Some days

 

I have not had a day like yesterday in a very long time. A day where the darkness made itself at home and refused to see any hope or light.  I am sure it's getting ready to speak, it's thinking about all the things that I haven't put together before. I feel like each time I speak there are more pieces that show themselves and more that fall into place.  Yesterday was the day, yesterday was my day.  I woke up with terrible nightmares, but even waking up didn't help them go away. It's such a weird state, it's almost as if the nightmares somehow come alive.  It's so hard to explain.  The day seemed to drag and I was stuck in the violent world that I went to sleep in.  Lots of being chased, lots of having to fight, lots of hopelessness.  I think that is the part that stuck to me yesterday. The hopelessness of not being able to find any sense of peace, there was no comfort to be had and I found myself stuck in the world, where no one is going to help you and you are left to do it all on your own.   That is not me, I am not a hopeless person in any way, but yesterday I couldn't get ahold of it, it was one of those long awful terrible days.  All I wanted to do was sleep.  Somehow, I thought that sleeping would make the day go by faster, really that just kept things going.  There was no peace anywhere.  I didn't want to read, nothing looked good on TV.  I didn't want to write; I didn't want to do anything.  It was almost like I gave up for the day.  I would get up and then end up sitting in a different spot in the living room like somehow that was going to make things better. 

Despair seems to be the word for Spunky.  It's more than sadness, it's the fact that she was hurt beyond what a person can imagine, and she kept going.  The despair today is that all those things happened and that she never received the care that she deserved. She has been served with a double dose of hell and she is trying to keep her head above water. She is trying to make space for what happened to her and how she was treated by those around her. Yesterday was one of those days where there is no rhyme or reason, there are no answers.  It is just this heavy darkness about all the things that I cannot change and can't forget. I think that this is the hardest that I have ever had to fight in my life.  I am beyond terrified to keep fighting and even more terrified to stop.  Stopping isn't an option for me but days like yesterday, that weigh so heavy are something unimaginable that take their toll.  I am further than I have ever been and hitting places deeper and darker than a person can imagine.   Spunky is in a safe place.  Closer than she has ever been.  Days like yesterday need to be a reminder of just far that I have come and a realization that things will be ok.  I am scared of the work that is ahead of me.  At the same time, I look forward to the day when I can hold my heart and remember the work, without the pain.  When I can gently, put my hand on my heart, grateful that I have come so far and to be in a place where the things that have happened to me are my purpose for helping others. 

I heart your heart. 

She needs special care

 

I was talking yesterday, and someone said that it takes so many positives to override a negative and that makes so much sense.  I can remember my mother telling me that once while on one of their marriage encounter weekends, that a comment was made by my father; He was like fuck then I am never going to catch up.  I wonder if there is enough positive in the whole world to help Spunky.  She needs so much, so much care, so much reassurance, so much of everything. She needs a safety that is more than hard to come by.  She needs a certain understanding that I feel is often too much to ask. I am positive that she is going to find some kind of normal for herself, but I think that there are parts of her that were so damaged she is going to spend her lifetime repairing them.  I believe that she will find happy, she will truly be able to smile but there are pieces of her that are always going to be affected.  There are pieces of her that were so deeply wounded that I worry they will forever drain of pain.  There are pieces of her that have been smashed on a soul level that affects anything and everything that she will ever do.  You don't experience the things she has, get treated the way that she was and not come out with damage.  These are the scars of the most brutal kind, that are deep to her very core, and last lifetimes.    

There is a scene in the movie Nell.  One of the officer's wife is having a meld down and she is sitting on the curb lost in her own world.  She is unable to connect and is scared of those that are around her.  Many know her and when they see this is happening, they call her husband.  He shows up and is so gentle so kind. He shows up for her, reassuring her that its ok, he cares for her heart until she is able to collect herself and come back to life.  He has an understanding of what she needs. I feel like Spunky needs something like that, that kind of constant care.

That entire movie is something that Spunky can understand.  Nell had things happen and she reacted to them making her the person that she was.  Spunky has had things happen to her, that has made her the person that she is, and she needs someone to take the time, learn what she is afraid of, and help her overcome it, by letting her be that person. When that happens, I believe Spunky can find that peace that she longs for. She will always have a different understanding of life, of loss, of people of what goes on around her.  Spunky will be different, not less but a different soul because she experiences this life more deeply than you could ever imagine. These things that seem so daunting are the also the same things that make her so incredibly worthy.

There is always a sense that she doesn't belong, like something just isn't quite right. She sees the world differently; she experiences things so differently. She has a different view because of where she has been and the work she has done to get to where she is. Today was a really good day, I went for brunch with my friends from school and this afternoon, the tears are right there and there is no reason.  I cannot think of a single reason to cry and yet here I sit.  These are the times that I more than wish I understood. Spunky feels connection then has this sadness, because of the fear maybe that it isn't real or that it is real and that someday they will decide she is no longer worth their time and effort.  Spunky wants absolutes, and the world just doesn't work like that. 

