then there is the disconnection from most individuals during my school years. With a few exceptions, grade school through high school were lonely years for me.
The thing is, I am a fighter. I fought back in high school by withdrawing and building an imaginary wall to shield myself from others. I fought endlessly with my father. The last fight we had was in a restaurant shortly after his oncologist declared my dad's cancer was back and he probably would not survive. I'm fighting the rape and various sexual assaults with words, with this blog, on facebook, in the real world, and on Twitter when I can remember.
When it comes right down to it, though, I find I become this wounded little girl again when I face off with someone in an authoritative role. I cry, and I run away under the guise of being too good for (fill in appropriate word here). And I've done it again! This time, someone understood. I guess she's been there, too. She called me on it, and told me this is a challenge I will have to overcome to be successful.
How do I do this? Do I fight? Most employers frown on employees fightng back. Although, in a couple of these jobs where I ran, I was called a liar for defending myself. Do I become a "yes-woman" and submit wholly to a supervisor's demands that are unethical or challenge my own beliefs? I still have integrity.
I will have to learn, adapt, and grow. More importantly, I still have a lot of healing to do. And I want you, the reader, to know it takes time to heal. Take that time for yourself, and learn to grow and adapt as you are on the path to healing. I will be.
I have made my rape no secret. That's what prompted me to begin blogging. I have also discussed some sexual assault (non-rape) in previous blogs. I have mentioned my father, an alcoholic who was verbally abusive, violent, and emotionally negligent. Then there is the disconnection from most individuals during my school years. With a few exceptions, grade school through high school were lonely years for me.
The thing is, I am a fighter. I fought back in high school by withdrawing and building an imaginary wall to shield myself from others. I fought endlessly with my father. The last fight we had was in a restaurant shortly after his oncologist declared my dad's cancer was back and he probably would not survive. I'm fighting the rape and various sexual assaults with words, with this blog, on facebook, in the real world, and on Twitter when I can remember.
When it comes right down to it, though, I find I become this wounded little girl again when I face off with someone in an authoritative role. I cry, and I run away under the guise of being too good for (fill in appropriate word here). And I've done it again! This time, someone understood. I guess she's been there, too. She called me on it, and told me this is a challenge I will have to overcome to be successful.
How do I do this? Do I fight? Most employers frown on employees fightng back. Although, in a couple of these jobs where I ran, I was called a liar for defending myself. Do I become a "yes-woman" and submit wholly to a supervisor's demands that are unethical or challenge my own beliefs? I still have integrity.
I will have to learn, adapt, and grow. More importantly, I still have a lot of healing to do. And I want you, the reader, to know it takes time to heal. Take that time for yourself, and learn to grow and adapt as you are on the path to healing. I will be.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Medusa and Her Struggle with Body Image
Body image is an issue I'm becoming more familiar with as I learn more about fighting sexual violence, ending child abuse, and continue my crusade for what's right and against what's wrong. Body image can be simply described as how one perceives one's own appearance. Body image is related to eating disorders, self-esteem issues, and victimization. Here I'd like to share my own struggle with body image.
I've always been big. In preschool pictures, I stood a head taller than the other kids, and I was much heavier than the other kids. It wasn't that I was fat as a kid, I had a large skeletal frame and a muscular build. This was the time I began to become aware of the physical difference, though. I felt like a giant compared to the other kids at school! As I grew more, my mother would tell me things like, "Oh, you're not fat; you're just pleasingly plump." I was learning to accept that I was fat. I know it was not my mother's intention to label me, she was offering a euphemism for the ugly word "fat".
My father, on the other hand, frequently told me I was fat. He was an alcoholic who could be verbally abusive and often violent, and I understand that his own father was violent and physically and verbally abusive. At one time, my father told me, in a drunken fit, that I was "gonna get so damn fat, he'd have to put a sign in the yard just to marry me off" to some undesirables. A girl doesn't forget that message!
Around the time of junior high, my body began changing again. My breasts werer growing, my hips were getting widers, and my body was maturing faster than I was prepared. Boys began to have conversations with my chest, girls began unhooking my bras, so I began wearing a jacket everyday. It could have been 100 degrees outside, but I was in my jacket. There were other boys that would poke my rear end with the tips of holly leaves (holly bushes grew in front of the school). I began covering as much of myself as I could. I was carrying the fat label, even though I wasn't once puberty hit, as well as hiding my body from everyone.
In high school, girls began to get skinny, very skinny. I could not live up to their skinny! NEVER! So again, I would cover myself, sweaters, sweatshirts, jackets, anything. I remember one girl, particularly skinny, looking at my thighs as I was sitting on my heels on the floor, commenting on how she hates the fat bit that protrudes from your thigh when sitting like that. I never sat like that again. AND, my thighs were muscular at this time, because I spent all summer swimming and the rest of the year riding my bike. I learned over the course of high school that most of these girls who were so skinny had eating disorders, including the one who commented on my thighs.
