A Reflection

What are the best decisions in my life? I have a few. There's the decision to go to college and get an education. There's the decision I made to marry my husband, which included the decision to become a step-mother and a whole new family. There's the decision I made to work, be able to provide for myself. There was the decision to pick up the bass guitar and rock my little heart out! Then, and this could be one my best decisions, perhaps second to marrying my husband, is speaking out about my rape and assuming the role of advocate and warrior, shedding the shackles of victimization to the freedom of being a survivor. Let me elaborate.I

I first timidly discussed the issue with very few people. A couple of close friends knew, my husband and brother knew, and that was about all. I lived in secret. I kept it all inside. I did go to therapy, but it was still inside me, the sickness caused by someone violating my mind, body, and soul so cruelly. A couple years ago, I told my mother. She held me and we cried together; then she offered to "kill the bastard" herself. I have a really great mom, and she has been nothing but absolutely supportive of me in every endeavor of my life. She even apologized to me fairly recently for thinking I was partying instead of self-medicating with alcohol. She thought I was living it up, when I was actually drinking my blues away (which it didn't) and my grades dropped in college.

Then, I made the decision to speak out. It was out of an anger and outrage so fierce that my guts ached. Without even really thinking clearly, I posted a facebook entry "I am a Medusa", not fully understanding the ramifications of my declaration. It was my way of saying, "Hey world, I was raped my a monster" without saying it explicitly. I got some confused messages, some, okay, go with it girl messages, but most said nothing. I wanted to scream from the rooftop that I was raped, and it was not my fault. I think it took learning that HE raped someone else to fully reconcile my innocence in the matter. I kept thinking, there must have been something I did or something I said and didn't know it. I kept thinking, yes, HE violated me, but I must have allowed it to happen somehow. No. No. NO! NO, it isn't my fault! It was HIS fault. Anyone who has ever been abused, molested, raped, assaulted, or otherwise violated is not to be blamed for the incident; it is the perpetrator's fault. Whether convicted of the crime or not, the perpetrator is to blame. That was a difficult thing to accept, but I have!

I also have built a safety net of people I trust and am comfortable talking about my issues. Recently, as I've been so open about all of my experience, I haven't had many issues. An occasional nightmare, but not nearly as severe as before I was able to build a support network. It's liberating to have a support network of other individuals who understand because they too have been violated by a monster(s). I've heard stories that left me thinking, I'd have killed myself! Then I've heard stories so similar to my own that it's eery. Apparently the wait-til-she's-passed-out method of rape is popular amongst rapists.

The support network, how can I describe it? It's like having a net while walking the high tightrope. It's like having your dad hang on to the back of your bike as you learn to ride two-wheels. It's a great feeling! I thought at the beginning, I'd be met with a lot of hatred from people who blame the victims and other weirdos. It's been quite the opposite, I'm happy to say. People have come to me for support, and others have come to me to offer support. And with each new connection, bond is built in that security network. It's easy to give support to others now. I know how they feel. I know what's happening inside their minds and to their bodies (yes, there are physical postrape symptoms). I know what they are thinking, the despair, the sadness, the guilt, the self-blame, the nightmares, the triggers, the never-ending thought in the forefront of their every waking and often sleeping days. I know it. I've been there. I have bad days, but who doesn't? It's part of learning, growing, and healing.

I'm also encouraged by opportunities afforded me that were never previously apparent. I've been offered to do a book review (which is in the works, and should be published and a version in my blog, soon). I've been able to put my feelings down on paper and in music. I have a song called "One for the Stalker" that was inspired by a Dr. Pepper run before work a few months ago. I also have one that needs music called "For the Damned", about my rapist. I'm excited to be able to do these projects and to be able to explore my experiences and other's experiences through artistic means. I've also drawn, painted, and expressed my rage through these mediums. I have a piece above my mantle, a texturized piece, and when I look at it, I see chaos, turmoil, and I think it is representative of myself at that time (I was also dealing with the stalker during this time).

If I can say one thing, it doesn't matter if you have support from friends and family, many survivors do not. The important thing is to be true to yourself, know what is true, and build a support network for yourself. I'm always available by e-mail or on Facebook. I am well aware I would not be as far along in this healing process as I am if I had maintained my silence. Silence only prolongs the suffering. I want to thank my support network, express my gratitude and love, and leave you with one thought: "Be the change you wish to see in the world" - Unknown.