Today I am working more than hard trying to heal our heart.  It's left such a hole.  What we need is something that a lot of people are unable to give.  It's having to be so careful, so observant all the time.  Being Callahan is exhausting.  I have to be on guard, because this heart is bruised.  Tender and healing, but it has a way to go. If extreme gentleness was a thing, that is what she would need more than anything. There is such a great need for realness, for care, for hope.  I hold an insane amount of hope, that has gotten me through.  For spunky, there is a toughness to her, she had to be, and she has to learn to be more vulnerable, more open and less critical of herself. She still holds so much blame.  In our head we know these things, but ah that is the problem there is always a but.  But I danced with him, But I had butterflies.  But I didn't tell the first time.  But, no one noticed, But I just cleaned up and kept going.  Somehow if I didn't keep going, then someone would have seen how not ok that I was.  I want Spunky to find that place where she can confidently stand, and say I danced with him and was raped.  It wasn't my fault; I was so hurt and am trying to heal my heart and soul. I want spunky to find that place where the only thing that matters is what happened to her.  She could have danced with him naked, and he never had the right to do what he did. So much confusion in her little brain.  She learned so early that she was the cause of all her own hurt, and the gang rape was no different.  If it wasn't her fault, people would have cared, people would have helped; oh people would have helped.  Those things didn't happen.  I am desperately trying to prove to myself and to spunky that what happened mattered.  They didn't win and we are still here standing making a difference doing things different.  We are here, fighting for what we deserve. Fighting for happily ever after. In that fight I am afraid possibly forever, she will have a need for special care.  She needs her heart held a little softer, a little longer with a lot more reassurance.  Maybe, maybe that just has to be ok.  Maybe just maybe the right people will understand and do just that. 

I heart your heart

Something has been broken

 

There were parts of me terribly broken after the gang rape.  I never cried after people knew what happened to me.  That Tuesday night that I told, there were only a few tears with Calvin because I was terrified. Terrified that I didn't have words, of what they would think of me.  There was nothing inside, just huge holes of all the things that were destroyed in me. Parts of me died, that day.  I was just gone in a place far far away.  No one cared for me so why bother coming back.  Where I was; was far safer than the world that I lived in. I knew by everyone's reactions, how they treated me that they saw something disgusting. I became a monster of the worst kind.  I was not the young girl who had been brutalized. I was the girl who just was looking for attention.  I heard their every word, every accusation.  I was blamed, fingers were pointed, and I was to blame.  I mean I was the chubby unpopular girl no one would want to rape me. I learned my place very quickly. No one could handle what happened to me.  No one wanted to see or know, how I was treated.  I was just a dumb girl that asked for it. 

The things that no one saw.  The bruises, the marks, I was so good at hiding.  Fingermarks on my arms and legs. My legs, my entire body were black in places, ugly shades of blue and purple.  So much pain. It's amazing the things that a person can continue to breathe through.  My ribs, hurt, sitting was painful laying was painful.  There was not a single thing for days and weeks, that didn't hurt. Everything was a constant reminder of what they did.  It wasn't that no one saw.  No one chose to see me; they chose to look the other way.  Breathing often hurt, I couldn't take a deep breathe. I would be in pain and wonder how the world around me kept going.  All I wanted to do was scream for it to stop.  Someone to notice that I wasn't ok. All the pictures replay, and I don't know what to do, whether my eyes are open or closed they are there.  Things happened to me that I don't have words for.  Often it feels frozen, I can't cry I can't feel it's just there, a devastating story.  Only it's my story and I would give almost anything, for it not to be. It's more than hard to explain when broken moments are frozen in time.

Something broke in me that day. Something broke that I don't even have words for. That is why I say she will find happy but there are pieces of her that are just not repairable.  She has seen the worst that the world has to offer and that changes a person. That changes so much about a person.  I will fight for her happy, I will fight for the kindnesses in life that she deserves, but there will always be those jagged hurtful edges, that are there.  I hope in time they will become dull and not hurt so much.  I have to hope that this won't always be so painful, but there are some things that just can't be fixed. I will never stop fighting, I will never stop trying to find the best of life for her.  Sometimes it's just too much and no amount of perfect can fix her broken. 

I heart your heart. 

How long were they there ?

 I am uneasy and I can't get her words out of my head.  A counselor that was supposed to help. 

The interaction went like this. 

Her: Well, how long were they there?

Me:  I don't know but it felt like a very long time. 

Her: (Legs crossed and laughing), "Well sex doesn't take that long" 

Me: (Just silence brutal silence) (I just wanted to shrink, fade away and forget I ever said anything. ) 

 I felt her disbelief in her question, and I felt so small. I answered her question incorrectly and didn't know there was a wrong answer.  I was finally trying to speak about the unspeakable, and she was making me a joke.  I want to get her words, her actions that laugh out of my head because it's truly haunting.  Even today, thoughts creep in, and I think I should have answered her question different; I should have known. I find myself judging like why you didn't look at a clock, why didn't you know, why, why, why.  And then I think, well maybe I remember everything wrong, and he wasn't there as long as I thought. That kind of doubting is so damaging. Then I think why is the time so important, what he did to me remains the same.   And there are all these things running around in my brain and I think great I was giving people a reason not to believe me, somewhere in my brain I should have been able to give her a more appropriate answer. Somehow, I should have given her an answer like well that rape only lasted a few minutes and somehow, I would have been treated differently. 

I don't understand her reaction, and I don't understand why it mattered.  Why in the world would she say something like that to me.  Well sex doesn't take that long; well, I am sorry I have been raped since the time I was five.  Can you please enlighten me, how long is a rape supposed to last? I want to make sure that I am able to answer all of your questions appropriately.  

I was in therapy, and I asked why she would say something like that, and he said there could be different reasons, but that none of them really matter.  Like the actual physiology, of it which makes me want to cower, the actual sex act doesn't take that long.  And then he explained that trauma brain and your brain isn't focused on the time, but survival.  And he went on how we understand so much more about what happens to a person when they are being assaulted.  Somehow, none of those things matter because I couldn't answer.   And in the last few weeks there are moments I find that disturbing statement on repeat in my brain and I want so much to have an answer.  out of nowhere it pops in my head and there is this panic trying to find the right answer. So many things that I should know and understand.