I went to college, where I gained an eating disorder briefly. I went to college early as part of the college I was accepted to had various programs before the university officially opened. My parents bought some snacks, but we assumed the meal halls were opening. My mom gave me a check for an allowance, but I didn't have a bank account. I got used to nibbling a two or three pieces of dried pineapple and not eating anything else. I was losing weight at an insane rate. It was as though it was melting off me, and I liked it. Sure, I was hungry, but who cares! Over the course of the semester, I began to have dizzy spells, near black outs, and frequent nausea. My friend recognized I was at a crucial point with my anorexia, so she purchased a cheesecake, forced me to eat, and ended my anorexia. But, then I began gaining uncontrollably...
The end of the second sememster was when HE raped me. All of the trauma swirled in my head, and I ate for comfort. Then, I remembered how boys left me alone more when I was covered up. What if I used fat to cover up? It was an almost intentional weight gain to disappear in plain view. I got married during my weight gaining period, and he seemed to love me no matter what, so why should I fight the gain? It didn't solve my problems, though. I still carried the weight trauma, I still carried the issues my dad gave me, I still carried around the feelings of inadequacy from not looking like the "stick girls" in high school. Plus, my health because problematic.
I have a lifelong condition where my neck spine is curved the wrong way and causes debilitating pain. Carrying the weight in excess of 300 lbs only exacerbated my pain. I also have a bulging disc in my lower back, which is definitely not helped by weighing more than 300 lbs. I was beginning to develop high blood pressure, before age 30, and I had sleep apnea because of my weight. Finally, at my neurologist's insistence, I began to lose the weight. Over two years, I've lost more than 76 lbs, so I still have a lot more to lose. This isn't about looking any particular way; this is about me shedding weight, both physical and mental weight!
I still have a long way to reach my neurologist's goal. But I'm working to get there. I am learning to enjoy myself again, and to heal both physically and emotionally. It's hard to let go of those emotional scars. Hearing my father's voice, I can still hear his words echo in my head. But I didn't have to marry an undesirable. I married a really great guy who supports me, loves me, and understands what I'm doing is important. I have reconciled that I will never be a skinny girl. Instead, I have learned that I have curves, quite nice curves that can be dressed well and make me look damn hot. Sometimes I'm insecure, but I fake it and put on this "I'm hot" attitude, and it works. I can do things I never thought I'd be able to do before. For example, I own not one, but TWO, pencil skirts. When your hips and tush are as full as mine, they say don't wear a pencil skirt, but I do!
How does this all relate to my fight against sexual violence? I sometimes wonder, and I'm not blaming myselft, if HE didn't pick up on my insecurities and use them to get me where HE wanted me. I think a lot of society's monsters pick on the weak (as in the insecure, the poor self-esteem, those who will not fight back). I'm making a statement that we need to teach our children, both girls and boys, that they are beautiful and valuable, and they don't have to let anyone hurt them. There will probably be sexual violence for a long time, but if we teach our children that they don't deserve to be treated like that, it would make a difference. Maybe they could fight back; maybe they could avoid predators in the first place. Let me also tell you this: You are beautiful. I have struggled with learning this lesson, but I'm telling you now that YOU are beautiful!
I've always been big. In preschool pictures, I stood a head taller than the other kids, and I was much heavier than the other kids. It wasn't that I was fat as a kid, I had a large skeletal frame and a muscular build. This was the time I began to become aware of the physical difference, though. I felt like a giant compared to the other kids at school! As I grew more, my mother would tell me things like, "Oh, you're not fat; you're just pleasingly plump." I was learning to accept that I was fat. I know it was not my mother's intention to label me, she was offering a euphemism for the ugly word "fat".
My father, on the other hand, frequently told me I was fat. He was an alcoholic who could be verbally abusive and often violent, and I understand that his own father was violent and physically and verbally abusive. At one time, my father told me, in a drunken fit, that I was "gonna get so damn fat, he'd have to put a sign in the yard just to marry me off" to some undesirables. A girl doesn't forget that message!
Around the time of junior high, my body began changing again. My breasts werer growing, my hips were getting widers, and my body was maturing faster than I was prepared. Boys began to have conversations with my chest, girls began unhooking my bras, so I began wearing a jacket everyday. It could have been 100 degrees outside, but I was in my jacket. There were other boys that would poke my rear end with the tips of holly leaves (holly bushes grew in front of the school). I began covering as much of myself as I could. I was carrying the fat label, even though I wasn't once puberty hit, as well as hiding my body from everyone.
In high school, girls began to get skinny, very skinny. I could not live up to their skinny! NEVER! So again, I would cover myself, sweaters, sweatshirts, jackets, anything. I remember one girl, particularly skinny, looking at my thighs as I was sitting on my heels on the floor, commenting on how she hates the fat bit that protrudes from your thigh when sitting like that. I never sat like that again. AND, my thighs were muscular at this time, because I spent all summer swimming and the rest of the year riding my bike. I learned over the course of high school that most of these girls who were so skinny had eating disorders, including the one who commented on my thighs.
I went to college, where I gained an eating disorder briefly. I went to college early as part of the college I was accepted to had various programs before the university officially opened. My parents bought some snacks, but we assumed the meal halls were opening. My mom gave me a check for an allowance, but I didn't have a bank account. I got used to nibbling a two or three pieces of dried pineapple and not eating anything else. I was losing weight at an insane rate. It was as though it was melting off me, and I liked it. Sure, I was hungry, but who cares! Over the course of the semester, I began to have dizzy spells, near black outs, and frequent nausea. My friend recognized I was at a crucial point with my anorexia, so she purchased a cheesecake, forced me to eat, and ended my anorexia. But, then I began gaining uncontrollably...
