Emotional Scars

•September 14, 2013 • Leave a Comment

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He was so cute, curly dark hair, green eyes and a thousand watt smile, of course it did not hurt that he was older, had already graduated high school and his attention made me feel like I was a grown up. He was friends with some older guys some girls  I had met  where seeing.   I thought he was wonderful. He toyed with me emotionally for about two months before it happened, kissing with me here or there when we were out with friends, fueling my anticipation and eagerness to please him. It is fair to say that  each time I saw him, I got more infatuated with his attention and like many fifteen year old girls back in the late 80’s plotted and planned how I would get to see him each weekend when I was out with my friends.

Then one night it just kind of happened,  he asked me to go mud riding and to a party later than same evening with him and another guy friend on the 4th of July.

I was so excited. Surely this was a sign he really liked me and we were about to start dating.

He picked me up at my house – with me meeting him outside of course. I mean he was 5-6 years older than me. Far too old for someone who had turned 15  to be dating. Anyway my parents said i could not date til I was 16 and they would never understand. I mean, afterall, I was mature for my age, right?  They would never agree even though he was a nice, respectful boy with a job and a truck of his own and surely once things became official between us they could slowly be eased into our dating.

The day started off nice enough – we went to the store where he and his friend got beer and me 2 4-pacs of Bartles and James wine coolers. I felt so adult. I mean 2 wine coolers was more than enough for me to get a good buzz but we were going to be out all day and going to a party that night at one of his friend’s house.

I do not remember much after that. I remember vaguely we were mud riding out at Markette… The next thing I remember is him on top of me in the back of his truck. And my coming to and being horrified his friend was watching him have sex with me.

The rest of the day is a blank. I kinda remember being at his friend’s house, in a bedroom with someone bursting in and him throwing bedcovers over us. But honestly, it is like I am outside of my body watching than being part of the scent.  I think he was having sex with me again but I don’t really know. Everything is blurry. The only clear memory I have of that night was getting some water out of the facet at my parents house and my mother asking if I had been drinking. The result was I got grounded…for two weeks… But I did not care, I was in love. He would call me in the morning and together we would figure something out.

Only he never called.

I got one of my friend’s to help sneak me out one night so I could go to the parking lot and talk to him. We went riding in his truck. He tried to have sex with me. No foreplay. No how are you doing. Just come on take your clothes off. When I could not relax, he shamed me by saying I was too uptight and he could not get it in. And then he drove me back to my meet my friend. Later, I heard after I left, he took another friend of mine, “riding.”

I knew then I had lost him.

I blamed myself, I blamed my parents, I blamed my friend for going riding with him. I blamed everyone. I hated myself and I hated my life. I even thought about killing myself. I did not understand anything I was feeling. Shame, hurt, humiliation. What had I done wrong? Why didn’t he like me. He wanted sex from me and he had taken it. Wasn’t I good enough? Wasn’t I pretty enough. Wasn’t I fun enough?

I started drinking all the time. He liked me when I was drinking. Soon I was no longer drinking for him. He was dating a beautiful girl closer to his age. I was drinking to forget how much I hurt. To numb the thunderous shame, I felt.

I wondered what was wrong with me. I had no sense of self-worth. I lost friends I had been best friends with since kindergarten and elementary school. People who really knew and cared about me, I withdrew from. The friends I had hung out with him, I pushed away. I felt like I had SLUT tattooed on my forehead. Because that was what I was, wasn’t I? I was so low, that he could not call me. Could not respect me. Could not love me.

What was wrong with me?

Why wasn’t I good enough?

Once I realized it was over, I tried to recover. I started drinking to numb the pain and anytime I thought that he was a bad person,  I would stop myself bc I did not want to be one of those girls who had sex with a guy and then called him a jerk when he did not call her.