Then I think to all of the rapes and assaults some of them seem to last for such a long time, and I think am I crazy, like maybe somehow, they didn't last as long as I thought that they did.  So many negative thoughts in my head about myself and the things that I don't know that there was no way of knowing. I feel like an idiot, just add this to the list of all the things that I don't know and can't fully comprehend. 

I even looked up how long that sex takes, I was desperate to find some kind of an answer.  There was a part of my mind, that didn't believe it. Literally the article said 2-3 minutes sometimes longer, but 20 minutes at the most.  My mind goes to all of the assaults from my father to Albert to Don and them, Charles and I think, they hurt me for so much longer.  It felt like such a long time.  I find myself trying to replay and think well it couldn't have been as long as I think it was.  I just have to find some kind of reasoning in my head, and it just isn't working.  Often, I just went away, another place that was safe and waited until they were done.  Then I could come back and clean up pretending that nothing happened.  What a mind fuck. Even Charles, I knew as soon as he placed that pillow on my face, I knew what was going to happen and I left.  I keep trying to think, I must have looked at a clock, how long was he really there. I just don't have an answer.  I cannot answer this question ever in any circumstance.  I cannot go back and find the right time. I know right happed I was always left to clean up the aftermath and make everything around me perfect. Get rid of any evidence. Make sure that nothing was out of place, or disheveled. 

I hear rape isn't about sex, but I can tell you, in my mind they are one in the same.  All the assaults on replay.  So many, all the time.  With the 5 of them, I look at the facts and think two or three minutes, when they were all taking turns, but it was over and over, and I guess that explains the time that they left me alone at some points during the day.  I just feel stupid, so many things that I don't know, that I can't answer and no matter how hard that I try I don't have an exact answer.  It felt like they were hurting me for so long. It felt like forever, when you fight till you are exhausted and they get what they want anyway. When it was my father, I feel like he took forever, then I think I was just small and my body wasn't made for what was happening.  Often later, there was an understanding of what was going to be taken and I went away, somewhere I didn't have to experience the real-life moments that were happening to me.  I sit here and the F bombs are flying out of my mouth, what a fucking life to live.  The ones with Albert didn't take so long, I was always grateful that meant less pain.  

So much.  I have never written anything so raw. I hate the things that they did to my body. How they touched me. So many things that I cannot wrap my head around.  And so much of it doesn't matter, but yet her questions spins, her laughing at me like what happened was some kind of small thing that didn't take very long.  So, if it was just a few minutes it mattered but if it felt like forever, I was a joke, a laughingstock.  My heart is heavy, core hurt.  I cannot answer her question, and whether it was 3 minutes or 20 minutes or more, it happened, and I am so sorry that I can't give an exact time, I can't tell you for just how long that I was raped by so many different men all through my life.  

I heart your heart. 

When the days are long

 

Today is one of those days that I would just like it to end. The seconds feel like hours, and the minutes feel like years.  There is nothing particular that is going on, but time is dragging, and my heart is heavy. I just wish that there were people around for me.  I wish that I wasn't alone in this big house, with my thoughts and a list of all the chores that I need to get done.  Laundry is going, dinner is thawing. There have been random tears, and I don't even know why.  So many feelings that I am not sure I can name but they are all here causing havoc. I would love to have someone just sitting on the couch watching a movie, someone to talk to and share.  Today just seems exceptionally lonely and there is still a long time before Mariska gets off work. 

I think that part of the problem is being seen.  There is a terror in that, that is hard to describe.  My entire life it has been about trying to fade into the background, and being a presenter at the conference, in a way feels like I am being pushed from behind the curtain and I am a deer in headlights.  I want this more than words, to be able to help other survivors at the same time there is a toll on me.  That makes me very nervous, I want to do this for a long time, I want to be an advocate for people to do things differently. I almost have to do a good job, because failing just isn't an option.  I don't know how to take care of myself in this process. I need people, I need others and that is a realization that I don't really like. Like I can't keep fighting for others and not have someone fighting for me.  I am not sure if that makes sense.  I need someone that is going to check on me, reach out, listen and hold me tight when I am running on automatic and need a break.  But that is quite the task, and not fair to ask of anyone really. 

I am so excited to be speaking and terrified all in the same breath.  I still hear those that were so unkind, their words blaming me and telling me I was a liar. I am working to change those things but its more than hard. Their voices are so clear and ever present. I am going through the presentation, wanting to say all the right words wanting them so badly to understand and to do things better for their clients.  I have to go in there believing that the right words will come for exactly the right people.  I have to believe that. As hard as it is to speak, it is also more than healing.  My heart feels heard.  I truly believe that if someone is going to attend a conference like this, they are there for a reason.  I think part of me wants to speak for selfish reasons as well.  It's a way for that 13-year-old to feel heard, to be believed and cared for.  I am not sure that makes sense, really.  I want others to understand and in that comes my own healing. 

I am right in the middle of all that terrifies that 13-year-old spunky girl and attention is something to be terrified of. Attention gets you hurt; attention gets you raped. My mind struggles to separate the two.  And here I am speaking being the center of attention and there are so many alarms going off in my brain, and yet the drive to want to speak and shine the light on all the awful is so intense.  That 13 year old just wanted this quiet kind of peace, and she never got that.  I do believe that she is fragile, she needs a special kind of care and I have to make sure that she gets it. 