The end of the second sememster was when HE raped me. All of the trauma swirled in my head, and I ate for comfort. Then, I remembered how boys left me alone more when I was covered up. What if I used fat to cover up? It was an almost intentional weight gain to disappear in plain view. I got married during my weight gaining period, and he seemed to love me no matter what, so why should I fight the gain? It didn't solve my problems, though. I still carried the weight trauma, I still carried the issues my dad gave me, I still carried around the feelings of inadequacy from not looking like the "stick girls" in high school. Plus, my health because problematic.
I have a lifelong condition where my neck spine is curved the wrong way and causes debilitating pain. Carrying the weight in excess of 300 lbs only exacerbated my pain. I also have a bulging disc in my lower back, which is definitely not helped by weighing more than 300 lbs. I was beginning to develop high blood pressure, before age 30, and I had sleep apnea because of my weight. Finally, at my neurologist's insistence, I began to lose the weight. Over two years, I've lost more than 76 lbs, so I still have a lot more to lose. This isn't about looking any particular way; this is about me shedding weight, both physical and mental weight!
I still have a long way to reach my neurologist's goal. But I'm working to get there. I am learning to enjoy myself again, and to heal both physically and emotionally. It's hard to let go of those emotional scars. Hearing my father's voice, I can still hear his words echo in my head. But I didn't have to marry an undesirable. I married a really great guy who supports me, loves me, and understands what I'm doing is important. I have reconciled that I will never be a skinny girl. Instead, I have learned that I have curves, quite nice curves that can be dressed well and make me look damn hot. Sometimes I'm insecure, but I fake it and put on this "I'm hot" attitude, and it works. I can do things I never thought I'd be able to do before. For example, I own not one, but TWO, pencil skirts. When your hips and tush are as full as mine, they say don't wear a pencil skirt, but I do!
How does this all relate to my fight against sexual violence? I sometimes wonder, and I'm not blaming myselft, if HE didn't pick up on my insecurities and use them to get me where HE wanted me. I think a lot of society's monsters pick on the weak (as in the insecure, the poor self-esteem, those who will not fight back). I'm making a statement that we need to teach our children, both girls and boys, that they are beautiful and valuable, and they don't have to let anyone hurt them. There will probably be sexual violence for a long time, but if we teach our children that they don't deserve to be treated like that, it would make a difference. Maybe they could fight back; maybe they could avoid predators in the first place. Let me also tell you this: You are beautiful. I have struggled with learning this lesson, but I'm telling you now that YOU are beautiful!
Friday, November 19, 2010
Crisis of Faith: Reconciling God and Rape
I was raised as a Baptist in a small town. It did not take long to recognize hypocrices and inconsistencies, and I quit going. My grandfather would take me to Sunday school every week, and then I participated in Wednesday night GAs and choir. Even though I quit attending church activities, I held fast to my faith. Through Christ is salvation. Let me be clear: I am not preaching, nor do I believe there is a single path to Godliness. I am relating my story of faith, nearly losing that faith, but finding my relationship with God again.
I was 19 when HE raped me, legally an adult, but with the naivete of youh. It took about a year to understand and comprehend that I was a victim of the "R" word. I began to question how the omnicient and omnipotent God Almighty could have let HIM rape me. I also wondered how God could allow me to suffer. In a fine arts class during my last year in collee, we watched a clip of a Robin Williams film in which he searches for his deceased wife in heaven and hell (I cannot remember the name of the movie). I had to leave the class early because of the hell scenes. I thought that perhaps we are already existing in hell and either too stupid or myopic to understand. I was doubting my faith.
After my father died, my mother was referred (for lack of a better word) to a Catholic retreat. It changed her life. I could see the changes. I was and still am very happy for her! But then she invited me the following year. I made up some excuse. People doubting their faith do not usually engage in religious activity. The next year rolled around, but my mother was asked to give a talk about forgiveness. I thought I should go to support her, although I would not get much out of it. At that time, I was having severe headaches that left me hurting for weeks at a time. I tried to use being behind in work and inability to afford the retreat as an excuse to not go. My mother's friend (and I'm blessed to call this lady my friend now, as well) had paid for another person who was unable to attend. She offered me the spot. I'd run out of excuses, so I went to a Catholic retreat full of reluctance and skepticism.
I expected to be met with the hellfire and brimstone rhetoric from my childhood in the Baptist church. (I have nothing against Baptists! Religion and faith are deeply personal, and I am in no position to judge any person's belief system.) Instead, I was met with about 200 women shining with the light of God's love. The first night, I ran into a problem. The message was that those who sin against us are part of God's plan. I was thinking this would be three days of the "God never gives you more than you can bear" rhetoric. I refused to accept that HIS rape of my body was God's will. Furthermore, I did not want part of any God that would will rape. I was angered and my faith was slipping even more.