I drank my way through high school.  I did not feel comfortable being sober bc it hurt too much. In high school I was labeled a whore and a slut. Not bc I was actually fornicating but be I was drunk, the majority of my friends were guys and other girls who were probably in the same boat I was in. I had a reputation and I did nothing to help it. I participated in a lot of heavy petting and foreplay but I kept my clothes on. My theory was if I kept my clothes on they could not have sex with me and I never wanted to be exposed or hurt like that again. – not my heart.

I did not have sex or even look at a penis until I was in college. I only dated guys who were into me very obviously. Anyone else that might have liked me, I convinced myself it was in my head and did not encourage them. I had crushes on boys who were safe. Who I could secretly crush on and declare my love for to my friends but who did not feel the same way. I stayed safe.

My first real boyfriend I was sexually active with was when I was a freshman in college. He is also the first man to ever hit me.

I was in my twenties before I began realizing what happened was not “my” fault. That for a 20 year old man to be having sex with a 15 year old girl is wrong no matter how you cut it. Yet still, I made excused and took the blame on myself. I mean, it could not be “rape,” because I had been seeing and willfully kissing with him for about 6 weeks prior to our sexual encounter. More importantly, I had wanted him to be my boyfriend.

How can you want someone to be your boyfriend and it be rape. Especially when all your friends know them. It wasn’t like he was a stranger, right?

As more got to be known about date rape, I wondered if I had been date raped. aboutdaterape.com defines date rate as: “when someone you know socially (but not family) makes you have sex when you don’t want to. It could be someone you meet at a party, or someone you love and trust, like your boyfriend. They might use physical and verbal threats, emotional blackmail, or alcohol and drugs to force or trick you into having sex.”

Did he “make” me have sex with him? I don’t know. I know that I had not intended to have sex with him. That good girls only have sex with boys that love them. That sex means love. That I was a virgin and losing my virginity was mean to be special. What happened to me was not special. I was so drunk that I blacked out, passed out and do not remember giving consent. Yet still, I blamed myself.

It has taken me over twenty years to talk about this. A few years ago, I recieved a call from an old classmate who had run into my rapist and the friend of his whose house he took me to the night of my sexual assault. They asked about me. He was suggested as a friend for me on facebook and more recently in trying to offer one of my step-daughters advice on not getting in bad situations with boys when there is alcohol involved and I shared my story, her father told her that he remembered hearing everyone talk about my being a slut screwing my rapist at the party I was raped at. The shame of hearing that. Of feeling disgusted with myself. I do not deserve to own that.

Her dad is a cop and we have talked about what happened to me in high school and my personal struggle with self-blame regarding it. He told me that the law very clearly states: “When intoxicated, an individual cannot legally consent to sexual activity. Forcing sex on someone who is too drunk to give consent is a Criminal Sexual Conduct in the Third Degree.”

Does that make me feel any better?

Not really. I still wrestle with was it rape or wasn’t it. I know it was unethical. You are probably asking yourself why is it still a thing?

Because I was raped.  You see,  I never thought of myself as a victim – I never thought bad stuff was happening to me. But it was and I was.  Once I accepted that I got some help and with that help, I am a survivor. It was a long road but I got into therapy in my mid thirties, have been diagnosed and am being treated for a panic/ anxiety disorder and PTSD.  I am in the first truly healthy, loving and accepting relationship of my life and am able to acknowledge and accept what has happened and move forward.

I want to share my story because this terrible thing crippled me. It happened and I denied that it did. I blamed myself because i was not educated enough on the topic to get the appropriate help. Because it changed the course of my life. Because I am taking back the part of myself and putting the blame on him. Because after all this time, I bet he never even thought what he did was wrong. And most importantly, because I want YOU to talk to your sons and daughters so that the same thing does not happen to them. My story could have been quite different if only someone could have seen through my acting out long enough to see I was not a bad kid, that  there had to have been a catalyst to create the change in my personality.

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•September 14, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Do you ever wonder how you got to where you are? All the scrapes and bruises, the skint knees, broken hearts and tears shed and unshed?