Right now, it seems there is so much time to focus on myself and figure out what I am feeling and what I can do about it.  Even the other night, there are just so many emotions.  Dinner was finished everything was all cleaned and we went to sit on the couch and watch some stupid show on TV. My first thought was well I am hungry I need something to eat.  I think this was the first realization ever that no you aren't hungry you just have all of these emotions inside that are dying to be understood.  It was the entire conversation going on in my head.  Like you aren't hungry you just have a lot of feelings.  I guess on one hand that is an important realization.  On the other hand, there is a terror because there are so many feelings, and they are that big.  I realized it and sitting there for that 30 minutes or so I lost count of the number of times that my automatic thoughts was ok well you are just hungry.  That is a really hard one.  I wonder how many times that I do that in a day.  

The feeling of being alone is hard, because I don't want to be on my own anymore.  I don't want to live this life and how I experience in a bubble and not share how and why that I see things the way that I do.  There are so many things that I want to share with people.  It's so much more than well that would be nice.  It is becoming something that I need and that feels so different for me.  I am stepping out of my comfort zone more and more, doing things different. I don't know and then there are days like this when I would like to wiggle my nose, and everything just fall into place.  Fine if there is always going to a certain sad, fine I will deal with that.  Maybe days like this are just a part of the process.  Maybe just give me some room, tomorrow is another day and I can only hope that time won't be an issue and will flow as the days do. 

I heart your heart. 

More than Hurt

 

I use the word  hurt because it's easier, because it paints a prettier picture.  But maybe I need to stop using that word.  I get angry that there isn't an acknowledgment of what happened to me but I am doing the same.  I say when I was hurt, I am scared of being hurt again but it's much more than that. I am learning that if she is ever going to enter the room and be with me, be present I am going to have to acknowledge that it was so much more than being hurt. I am terrified, I am afraid that talking about it will be some kind of reliving and that freezes me.  It's happened so calling it by any other name doesn't change that, doesn't make it any prettier or easier to deal with. I found this saying and it is more than perfect.  When I can acknowledge, it like Spunky maybe that is the key to her sitting beside me on the couch.  She deserves someone who  can validate and reassure her that she didn't do anything wrong. There is no making what happened to her pretty, and "nice". It was violent and devastating and came as close to killing a person as you can get with out stopping their breathe. Spunky very easily could have given up and died but she didn't. 

She kept fighting, she kept breathing when every cell in her little body wanted to go away forever. I don't know what this is going to look like, what is next but I know that she deserves to feel safe, she deserves to be heard, and acknowledged. I have to admit there is a part of me that is terrified of the girl that she is .  Brave strong and so true.  That saying pain deserves to be felt.  Maybe this is her time, no more hiding, no more pretending that she isn't so fragile.  She is fragile, as strong as she is there is also a fragileness about her, and that is what must be honored. She has had to fight for so long, and it's time to rest. She has lost so much, and has every right to be sad, to feel devastated and to be heard. Oh this picture, she is learning that she doesn't have to be so strong, have it al figured out.  She was living in a world she never should have had to live in. She is angry for what she knows and what she could never have known. She has every right to cry the rest of her life if that is what she needed to do.  I don't believe she will do that, she wants nothing more than to move beyond where she is, to find that place where she can genuinely smile.  She, her, Me we are all working so hard to come together and heal all of our broken parts. I feel her close, I feel her letting her guard down.  That terrifies me.  I need to remember I am her and she is me.  I am that scared girl that survived, and I didn't let them win. 

No they didn't hurt me, like a skinned knee, they raped me for hours.  Hour after hour turn after turn.  They laughed at me, they made fun of me, they were the worst kind of evil that a person can experience. And I am here today and I lived through it.  I was gang raped by those 5 men and it destroyed parts of me that I can never get back.  It destroyed so many parts. I know that there are some things, I will never get back but there are also parts that I can take back.  What happened to us made us different fragile but we still have worth.  We are not less than and I want to believe that with all that I am. I have worth even with what happened to me.  That spunky girl deserves every kindness in life.  That spunky girl has every right, to take up space, to be believed and to be cared for.  I am working so very hard to get us there. 

I was raped by Don, I was gang raped by the 5 of them, yes even the last time Don came, I laid down, but I was still so hurt and i knew he was going to get what he wanted. I lost my baby Bella and I have every right, to be sad, to miss the life I should have had.  I have every right to be angry that no one helped me give me words to get what happened to me out.  I deserved to have things explained to me, and to understand what had happened to me.  I deserved those things then and I have to fight to give them to spunky now.  No there are things we will never have answers for, I am ok with that, even with out the answers, I have a right to talk about it.  I am not sure how, but I have to learn to just open my mouth and let it come, we don't have to live in silence. 

Yes, more than hurt, that is the first step.  She is close and deserves to be heard, deserves to be cared for and deserves to take up space, be acknowledged even in all the things that don't have answers. I have to realize, that I don't have to be so strong, and have all the answers for the things I don't understand. There is no way to make the rapes pretty to make loosing Bella anything other than what they are.  Devastating and tragic.  But here I am. Step by step on my way, Soon Spunky will not be less than, or something other but just another healed part of me. 

I heart your heart. 