The next day I spoke to a lady I call my angel. I explained my concerns, not mentioning rape. I suppose most people thought I was having issues with respect to my father, an alcoholic with a quick temper and violent tendencies. My angel explained that God gave us free will, and most of us make good choices with His gift of free will, but other people somtimes make bad choices with the gift of free will. Those who choose poor use of free will hurt others, and my angel said she thinks it hurts God when we are hurt by others' poor usage of the Divine gift of free will. It began to make sense to me again.
Later on in the retreat, I felt the Holy Spirit, who gave me a message that the time was right to finally tell my mother the secret about my rape and to allow God to help me heal. Some may doubt that I experienced the Holy Spirit, and that's okay. I know it happened, and that is all I need. So, that night, I had a long talk with my mother. We cried, and she held me in her arms. We talked for several hours. She began to understand the changes she had seen in me, such as self-medicating with alcohol, my college grades dropping, my withdrawal from her and family. Our relationship has never been better now, which makes me very happy.
The retreat also taught me about intercessory prayer, prayers sent to saints or other venerables to pray on one's behalf to God. Protestants don't practice intercessory prayer, so I became excited about the idea of asking for extra prayer. Once I got home, I learned that the Catholic church recognizes several patron saints of rape victims. Saints Dymphna, Potamiana (there are spelling variations), and Maria Goretti. I regularly ask these saints to pray for my continued healing on my behalf.
I am not in church every Sunday. I know I commit sin, but I ask forgiveness. I am not sure what religion fits my beliefs. I can say I am an open-minded Christian. I can say that prayer has been an integral part of my healing process. I have my faith again! This reclamation of my faith has prompted my transition from rape victim to rape survivor. For these things, I am grateful and blessed.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Evolution of Medusa: A Chronology
My husband claims I'm radically feminist. I simply believe that women are socially and politically equal to men. I particularly believe no one should be the victim of sexual violence, male or female. This belief stems from a lifetime of facing harassment, being felt up, rape, and a stalking.
My first experience with sexual harassment was in junior high, 8th grade, age 14. As an 8th grader, one privilege was having a top locker, and this locker was prime junior high real estate! It was central to my various classes in addition to closeness to my friends.There was this 6th grade kid (a football player) whose locker was close by. It started with obscene comments and "accidental" brushings. It escalated to this kid grabbing my buttocks. I reported the problem
to the principal, who dismissed my allegations with the typical "he said/she said" rhetoric. I asked the principal to move the kid's locker, but he (the principal) said he couldn't move the kid's locker. I lost my locker. I moved to an inconvenient, bottom locker, but the harassment stopped. This taught me a lesson: don't report your problems because NOTHING will be done to stop it.
A year or two later, I was in high school. Another guy began to harass me between classes. I repressed these memories, but according to my mother I would go home from school crying because the terror was so bad. If the guy, a football player also, wasn't there to harass me, he would get his buddies to harass me. I never reported the harassment because my junior high experience taught me that nothing would be done to this guy. The harassment stopped when my father paid another guy $100 to get the harasser football jock off my back. I don't know what happened, and I didn't know the hired gun. He has my undying gratitude, though. In retrospect, I wish I had reported this situation to my school principal, just so I could know if there would have been repercussions. Probably not, since he played football (in Texas, football rules everything), he was African-American and I'm Caucasian, and because the same rhetoric of "he said/she said" no proof blah blah blah.
The summer between my junior and senior years I got the opportunity to attend a Christian college in west Texas. My best friend graduated a year before me and joined the military. When she came home late that summer to visit, we went to a club that allowed 18 year olds in after hours. At 17, I lied and used my college ID to get in. I just liked to dance. A guy asked me to dance, so I consented. I did not consent to him feeling me up and shoving his tongue down my throat. I could not get away. He finally had to go to the restroom, so I told my friend I was leaving and if she wanted to get home, she'd better come with me. She caught up to me at the exit; I was panicking and couldn't get out
the door. It was my "first kiss", technically, taken by force in a vulgar manner. I prefer to claim the kiss on my cheek from my pre-school boyfriend as my first kiss. It makes a nicer story. By this point in my life, I figure I don't need to be bothered with males, period.
So, then I went to college. I met a girl who was local and introduced me and others to her friends. I experienced several unwanted advances, including fondling. None were as bad as the allegedly "nice guy" who raped me the last night of my freshman year. I got a reputation of being frigid because I fought back. One guy pinned my arms up and grabbed my breasts. When he released my arms, I reached behind me and grabbed his groin. I squeezed my hand and dug my fingernails in so severely that I caused significant pain through thick denim jeans. A minor victory for me! But there were other instances throughout my college years. I eventually obtained a reputation of being "frigid" because I didn't date. And why should I have dated? No one who expressed an interest in me proved himself to be worthwhile. Perverted, socially inept, vulgar, crude, rude, aggressive, these are not qualities I was looking for in a boyfriend.
During my college years, I also acquired a stalker. He worked for the university in the gardening/lawn care department. At first, I didn't think he was threatening. I took a job as a waitress at a restaurant. When he came into the restaurant looking for me, I realized this was not a normal situation. My boss ran him out of the restaurant the second time he came in to "visit" me. I took a year off from school, around the time I got married (I did find the one man I can tolerate and can tolerate me in turn!). When I returned to finish my degree, my stalker found me again. One morning before my first class, he was threatening and would not allow me to get to my class on time. I got scared. I left my class and went to the campus police station. I was stunned because the policeman I spoke to took me seriously! The first time anyone had taken my situation seriously! The officer asked me why I didn't report this problem sooner. The next time I went to my class, my husband and father-in-law escorted me, at a distance. I never saw my stalker again. I don't know if the campus police got to him, or if he saw the large angry men escorting me to class, but it stopped. What scared me most was that he knew my car. He could have found my home because he found me at work.