Every day that goes by, I learn something new.  Not pretty things – the cold hard  truth of broken hearts, fractured trusts and the magic of love and forgiveness. There are people I need to release, to forgive,… to forget. Twisted monsters, rusted knights and unshod horses.

The full moon? The night? the dawn?

The blanched bones all that’s left of flesh left to rot in the sun.

Ghosts

•August 14, 2013 • Leave a Comment

So many ghosts haunt me. I sit and wonder if other people have their own. Time stands still in my memory and those things I tried to forget surface at unkind times. I never thought I was ashamed but that is what it is called – this feeling of angst ridden humiliation. How cathartic to say it’s name. To share all that emotion in a word and exorcise the demons of past mistakes and worry.

Shadow, shaman, ghost

•August 10, 2013 • Leave a Comment

I am preparing a little something in relation to the Autumn equinox next month and the focus has been on balance. In preparation, I have been researching the dark night of the soul, inner demons and shadow selves. I am not real sure where it is going but I am excited to see it come together.

the tale tale heart

•August 8, 2013 • Leave a Comment

the tale tale heart

The other day my SO and I were discussing our relationship. He asked if I loved him and I said, “yes, you come with too much baggage for me not to.” Laughing, he responded, “And you come with a history.”

Joke as we do, it is the cold, hard true. He had reconciled himself to a life built around his career, three children, and a foundation of settling for less, a web of lies and misc infidelities on both his and his partner’s part. When we started dating he was coming out of a marriage he had been unhappy with for years, his career was suffering and in the next two years his entire life as he knew it turned upside down. He came into this relationship with huge debt, three teenagers and a manipulative, bitter and vindictive ex.

Then there was me…. 2 failed marriages which added together to a whopping 22 months, an engagement that had been called off 3 days before the wedding and a shattered sense of self. Combine that with my dealing with the after effects of my recovering from the sexual abuse and rape in my youth and I was nothing but a jaded version of the person I use to be. Consumed with stress and anxiety, driven by fear and distrusting of pretty much everything and every one.

We both had said we would never get married again, so imagine our surprise with one another when he asked me to marry him. I was looking forward to traveling the world, spending my money on myself and not having to worry about anyone other than myself and my pets. I had made peace with a future without children and overnight, I gained three teenagers and an ex-wife.

It has been a long hard road but it is worth it. Now we have 5 dogs, 3 teenagers, 3 crazy ex’s and fathomless love for one another.

I am trying to stress less about money and he has gone back to college. We have put off the wedding now for over a year and I have no idea if we will even do it. At this point in time, I cannot justify the cost of it and he is not one for ceremonies. Vegas is kinda sounding good.

And there was light…

•February 28, 2013 • 1 Comment

I am incredibly bored at my new job. The training has been put on hold since we are about to start our “Kick Butts” campaign. While counting the minutes this morning, I remembered what I use to do when I had time to kill at work. Tell myself stories. I just posted the one from today. It is not my best work but i enjoyed it. It seems the stories oft tell themselves.  

My inspiration was the untold stories of the Brides of Dracula. I mean there were obviously three great loves before Mina Harker. I want to know their stories.Image

In the beginning there was darkness….

•February 28, 2013 • Leave a Comment

Part One:

I stirred, waking up from a strange dream filled with forbidden passions and a dark stranger known only in my dreams. I tried to move, only to hit a solid wall. I tried to sit up, only to hit my hand. Desperate, I began to struggle, my hands clawing at the heavy wall that was preventing my escape.  My breath fell silent, and as I wakened more fully my eyes began to adjust to the darkness in what I can only describe like those of a cat. Trembling, I tried to calm myself, my fingers nimbly assessing the texture that was surrounding me. The sleek, smooth cloth could be nothing but satin and in that moment of recognition, I realized, much to my horror, that I seemed to have been buried alive!