  

Sometimes a dread

 

I was fine, I was fine until all of the sudden I wasn't.  It seems that there is a certain weight in it being Fathers Day that I was not at all prepared for this year.  That's how it happens anyway, things hit out of nowhere with no rhyme or reason.  I guess this is just the year for it.  I feel the dread in the pit of my stomach.  All the sappy fathers day posts, and everyone talking about the good dads.  I will be alone with out a dad because I had a monster of a father, that I m not sure ever really loved me.  I was watching a series on TV today and the father apologized to his daughter and she rested her head on him a certain safety that I have never known.  Sometimes those things don't bother me at all, today it did.  It would be nice every now and then, just to have a soft place to lay your head and have a person who makes you feel like all is well with the world.  So this year there is a dread, an ache a hole and I cant explain it, all I can do it sit with it, and hope that it will pass quickly. 

I never had that feeling with a dad, someone who unconditionally loved me just because.  I never had safe arms to fall into, or kind words that cared for my heart. There was never one single person that I could go to and know that I was going to be taken care of. 

I was thinking this morning and I think a part of it is the sadness.  People are with their families on these special days.  People are having dinners, and and lunches and it's about fathers day but it's about families being together.  And special days become reminders of the things that I don't have and sometimes that is just really heavy. No one will even check on me, no one will check in and ask how's your heart today ? Are you doing ok.  I would never say yes, but someone asking would mean the world. Someone just caring about my heart, would do more than anyone understands. 

My sweet Mariska came home last night with flowers and gifts for me today.  My so sweet girl, so I hope that I can rest in that and know that she sees me and knows how hard that I work for her being a single mom.  I wonder if she ever gets sad because even for her fathers day is something she doesn't get to experience.  I am just going to take today. I am going to write, practice my presentation and be oh so gentle with myself. Toda is just a day and because it's a rough day doesn't mean I am going backwards it just means that it is a rough day. And  I am going to do whatever necessary to keep my head above water. 

I heart your heart. 

So official

 

I have knots in my stomach.  I thought that there would be a piece of me that was proud, that was excited.  The only feeling that I can come up with right now is that I am terrified.  I see ugly, I see unqualified, I see this girl who is everything but blending into the background and that is something I don't know what to do with really. I am a background girl; I am the one that should sit down and be quiet. There is a piece of me that is really sad.  I want to share this and get on the phone and tell everybody.  There is a part of me that wants to scream from every rooftop.   I am just sitting her in this state with feelings that I can't explain, there is a part of me that wants to share it with the world.  Like look how far that this Callahan has come.  On the other hand, I want to take it down and hide.  I kind of feel like the cat that ate the canary and I have feathers hanging out of my mouth. There is a part of me that feels like i have done something terrible and I am not entirely sure why.  I want to feel proud of myself for coming as far as I have but I can't find the proud in this moment. 

I feel like this is the beginning of a path, that I need to be on and that there is no looking back now.  I will never stop speaking for others, I will never stop trying to make a difference. Survivors deserve more and I am going to fight until they get more of what is deserved. 

I reached out to a few people, just wanting to share. I want to hide in the corner shaking in my bones and I want to scream from the rooftops you didn't win.  All in the same breath

I reached out to my Grad School friends, and I can tell you there was all kinds of ugly crying.  They all were excited for me, they all wanted to know how to get tickets, just so supportive and I am not sure that they understand what that meant for me.  I am truly grateful, and I hope these women will be around for a very long time. 

Lots to process and figure out all that I am feeling.  I want to lean into the feelings of being proud, and knowing that I will make a difference. Just going to take some time.  I have to remind myself that I am doing nothing wrong in speaking.  

I heart your heart 

Moved into history

 

Moved into history and not in the here and now. Lightbulb moment. I was watching one of my favorite shows, Couples Therapy and the therapist said you have moved those moments into history and not the here and now.  One of the most heartfelt lines I have heard in some time.  I want that.  I want that more than anything. I want to feel safe in this world.  I want to be comfortable in my own skin, I want to be able to feel pretty and that be ok.  Maybe I am far from those things, but I want them. I want what happened to me to be history and not a part of my every day. Today in this moment there are many things that are here and now that are breaking my heart. I have spent the day my mind switching between numb and overactive.  I have done much of nothing all day.  Naps and feeling, thoughts racing then another nap.  I think I cried myself out earlier in the week, and there should not be any tears left.  There are so many things that I am more than ashamed of and letting them out in the world there is this great relief, and such an intense sadness.  Things that should never have to be spoken.  Things that I never remember not knowing.  I knew way too much before I should have and there is an ache that comes with that. 

I am just tired; my body is tired of feeling it all.  I am tired of thinking that I smell them, I am tired of feeling the ache in my bones from the things that they did to me.  That is one part that I will never understand.  That all this time later, there are moments when I get a flash and it's like they are hurting me.  Moments that I can feel their hands, or the moment that out of nowhere, I get that sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach turn after turn.  Those are the things that I just want to put to rest.  I don't want to physically feel all that I do anymore, and I don't know how to stop it. At 49 I should no longer be feeling the things that happened to me.  Even talking about it, my heart aches.  There is this panic pain in my heart.  

I feel like I have worked so hard to get to where I am and still there are moments that cut to my core.  Still there are moments that take my breath away and hurt like it's the first time I have ever looked at them.  That is so difficult when I am doing everything in my power to move on and create the life that I want. I am at a place where all good things are happening, I am finally on that right path, and yet I feel that at times the past has placed these huge roadblocks in my way. I always overcome them, that is what I do, I look forward for them not to be roadblocks but little hills that I can overcome quietly, and just shrug my shoulders. A little blip in the radar but nothing that I can't handle. 