I have other stories, like the migrant worker coming on to me and trying to kiss me against my will. Or the various unwanted butt or breast grabs I've experienced. These are the reasons I have always taken a stance against sexual violence. The breaking point, for me, was learning that HE raped my friend, too. That was the point I realized I have to speak out, end my silence. I cannot tell her story, or the stories of the other women I know who have been raped and shared their stories with me. I have to speak. I have to tell my stories. I think Medusa has been evolving within me since that first experience of sexual
harassment in junior high. She came to fruition September 13, 2010 when I confirmed HE raped another, my very good friend. I will not stop until we end the violence. If that makes me a "radical feminist", then I embrace that label. Medusa rages on!
My first experience with sexual harassment was in junior high, 8th grade, age 14. As an 8th grader, one privilege was having a top locker, and this locker was prime junior high real estate! It was central to my various classes in addition to closeness to my friends.There was this 6th grade kid (a football player) whose locker was close by. It started with obscene comments and "accidental" brushings. It escalated to this kid grabbing my buttocks. I reported the problem
to the principal, who dismissed my allegations with the typical "he said/she said" rhetoric. I asked the principal to move the kid's locker, but he (the principal) said he couldn't move the kid's locker. I lost my locker. I moved to an inconvenient, bottom locker, but the harassment stopped. This taught me a lesson: don't report your problems because NOTHING will be done to stop it.
A year or two later, I was in high school. Another guy began to harass me between classes. I repressed these memories, but according to my mother I would go home from school crying because the terror was so bad. If the guy, a football player also, wasn't there to harass me, he would get his buddies to harass me. I never reported the harassment because my junior high experience taught me that nothing would be done to this guy. The harassment stopped when my father paid another guy $100 to get the harasser football jock off my back. I don't know what happened, and I didn't know the hired gun. He has my undying gratitude, though. In retrospect, I wish I had reported this situation to my school principal, just so I could know if there would have been repercussions. Probably not, since he played football (in Texas, football rules everything), he was African-American and I'm Caucasian, and because the same rhetoric of "he said/she said" no proof blah blah blah.
The summer between my junior and senior years I got the opportunity to attend a Christian college in west Texas. My best friend graduated a year before me and joined the military. When she came home late that summer to visit, we went to a club that allowed 18 year olds in after hours. At 17, I lied and used my college ID to get in. I just liked to dance. A guy asked me to dance, so I consented. I did not consent to him feeling me up and shoving his tongue down my throat. I could not get away. He finally had to go to the restroom, so I told my friend I was leaving and if she wanted to get home, she'd better come with me. She caught up to me at the exit; I was panicking and couldn't get out
the door. It was my "first kiss", technically, taken by force in a vulgar manner. I prefer to claim the kiss on my cheek from my pre-school boyfriend as my first kiss. It makes a nicer story. By this point in my life, I figure I don't need to be bothered with males, period.
So, then I went to college. I met a girl who was local and introduced me and others to her friends. I experienced several unwanted advances, including fondling. None were as bad as the allegedly "nice guy" who raped me the last night of my freshman year. I got a reputation of being frigid because I fought back. One guy pinned my arms up and grabbed my breasts. When he released my arms, I reached behind me and grabbed his groin. I squeezed my hand and dug my fingernails in so severely that I caused significant pain through thick denim jeans. A minor victory for me! But there were other instances throughout my college years. I eventually obtained a reputation of being "frigid" because I didn't date. And why should I have dated? No one who expressed an interest in me proved himself to be worthwhile. Perverted, socially inept, vulgar, crude, rude, aggressive, these are not qualities I was looking for in a boyfriend.
During my college years, I also acquired a stalker. He worked for the university in the gardening/lawn care department. At first, I didn't think he was threatening. I took a job as a waitress at a restaurant. When he came into the restaurant looking for me, I realized this was not a normal situation. My boss ran him out of the restaurant the second time he came in to "visit" me. I took a year off from school, around the time I got married (I did find the one man I can tolerate and can tolerate me in turn!). When I returned to finish my degree, my stalker found me again. One morning before my first class, he was threatening and would not allow me to get to my class on time. I got scared. I left my class and went to the campus police station. I was stunned because the policeman I spoke to took me seriously! The first time anyone had taken my situation seriously! The officer asked me why I didn't report this problem sooner. The next time I went to my class, my husband and father-in-law escorted me, at a distance. I never saw my stalker again. I don't know if the campus police got to him, or if he saw the large angry men escorting me to class, but it stopped. What scared me most was that he knew my car. He could have found my home because he found me at work.