“Dear God in Heavens let this be a dream. Let this be some mistake,” I cried out with a low scream. Struggling more and more against the barrier that locked me inside this tomb, I tried not to cry. The smell of the cold, dank earth filled my nostrils, cloying at me, squeezing my breath out of my chest with its earthy pungency.

My thoughts raced. I tried to recall what had happened before I went to bed, but all I could remember was my dream. The dream of him -his hands on my thighs, his lips caressing my skin and the feel of him driving me to climax over and over again.

And now this…

I tried to remember. Tried to pull up the thought of what I had done before the dream. The vision of the bridge outside my home came forth. I had walked to it, surrounded by fog and the clammy dampness that came in the dark nights of late. I had walked… And then the dream again… HELP ME REMEMBER! I screamed, steadily trying to push, to slam my body into the lid of the box I was trapped inside.

For a moment, I wondered why my breath was still. It seemed odd, as hysterical as I was there was no escalation in my breathing. I shook away the thought. Clawing, and now hysterically screaming…

Wait, I thought as I heard sounds coming from above. “I am in here!” I cried but my voice was nothing but a ragged whisper now. Sobbing, I beat as hard as I could. My finger nails now shredded from clawing at my prison did not hurt. In fact, I did not feel anything… Nothing at all but a great emptiness and a gnawing hunger. “How long had I been down here,” I wondered. Convinced now, that someone must have realized their folly in my burial. For a moment my mind raced. Who would have put me down here? Both of my parents were dead, and I lived alone in the my family’s manor, my only sibling a widow who resided in a nearby village. Could she have?  “No,” I thought to myself. Strangers, yes, strangers must have done this. I had no enemies, no one gained from my death.

The sounds came faster now… “Digging,” I thought, beating on the coffin’s lid with new found vigor. I could hear voices now, two of them. I would have heard them more clearly if not for the mound of earth between us and the sound of the soil being ripped and shoveled from above me.

I cried and beat, and stressed and strained. Surely the oxygen would be running low, I thought, fearful now that I would not live to see myself freed from my tomb. The voices now having fallen silent as the sound of their work grew faster.

Finally, I heard the sound of a tool hitting the top of the coffin lid and the weight shifting as someone jumped on top of it. The prying sound of something wedging between what I assumed was the lid of the prison I was trapped within. My anticipation heightened then suddenly it occurred to me that whoever was freeing me could be the very ones who buried me! Horror and fear quickly replaced my anticipation and I tried to orchestrate a plan of escape.

The sound of air rushing in followed by the top being pulled off and suddenly I was free! I looked up at the men standing over me. The full Wolf Moon shining behind them seemed to illuminate them in an ethereal light.

“Mi’Lady,” the man who was straddling the coffin uttered, holding out his hand. I could smell, fear pouring off of him as I grabbed hold of his trembling hand and pulled myself upright. Everything smelled so new, fresh… Like I  was smelling everything for the very first time. I looked to the other man, a mysterious figure cloaked in black and I inhaled. He had a predatory musk to him, so familiar and yet so unknown that I almost floundered as he reached to hoist me out of the grave. His clothes were finely made and expensive but they had a foreign look to them, all black and perfect but outdated in style.

“How did I -,” my voice was cut off by the mysterious gentleman as he pulled me to him. The moon passed behind a cloud and for a moment, I looked into the shadows under his hat and could have sworn his eyes glowed red-orange hot like molten flame. I shivered.

“Are you… well?” His velvety voice caressed me from the shadows and immediately I recognized it. How did I know that voice? Fleeting thoughts and memories spun through my head like a spider spinning her web.

I reached up to touch his face and as I did, the moon decided to come out from the silver tipped cloud cover that sheltered her. Dark eyes, high cheekbones and blonde hair that had been previously hidden by the shadows and the night, greeted me and my heart sang. It was him. My dream.  My demon lover. My savior. My sin. My husband.

My feet gave way underneath me yet he caught me effortlessly. Pulling me closer to him, his fingers entwining in my dark hair, he whispered in my ear, “My bride.”