Medusa: The Monster Within

How does a woman deal with being Medusa? It isn't easy. It is not a choice made lightly. Actually, it wasn't so much a choice as it was an epiphany. Medusa was transformed from an innocent, beautiful girl into a beastly monster following a rape. I feel much the same way, fighting the monster inside me.

Confusion was the first monster. I didn't know, didn't understand. I was unconscious, waking during the violation of my body and soul. My brain failed to understand the "R" word for more than a year, almost two years. All I knew was a sorrow so painful that I cried most of the time. I put on a happy face around other people, but the ache never subsided. At any point I was alone, I was in tears, but I didn't understand why. I turned to alcohol to numb the pain, another deceitful monster. I drank away my sophomore year at a fantastic college. I don't remember much from that year.

Then I relived the experience, yet another monster. Nightmares flooded my nights. Triggers made me panic without warning. I began to have a "nervous stomach" which I am convinced is a body memory. I began gaining weight, and my chronic headaches grew more severe. I had also begun a promising relationship with a promising man, and I was terrified, not of him, just of him learning my dirty secret and hating me for it. Monsters were everywhere!

Anger and depression followed. If I wasn't too angry to breathe, I was too depressed to get out of bed. I walked, talked, and exuded anger and hostility from every pore. The slightest inconvenience or disruption would send me into a fury. Much like my sad and confused state, I internalized most of my anger, but it was there, seething just under the surface. It is difficult to be angry and depressed at the same time, but I am proof it can exist. I reached a point where I first quit eating, under the guise of dieting. I was receiving positive feedback for my depressive anorexia. Then, I stopped sleeping. Bathing was next to go, which sounds disgusting, but if one is sedentary and not eating (thus not using the restroom), a person can go for quite a long time neglecting personal hygiene without notice. My depression became unable to hide when I stopped getting out of bed. My promising boyfriend had become my awesome husband by now, and he probably saved my life. I reached the point of not wanting to live. Anger and depression, monsters indeed.

I got antidepressants, and my outlook improved greatly. I had a dream during this time where I literally and figuratively killed HIM and buried it all in a safe place. Perhaps this monster was suppression, or maybe it was denial. Every therapist I have seen has marveled at the power of this dream and how I lived with zero post rape trauma symptoms. I thought I'd conquered my problems...

Unfortunately, this state of illusion did not last. I relived my rape a second time, a most insidious monster. That was when I first went to therapy for the rape. I'd been before to deal with my issues with my father and previous depression. This round of therapy helped considerably. I do not wish a sex crime on any person. For those who have endured gender violence, I hate the thought of reliving these experiences. To relive the trauma multiple times is a torture I would not wish on anyone, not even HIM!

Thus began the cycle of healing again, accompanied by the sadness, the anxiety, the anger and depression, each a foul monster residing in me. I also went through a period of dealing with the illnesses and deaths of my father and grandfather in a short period of time. Therapy was calling my name! This time, therapy was different because I addressed the pain of my father's emotional and verbal abuse, as well as the rape. Understanding one helped me understand the other. I began to see how, although I internalized the trauma and blamed myself for all of it, none of it was my fault. I had to let go of the guilt, release my culpability. I began to see that my father was the product of his abusive father, and that HE was just a bad guy who hurt me.

I watched a show about Perseus, the Greek mythological figure, demi-god, son of Zeus, who defeated the gorgon Medusa. The program also explained the origin of Medusa, the virgin priestess in the cult of Athena in the Parthenon who was renowned for her beauty and blonde curls. She had many would-be suitors, all of whom she rejected due to her loyalty to her goddess. Poseidon, unable to resist her beauty, according to myth, raped Medusa in the Parthenon, which derives from the Greek word for virgin. Athena, outraged by the defiling of her virginal temple, turned Medusa into the snake-haired, stone-turning gazed monster we are all familiar with. At that point, something clicked, and I thought I'm just like Medusa. I've been turned into something I wasn't because HE raped me. I'm not that innocent girl, just like priestess Medusa. I've been monstrous feeling with all the internalization of my sorrow, my pain, my guilt, and my fury.

Subsequently, I discovered HE did rape others, so I released Medusa onto the world. I still have anger, sorrow, and pain, but with direction now. I am focused. I know where to release the monster within myself. I cannot say I am completely healed. Is any survivor of a sex crime ever completely healed? I don't know; Medusa cannot answer that question. However, Medusa will continue to fight a system that perpetuates the hatred and objectification of women, to speak for those gripped by the monster of silence, and to fight for a better world, a world safe for man, woman, and child.