I have other stories, like the migrant worker coming on to me and trying to kiss me against my will. Or the various unwanted butt or breast grabs I've experienced. These are the reasons I have always taken a stance against sexual violence. The breaking point, for me, was learning that HE raped my friend, too. That was the point I realized I have to speak out, end my silence. I cannot tell her story, or the stories of the other women I know who have been raped and shared their stories with me. I have to speak. I have to tell my stories. I think Medusa has been evolving within me since that first experience of sexual
harassment in junior high. She came to fruition September 13, 2010 when I confirmed HE raped another, my very good friend. I will not stop until we end the violence. If that makes me a "radical feminist", then I embrace that label. Medusa rages on!
Friday, October 22, 2010
Motivation to Rape: Why the hell did HE do this to me?
My main source is from Wikipedia, which is not necessarily a reliable source. I am aware. Unfortunately, at this time, I do not have access to scholarly psychology and sociology journals at this time.
The resounding rhetoric behind rape motivation is that there is no single factor. Gee, I'm surprised... (please detect my sarcasm at the previous statement). Medusa says blaming the victim of any sexual assault or abuse is NEVER okay. No man, woman, or child asks to be violated. Yet, we are assaulted. I never consented to HIM. Why? Why did this happen to me? Why does this happen to others?
Thus far, researchers have tried to explain rape in terms of socioeconomics, anger, power, sadism, sexual power, psychopathy, ethical standards, attitudes toward women, and evolutionary pressures. Medusa has yet to understand how socioeconomics play into rape motivation theory. Medusa understands how social scientists try to explain rape motivation theory in the remaining factors. However, Medusa fails to understand how social scientists can use these theories to explain why one person violates another person in such a manner.
Researchers have identied two attitudes within the convicted rapist population: anger towards women and the need to control or dominate their victims. Research has identified factors that "increase men's 'risk' of committing rape" (RISK OF COMMITTING RAPE?):
*alcohol and drug consumption
*likeliness to cosider victims responsible for their rapes
*lack of knowledge about the repercussions of rape on their victims
*impulsivity and antisocial personality traits (note: antisocial does not mean socially avoidant)
*an exaggerated sense of masculinity
*poor opinion of women
*criminal gang membership (it is thought that criminal gang membership increases peer pressure to prove one's manhood/masculinity)
*having sexually aggressive friends
*history of abuse (unspecified if sexual, physical, emotional, etc.)
*having been raised in a strongly patriarchal family
Feminist theories of rape contend that rape is about exertion of power power. Susan Brownmiller stated: "Rape is nothing more or less than a conscious process of intimidation by which all men keep all women in a state of fear." At this point, Medusa would like to address this inflammatory statement. Not all men rape. Not all men condone rape. Not all acts of rape are perpetrated by men. Brownmiller's statement is inaccurate; however, Medusa does think sexual violence is a systemic problem within society. Feminst theory also addresses "rape culture", or acts of sexism frequently used to "validate and rationalize" misogynistic practices. These may include sexist jokes, victim blaming, the trivialization of prison rape, and sexual objectification. Feminist theory recognizes the sex industry as a major source of sexual objectification, noting that accepance of the sex industry increases sexual violence. One other argument
("Aggression and Coercive Actions: A Social-Inteactive Perspective", Felson & Tedeschi, 1994) is that "sexual fulfillment" is the motive for rape. Can't would-be rapists find a consenting partner? HE had recently started a new relationship when HE raped me.
Three types of rape are identified. There are some shared characteristics, but there are variations. Anger rape and sadistic rape share the characteristic of excessive force and violence; power rape is typified by the use of just enough force and/or violence to subdue the victim. The goal of anger rape is noted to be the humiliation, debasement, and pain of the victim. "Sex is a weapon" in anger rape, as characterized by phyical brutality. Sadistic rape consists of the eroticization of aggression (power and anger). These assaults are deliberate, premeditated attacks that frequently involve torture and restraint. Power rapists use sexuality as a means to compensate for feelings of inadequacy and stimulates their issues of mastery, control, authority, capability, and strength. Their intention is to assert competency and validate masculinity. The power rapist needs to believe the victim enjoyed "it", and their offenses may become compulsive and repetitive.
What does this mean? Medusa thinks, and this is merely my conjecture, social scientists do not yet have all the reasons as to WHY rape occurs. I identify HIM as more of the power rapist type; but this does not make my life easier. I still have to live with the trauma while maintaining and nurturing a slippery and cracked daily balance. How much of me is damaged victim, how much is outraged survivor Medusa fighting sexual violence, and how much is the original me? This is a daily balancing act for every survivor.
The resounding rhetoric behind rape motivation is that there is no single factor. Gee, I'm surprised... (please detect my sarcasm at the previous statement). Medusa says blaming the victim of any sexual assault or abuse is NEVER okay. No man, woman, or child asks to be violated. Yet, we are assaulted. I never consented to HIM. Why? Why did this happen to me? Why does this happen to others?
Thus far, researchers have tried to explain rape in terms of socioeconomics, anger, power, sadism, sexual power, psychopathy, ethical standards, attitudes toward women, and evolutionary pressures. Medusa has yet to understand how socioeconomics play into rape motivation theory. Medusa understands how social scientists try to explain rape motivation theory in the remaining factors. However, Medusa fails to understand how social scientists can use these theories to explain why one person violates another person in such a manner.