I think that the more that I speak and talk about the little things that matter to me, there is a peace that is becoming more constant. There is such a need to get it out all.  All the little corners of pain that have gone unnoticed for so long.  Those are the things that I need to work on.  Those are the places that are holding me back. I feel like a broken record lately, speaking about the same things over and over like somehow at just the right time there is going to be that ah-ha moment and I won't have to talk about them anymore.  The things people said, well sex doesn't take that long.  I was the chubby unpopular kid those are two that I can't seem to run from lately.  I get stuck on how I was treated.  I was one who fell through the cracks on so many levels and sometimes that is more than overwhelming. That scares me because I know how I have repeated things in the past.  Each time i say them there is a realization for me, yes, they happened, and they really hurt. What happened to me mattered and everyone spent so much energy trying to make me believe that it didn't. What happened to me mattered, I mattered, and I am trying so hard to believe that.

I just want the things that happened to spunky to be part of the past.  I don't want those things to be the things that are holding her back and keeping her stuck.  I do think that the more that I speak the closer that she is, it's just so hard.  There are days when it feels like it was yesterday.  There are so many words that I still don't have that I am desperately searching for. 

 I think that's why things like the conference are so important to me.  It brings a part of me to life, it feels empowering to share and help others learn ways to help survivors like me. In many aspects it's too late for me but I can prevent someone else from suffering. There is such a need to explain what I went through so that not a single person who knows me will ever treat, a client, a survivor the same ways that i was treated. 

I have worked on all of this for the longest time and I look forward to good things ahead.  I do feel like often my past drags me down and makes things difficult.  I want there to come a day when I can wake up and say no, not today.  Today is my day and not one single piece of the past is going to impact where I am.

I wish these words were clearer, I wish that my body didn't feel the things that happened to me.  I hope that someday that will go away, without even the words.  I am not sure that there are words for everything and somewhere in my heart that has to be ok.  It's so much less about what happened to me and more about how I feel.  How what they did made me feel. It was so bad that I wanted to die. So many thoughts and feelings that I can't explain that words just aren't the appropriate response.  I am working as hard as I can though, trying to at least give a voice to the things that are ready.  Soon, so soon I hope that spunky can feel safe enough and know, that she has every right to come in that room and sit on that couch and share, and cry and talk about all the things that were stolen from her.  Her world was unimaginable, and I am trying to do everything I know to give her some rest some peace and maybe even some happiness.  I want that for her, and I think that she wants it too, she is just more than afraid. As always, I keep fighting so that one of these days, we can truly breathe easy in our own skin.  No memories of hurt and pain, just a gentle breeze of where we have been and just far that we have come. 

I heart your heart   

That Pelican

 

I think that the most honest and o open that I have ever been was with that pelican when I was 13.  I was devastated, I could not be hurt anymore, and I was done with the world. I was so sad, and I didn't want to live.  I believed that all the things that had happened to me were what I was good for, and I could not be assaulted and abused another day in my life.  I had no idea how I was going to do it; we were one of the top floors.  I can remember my grandmother, leaving and going to get some sunscreen from a guy on the beach.  I stepped outside on the patio thinking, I can't jump.  I didn't want anyone to have to see my bruised and broken body.  Even in my own suffering I was worried about what others would think of me.  I am pretty sure, my grandmother and I just watched the sun set, taking in the sun and the ocean. We had dinner at a restaurant that was right on the shore.  There is something about the ocean that heals, at least it always has for me. the sound of the waves, the song of the birds, the gentleness of walking on the sand. There is a peace like nothing else. This was perfect for my last few days of this life.  We got back to the condo that first night, and I spent most of the evening just sitting on the porch taking life in, going over all the things that I couldn't bear to say. I think there was a part of me that wanted to speak to my grandmother, but I was so afraid I would get the same reaction as all the others. I held an emptiness inside that no one ever acknowledged. I went to bed that evening with tears in my eyes, so many words that needed to be said so many tears that needed to fall. I was more than alone and drowning in my own sad. I went to sleep to the sound of the ocean thinking, tomorrow I will make a plan; tomorrow.  

That next morning, I got up early, and the first thing I did was go on the porch.  I just sat.  feeling the breeze, watching the world that was 20 stories down.  I wondered about their stories.  I wondered what brought all of these people to the beach.  We were a little north of Daytona Beach, so things were a little more mellow and a lot quieter.  I was in my own world, my mind somewhere else.  Then just like that this pelican came and sat on the ledge of the porch.  There was an obvious shock, and being the person that I am I said hello.  Isn't that the first thing you do when a pelican lands on your balcony? I sat there watching, waiting for him to leave.  Everything leaves so I was sure this cool pelican was no different.  Only he didn't, He sat there.  Watching me, looking out at the ocean.  We were these two souls, and somehow there was a connection.  I can remember closing the balcony door behind me thinking surely, he is going to fly away but he didn't.  He stayed.  So, I started talking.  I talked about all the things that were in my heart.  I talked about everything that I didn't have words for.  I cried and cried and cried.  And that bird stayed and listened. I poured my heart out, all the things that were killing me inside.  He listened to all the things that brought me to this point.  All the feelings, all the grief all the shame and hurt.  He stayed and listened.   The only soul in the world that heard me, besides Calvin.   

When he did fly away there was such a release for me, things that no one in my life cared to hear about, that pelican was there. The words that I didn't have, he heard.  Even in the moments words weren't clear and didn't make sense, at least they weren't inside anymore.  Then I went inside and fell asleep.  There was a kind of relief that I can't explain.  When things happen like what happened to me, and all anyone does is point fingers, I learned so quickly not to speak about them because no one wants to hear those words.  No one believes you, so you blame yourself.  What happened to me didn't matter but it was killing me, and I didn't understand why people didn't see that. I guess that is why I wasn't going home.  The only one who listened and heard me was that pelican that chose my balcony and chose to stay.  Animals were the constant in my life; they don't hurt you and they listen.  