Researchers have identied two attitudes within the convicted rapist population: anger towards women and the need to control or dominate their victims. Research has identified factors that "increase men's 'risk' of committing rape" (RISK OF COMMITTING RAPE?):
*alcohol and drug consumption
*likeliness to cosider victims responsible for their rapes
*lack of knowledge about the repercussions of rape on their victims
*impulsivity and antisocial personality traits (note: antisocial does not mean socially avoidant)
*an exaggerated sense of masculinity
*poor opinion of women
*criminal gang membership (it is thought that criminal gang membership increases peer pressure to prove one's manhood/masculinity)
*having sexually aggressive friends
*history of abuse (unspecified if sexual, physical, emotional, etc.)
*having been raised in a strongly patriarchal family
Feminist theories of rape contend that rape is about exertion of power power. Susan Brownmiller stated: "Rape is nothing more or less than a conscious process of intimidation by which all men keep all women in a state of fear." At this point, Medusa would like to address this inflammatory statement. Not all men rape. Not all men condone rape. Not all acts of rape are perpetrated by men. Brownmiller's statement is inaccurate; however, Medusa does think sexual violence is a systemic problem within society. Feminst theory also addresses "rape culture", or acts of sexism frequently used to "validate and rationalize" misogynistic practices. These may include sexist jokes, victim blaming, the trivialization of prison rape, and sexual objectification. Feminist theory recognizes the sex industry as a major source of sexual objectification, noting that accepance of the sex industry increases sexual violence. One other argument
("Aggression and Coercive Actions: A Social-Inteactive Perspective", Felson & Tedeschi, 1994) is that "sexual fulfillment" is the motive for rape. Can't would-be rapists find a consenting partner? HE had recently started a new relationship when HE raped me.
Three types of rape are identified. There are some shared characteristics, but there are variations. Anger rape and sadistic rape share the characteristic of excessive force and violence; power rape is typified by the use of just enough force and/or violence to subdue the victim. The goal of anger rape is noted to be the humiliation, debasement, and pain of the victim. "Sex is a weapon" in anger rape, as characterized by phyical brutality. Sadistic rape consists of the eroticization of aggression (power and anger). These assaults are deliberate, premeditated attacks that frequently involve torture and restraint. Power rapists use sexuality as a means to compensate for feelings of inadequacy and stimulates their issues of mastery, control, authority, capability, and strength. Their intention is to assert competency and validate masculinity. The power rapist needs to believe the victim enjoyed "it", and their offenses may become compulsive and repetitive.
What does this mean? Medusa thinks, and this is merely my conjecture, social scientists do not yet have all the reasons as to WHY rape occurs. I identify HIM as more of the power rapist type; but this does not make my life easier. I still have to live with the trauma while maintaining and nurturing a slippery and cracked daily balance. How much of me is damaged victim, how much is outraged survivor Medusa fighting sexual violence, and how much is the original me? This is a daily balancing act for every survivor.
Friday, October 8, 2010
Herstory of Medusa and Mission
So, in my first blog, I confessed my secret of being a rape survivor. It feels good to open up and be frank about an awful situation that I've pretty much kept bottled up for 12 years. Sometimes I wish I'd pursued criminal charges. At the time, I was so confused and dissociated that I was not sure what happened. It took me a few years and another sexual assault (not me and another perpetrator) to comprehend the "R" word actually happened to me. It was at that time that I opened up to my then boyfriend/fiance (currently, my husband of nine years) and a couple other people. I still kept it secret and ashamed.
Over the years, I've had pretty much every symptom of post-rape trauma. Intrusive thoughts and memories, check! Nightmares, check! Random panic attacks from rather harmless situations, check! Once, I had a dream where I killed HIM, chopped HIS body to tiny bits, and then placed HIS body fragments in large garbage bags placed in those giant plastic storage bins. Then, I took those bins, buried them at the end of my grandmother's driveway on a rural oil top road. I placed an oriental rug over the oil top, and then sat on the rug. I literally buried this all away in my dream. It felt pretty damn good, I must confess.
(I am not recommending assaulting
anyone ever in any manner. I am just sharing my dream.)
Life happens, though, and everything came back. My most recent nightmare was just 2 or 3 weeks ago. I'm learning to, not accept because "accept" is inappropriate, live with it. More than anything, this is about living again, to regain everything HE took from me. Just opening up about my experience has been freeing for me.
So far, Medusa is gaining supporters on Facebook, and hopefully some momentum. If this Medusa initiative can help any single person, then I will consider this a successful endeavor. If I can change a single person's opinion about sex crimes (I'm referring to the enormous majority who believe the problem does not concern them because they have not experienced victimization), then Medusa is a success. Chances are, each individual knows a rape survivor, and possibly a rapist. I know many survivors, and I have known perpetrators, besides my own. Think about who you know. 1 in 6 women and 1 in 33 men in the USA are the victim of attempted or completed sexual assault. That's a lot of people. Medusa has her work cut out for her!
Over the years, I've had pretty much every symptom of post-rape trauma. Intrusive thoughts and memories, check! Nightmares, check! Random panic attacks from rather harmless situations, check! Once, I had a dream where I killed HIM, chopped HIS body to tiny bits, and then placed HIS body fragments in large garbage bags placed in those giant plastic storage bins. Then, I took those bins, buried them at the end of my grandmother's driveway on a rural oil top road. I placed an oriental rug over the oil top, and then sat on the rug. I literally buried this all away in my dream. It felt pretty damn good, I must confess.