I am not sure that I have ever written about this before.  I sit here with goosebumps, the only comfort that I had was this beautiful bird. I was able if only for a short time to let the walls down.  He flew away and I was grateful and exhausted.  I don't even have words for everything that I felt, but I was so very grateful.  My poor grandmother, she was trying so hard to make this trip most amazing.  I wonder if she ever knew what happened to me.  If she did, she never talked about it. If she did, she never spoke a word to me. I am thinking that my mother must have talked to her about my rape.  Not once was it ever mentioned, even she wasn't able to face my pain. I have never thought about that before.  I tried to be nice and normal, but I was falling apart from the inside out.  There was nothing normal about my life and what I had survived.  I was fighting for life, she wanted me to be a carefree kid.  She had no idea that carefree girl was long gone.  She had these grand plans for this trip, all I wanted was a peaceful place to leave this earth. She made plans and each day was full of theme parks and all the extra's.  I was just dealing with so much; it was hard to connect with her and enjoy those places when your heart is so heavy. 

The next day once again my morning started on the balcony, still no plan. Before I knew it, once again that bird was there.  I have no way of knowing if it was the same pelican, I like to think that it was.  I have no way of knowing how often that pelican's land on balconies, but he felt like a long-lost friend.  I was grateful.  And each morning there were more tears, more words.  I know that I spoke about what happened to me for the first time.  I am sure I didn't have all the correct words, but I was able to speak, and he was there to listen.  

That is how my week went in Florida.  Each day, the need to die was becoming less of a priority. I looked forward to him showing up. Then we went to Sea World.  I can say I will never go to that place ever again.  I don't ever condone whales in captivity but this trip to Florida saved my life. We went there and took a behind the scenes tour.  We were able to get up close with all the animals.  I felt alive for the first time in a very long time.  People were terrible, but animals were kind, they listened, and they would never hurt you.  At the end of the tour, you get to see the whales.  So, we were all standing there by the pool, and that whale she was right there, and I met her eyes.  It's hard to explain.  I was unable to connect with anything in such a long time.  I had a connection with that pelican on the balcony, then with that whale.  I just so lightly reached my hand and touched her nose.  It was a moment that I can not explain any other way than pure magic.  The tour guide was a bit, concerned, yelling telling me to step back. but I felt a connection that I hadn't felt in a very long time.  The thought was there to just jump in, just to be close, to give her a hug but I wasn't totally crazy.  Those few seconds, changed everything. 

So the rest of the trip there was less of a need to make a plan and  my need to fight became more real. I wanted to make a difference, and I wasn't going to let them win.  So the rest of the trip I spent, talking to that pelican each morning, crying, feeling.  Talking about all the things that had happened to me.  I was able to talk about Bella for the very first time.  I even bought these little glass whales; it was a mom and a baby that I still have on the shelf next to me.  I tried to be the kid that my grandmother needed me to be. Each morning I was a little girl that had lost her baby and suffered so much at the hands of men that crushed parts of her soul.  

That week was more than surreal in so many ways.  I left for Florida not planning to come home.  Life had other plans.  That pelican showing up for me saved my life.  That connection with that whale, made me want more and made me believe that there was good in the world.  I am forever grateful to that pelican for showing up for being there.  When I felt most alone in the world, I was comforted by that bird each and every morning.  I am sure it was years later when the weight of what that pelican meant hit me.  If it weren't for that bird, I wouldn't be where I am today.  That is something amazing and I am grateful. I was able to find meaning in that whale and was going to focus all my energy on the things that kept me going. 

I heart your heart. 

Most hurtful

Trying to heal with everything that happened at 13 is more than difficult. One of the big reasons for that are the things that were said to me, even sometimes while trying to heal.  It has been a week, there have been so many thoughts and memories about the things that went on during that time and my heart is tired.  Looking back, I find it so very hard to believe how I was treated and the things that people found ok to say to me.  One of them even came from a counselor's mouth and made me feel so small and not believed.  If what happened to me was serious, then I would have been believed, and then I would have been cared for.  I cannot believe how unbelievably hard it has been to write, in these last few weeks.  I sit and I sit and there are so many thoughts and words and yet, I am scared to feel them, scared to write them, and scared to see the impact that others still have on me today. I believe their words and I play them over and over trying to make sense.  Trying to imagine why they said what they did, and why were they so hurtful .  instead of helping these people added so much more hurt to a young girl who had no one.  

So here are the most hurtful things.  

I was the chubby unpopular kid, who would want to do that to me ? 

Sex doesn't take that long

How many were there 

She just wants attention 

Well she isn't showing enough emotion

Well if this is true 

I read this list and I can't believe it.   I am shocked beyond words how I was treated and the things that people said out loud.  If these were the things that they said out loud in front of people, I can't imagine, the things that they said that I didn't know about. I have thought and thought and thought about these things wanting them to be different. Trying to understand the place that they came from and I just can't. I just wanted someone to care, I wanted someone to say I am so sorry that these things happened to you.  How is your heart, what do you need, can i stay with you.  I didn't get those things and I needed that more than anything.  I think that there are times that because of these words that were spoken, somehow, I was less than.  Somehow their words and actions, were a sign that I must be some kind of terrible. I was the kind of terrible that deserved these things because I was such a terrible human.  None of what happened to me, meant a thing.  Calvin was the only one who said what is happening to you isn't ok.  I never once believed any other person; all they did was blame and shame. Just so heartbreaking. 