(I am not recommending assaulting
anyone ever in any manner. I am just sharing my dream.)
Life happens, though, and everything came back. My most recent nightmare was just 2 or 3 weeks ago. I'm learning to, not accept because "accept" is inappropriate, live with it. More than anything, this is about living again, to regain everything HE took from me. Just opening up about my experience has been freeing for me.
So far, Medusa is gaining supporters on Facebook, and hopefully some momentum. If this Medusa initiative can help any single person, then I will consider this a successful endeavor. If I can change a single person's opinion about sex crimes (I'm referring to the enormous majority who believe the problem does not concern them because they have not experienced victimization), then Medusa is a success. Chances are, each individual knows a rape survivor, and possibly a rapist. I know many survivors, and I have known perpetrators, besides my own. Think about who you know. 1 in 6 women and 1 in 33 men in the USA are the victim of attempted or completed sexual assault. That's a lot of people. Medusa has her work cut out for her!
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Welcome to Medusa's World
Medusa was born to cthonic deities as a mortal who found life as a virgin priestess in Athena's Parthenon. She was a beauty, with gorgeous blond curls, and many would-be suitors. Medusa remained in Athena's cult, though, loyal to her goddess. One unfortunate day, Posiedon raped Medusa in the Parthenon. Athena became outraged, turning Medusa from a beautiful woman into the monstrous gorgon we know. What does this have to do with a 21st century girl? Everything. I endured the same crime as Medusa. I have been transformed from an innocent into something monstrous. I have lived with the shame, fear, intrusive memories, nightmares, and anxiety of post-rape trauma for 12 years. I feel like I have been turned into a monster, just like Medusa. In an effort to continue my journey of healing, recovery, and to hopefully turn my tragedy into something good (like the birth of Pegasus from Medusa's severed body), I'm speaking up. I'm making noise. I can raise awareness. I will advocate for tougher offender laws and on behalf of others afraid or ashamed to speak out.
Sadly, 1 in 6 women will be the victim of an attempted or completed sexual assault; 1 in 33 men will be the vicgtim of an attempted or completed sexual assault. 17.6% of American women have been sexually assaulted. I obtained my facts from http://www.rainn.org/, an incredibly wonderful organization created by Tori Amos, and http://www.vday.org/, created by Eve Ensler who wrote The Vagina Monologues and created V-Day, an international day of fighting sexual crimes of all types against women. It's well beyond the time to end this senselessness. There is no reason for any person to sexually assault any other individual, ever. There is never an excuse for rape, sexual abuse, incest, female genital mutilation, domestic violence, stalking, etc.
As part of embracing this Medusa persona, I am saying, yes, I was raped. I have been stalked, sexually harassed, and otherwise assaulted in a sexual manner. I have reported certain incidents, only to be told nothing could be done because of the "he said/she said" paradox, despite the fact I could provide witnesses. This particular incident was in junior high school. A girl should not be taught to accept any sort of sexual victimization just because.
To be clear, Medusa is not advocating hatred of men. Medusa loves men. Medusa is married to a wonderful man who is extremely supportive and loving. Men are victims of sexual predators, too, and my goal is to advocate for everyone. Medusa's primary purpose is advocacy of sexual assault survivors; however, Medusa also enjoys a wicked sense of humor and will use this blog as an opportunity to make observations that otherwise would only live in Medusa's mind-tank. Please read, enjoy, comment, ask questions, disagree, or whatever. Medusa is here, and she is not backing down.
Sadly, 1 in 6 women will be the victim of an attempted or completed sexual assault; 1 in 33 men will be the vicgtim of an attempted or completed sexual assault. 17.6% of American women have been sexually assaulted. I obtained my facts from http://www.rainn.org/, an incredibly wonderful organization created by Tori Amos, and http://www.vday.org/, created by Eve Ensler who wrote The Vagina Monologues and created V-Day, an international day of fighting sexual crimes of all types against women. It's well beyond the time to end this senselessness. There is no reason for any person to sexually assault any other individual, ever. There is never an excuse for rape, sexual abuse, incest, female genital mutilation, domestic violence, stalking, etc.
As part of embracing this Medusa persona, I am saying, yes, I was raped. I have been stalked, sexually harassed, and otherwise assaulted in a sexual manner. I have reported certain incidents, only to be told nothing could be done because of the "he said/she said" paradox, despite the fact I could provide witnesses. This particular incident was in junior high school. A girl should not be taught to accept any sort of sexual victimization just because.
To be clear, Medusa is not advocating hatred of men. Medusa loves men. Medusa is married to a wonderful man who is extremely supportive and loving. Men are victims of sexual predators, too, and my goal is to advocate for everyone. Medusa's primary purpose is advocacy of sexual assault survivors; however, Medusa also enjoys a wicked sense of humor and will use this blog as an opportunity to make observations that otherwise would only live in Medusa's mind-tank. Please read, enjoy, comment, ask questions, disagree, or whatever. Medusa is here, and she is not backing down.
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