Of course the first one.  I took that one to heart and made it mine.  OK I was just some kind of a slut.  I have replayed those words in my head millions of times.  I was chubby who would want to do that to me.  Those words spin in my head, somehow, I took those words and made everything my fault.  Like well I was just that disgusting, who would want to rape me.  Today those words are more than hard to write.  I was that awful of a human, I had to be lying because those things don't happen to girls like me.  I can remember a girl was raped around prom.  Everyone was so caring and made sure that she was ok, I can remember hearing the care that she got.  I was very glad for her but didn't understand why I didn't get that.  She got care and help, I got everything that was opposite of that.  I literally took that to mean I was that gross and disgusting.  It is really hard to even put into words how I internalized that and made it all my fault.  I still fight that all these years later. 

There was the time that a counselor asked me how long they were there.  She kind of laughed and she said that sex didn't take that long.  I can remember feeling so small. I can remember trying to make excuses, like well it felt like a really long time.  And there was another part of me that wanted to apologize that I didn't look at the clock.  I was sorry that I couldn't give her an exact number of minutes that I was being pinned to the floor and raped.  I can still hear that laugh. I hear that laugh and I thought to myself what kind of lying piece of shit are you that you don't even know how long he was there. I didn't have an answer for her, and I felt more than guilty.  I was 13, these things had been happening since I was 5.  So, for me when these things were happening, I was so far away I didn't know what else to do.  For her to sit there and laugh and tell me Well it doesn't take that long.  How dismissing and hurtful.  I was devastated.  I just wanted to talk about the things that happened to me, and she was laughing, asking me things that there was no way for me to know.  I just wanted to slide out of my chair and go far away. I thought that I had done something terrible. 

The next one was the counselor that asked me how many there were.  I told him 5 and he never acknowledged me again.  Somehow, I felt like I had given him the wrong answer, that somehow that made me even less of a person. I think there was a part of me, that thought ok, maybe I can talk about the things that happened to me.  Maybe someone will acknowledge being gang raped for hours that day.  As scared as I was, I wanted someone to care enough to ask.  I was asked but there was never any concern, there was never, are you? Do you need anything?  What can I do to help you through this, there was nothing.  Just a strange man sitting in front of me, listening to my father talk about himself, and make what happened to me all about him.  Oh, that's right because it didn't matter what I went through I was that strange kid, the loner, who was too quiet and watched the world from the outside.  No one took the time to understand the world that I was living in, their silence for me meant that I was the one to blame, I was the one at fault.  I was the one that must have brought this on herself.  No wonder that 13-year-old girl is terrified of people.  The rapes were devastating but how I was treated after was just as devastating to the girl that she was. 

There were all the whispers that I was lying and wanted attention.  I find that crazy, anyone who knew me knew that attention was the last thing that I wanted in this life,  I didn't want attention, I didn't want to be noticed.  I just wanted kindness.  I wanted not to be hurt.  I wanted to feel safe and sound, I wanted someone to care for me, and that just wasn't what I got.  I will say this thousands of times.  I always wish that I had kept things to myself.  It was different when no one knew what happened to me, then they couldn't do anything because they didn't know.  Then people did know, and they didn't do anything and it made everything worse now they did know and were blaming me for it.  They came up with every excuse that they could to blame and discredit who I was as a person.  That part I will never understand.  What does a 13-year-old have to gain by telling others that she was raped?  Nothing there was nothing to gain I just needed care and understanding.  I needed someone to keep me safe. 

Of course, again there were the people that said I wasn't showing enough emotion.  I am not sure what they were expecting.  I cried with Calvin, I cried with the only person who gave a shit that I was hurt.  He was the only real genuine hug that I ever got after I told what happened.  And they didn't even know all of what I went through, I gave them the pretty version not the brutal truth.  I cannot imagine that they would have been able to handle my words if I had said all the things that they did to me.  Yet I wasn't showing enough emotion.  They didn't understand, and at the same time they didn't want to.  They thought I was lying and there is no reason in the world for them not to believe me.  Really it wouldn't have made a difference, tears or no tears they would not have done a single thing different it was an excuse to make me look like I was lying and trying to cover something up.  That is just heart wrenching no one took the time to see me.  I was dying inside under the weight of what happened to me, and it didn't matter. 

I felt like everyone time someone talked to me there was an air of disbelief.  I withdrew further and further.  Why keep reaching out, why ask for what I needed when all the fingers keep pointing back at you.  More than one person said Well if this is true.  If this is true, I can hear their words first by one of the youth group counselors, and another from a teacher who found a note.  Well, if this is true you need to get help.  Nice of you to say I have been reaching for help for a time now and no one is stepping up to the plate.  I have been trying to get help and instead am being blamed and shamed.  The youth group counselor was another one that made it about him.  He started with, well if this happened to you and continued to talk about himself and his suicide attempts.  I had no one, and there was not a single soul that did anything, that could have done so much.  

These things just make me more than angry.  I was just a girl literally the most alone that a person could be in the world.  All the adults around me that should have done something but didn't and I was left.  That is why today at 49, I am still struggling with their words and accusations.  I was failed and that is a soul kind of crushing that wares so heavy on me even today.  I am trying to see things different; I am trying to take all the knives out of my back but there are some that are so firmly planted, I think it's going to take a miracle.  This is so hard.  This is so hurtful; my heart feels their intentions after all this time and it's crushing.  No more words, there is no amount of typing to take the pain from how that so young innocent girl was treated.  I am so sorry; I am so sorry sweet girl. 

I heart your heart.