I Am Tired

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I’m not a stranger to suicide. Yes I think about it from time to time, and yes, I’ve attempted it before. People have told me how suicide is selfish, it’s not the answer, there are better ways to handle things, but have they ever wondered why I’ve felt it was the only way out, my only option?

Because I couldn’t be strong anymore. I was tired. Emotionally, mentally, and physically tired.

I was forced to be strong, I didn’t acquire this because I wanted to. I was forced to by other people’s actions. When I was raped and too afraid, too embarrassed to tell anyone what happened. When my rape resulted in pregnancy and then later a miscarriage. Or the former boyfriend that was abusive. What about having family stop speaking to me. Or even the most recent assault that happened last week.

I had no one to rely on. No one to lean onto for support. My support came from me. If I didn’t stay up, didn’t keep moving, there was no one behind me to assist me. I had to do this on my own. Had to be my own backup support system, my own cheerleader, and was fucking tiring.

My mind was a dark place. Full of self doubt, criticism, victimization. If I wasn’t thinking it, I had heard it from others, and it was on replay in my head. It wouldn’t leave. The nightmares were constant as I kept replaying everything that happened to me. I’d hear others talk about people in my same situation, blaming them for what happened, reemphasizing that it was my fault, I caused it to happen. cv

I could no longer control how I felt or thought. I would cut, hit, scratch, or burn myself just to control how I felt and when I felt. I would scream as long and loud as I could into pillows or in the woods trying to get the empty out of me, releasing the blackness.

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Not having anyone, made it so much easier to decide what to do. No one would miss me. No one even noticed all of the changes in me. Withdrawn and quiet. Not interested in anything. Drinking a lot. Sleeping if I wasn’t working. Increasingly was doing things more and more dangerously, recklessly. It wasn’t noticed. So it was so easy to slip away at a party, take those pills and alcohol, and wish for sweet oblivion.

It was an escape from the never ending hopelessness that I was going through. It was a way to finally take a break from being strong. It allowed the mind to become quiet.

Funny thing is, I can look back on what it was like then, and see myself in the same situation now. I can easily turn those verbs from a past tense into a present one, and have how I am today. I’m going through the same situations, and again, have only myself for strength and support here. Who is here to turn to but myself.

I’m tired of being strong. I’ve been strong too long.

 

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**Rape/Assault Triggers Possible**

WeHeartIt - Broken Angel

WeHeartIt – Broken Angel

I’m in a state of shock. It doesn’t happen often, it’s rare. I’ve been through a lot, rape, abuse, miscarriage, having family turn away from me, having “friends” turn against me, so for me to be in shock over something is hard, but that’s where I am.

Would you like to know why?

This past weekend, I was assaulted. I don’t know how else to state it, except I was assaulted.

It’s probably partially  my fault. I invited this person over, allowed them into my home. I trusted this person. So there must be fault with me for this. Loneliness and feelings of abandonment can do wonders to a person. They let you invite demons and the devil into your life.

So the weekend before I destroyed me knee, which I’m still waiting to find out what’s wrong. Needless to say, it’s swollen to twice the size and the skin color is not right whilst I’m in more pain than usual, you know, that fibromyalgia thing I deal with as well. So I’m to stay off of it as much as possible. I’ve tried inviting people over, but I get turned down all of the time. Seems everyone wants you to go to them, or they’re just too busy. The people I talk to the most, don’t live anywhere close to me. So I’m on my own. I’m cooped up in my house or at work and see either coworkers or my pets. Depressing and lonely.

So this person who I hadn’t talked to in a while found out and offered to come visit. I said okay, because let’s face it, at this point anyone is better than no one. I’m talking to myself and sleeping nonstop if I’m not at work. I need human contact. So I said fine.

Do I need to go further? This were fine until he started to choke me and slap me, calling me a dirty slut and whore. I told him to stop, but he didn’t. I shut down. I didn’t know what else to do. I had to. I cannot go back to where I was before. I refuse to be that person again, but what else can I do? I just wanted him gone.

I tried to not think about it and keep going afterwards, but that night my collarbone was hurting a lot. My voice was hoarse, but I was already losing it, from screaming at a soccer match, so it wasn’t really noticeable. The bruises are covered easily by not wearing scooped neck shirts or tanks. Now how am I to deal with the PTSD that will resurface? How can I tell the guy that I currently like and want to know better, hey, guess what, I had sex with another guy, but a little bit into, he started abusing me. Sorry? Kinda fucked up isn’t it?

People are urging me to go to the police, but here’s the thing. I’m scared shitless, he said she said. I consented. I want to do the same I did for when I was raped, and forget this happened. I know I need to talk to someone, but guess what, I have no one here. The few I talk to, they wouldn’t want to most likely, or they would continue to ignore unless I’m there with them. Even then, they probably wouldn’t care. Being the only one you can rely on is never the best of situations, but it’s all I have to go on right now.

So I’m going to have to cry this out now, and then put on my tough exterior again. I need to keep going. Guess I learned my lesson though.

12 Years Later: An Open Letter to My Rapist

 

Mr Ironic for Sexual Assault Awareness Month
The Jerk That Destroyed Me
The Guy That Raped Me
My Rapist


To The Guy That Changed My Life,

Twelve years ago today, you possessed me, took me, and started an invasion that went into my  mind as well. Do you even remember me? Do you remember what you did to me

You took advantage of me. You drugged me and didn’t take no for an answer. There was no consent given, but that didn’t stop you. You raped me.

It was a week before my 21st birthday, and you destroyed the girl that I was then. Shattered her beyond repair.

Do you know that you were almost a father again? That’s right, you left a “gift” behind,  a constant reminder of what you had done. I found out on Mother’s Day. Ironic isn’t it? Ruined that holiday for me as all I had wanted was a family of my own, yet the only family I was going to have was the child of the guy that raped  me. It’s okay though, apparently fate took control as I had a miscarriage right after I had decided I had wanted to keep the baby. It was not that child’s fault.

I would scream and cry, wasting tears on you, while I was in the shower or had music up so loud so no one would hear. I felt dirty, used, worthless. I hurt beyond words and had no control. I shut down, becoming an emotional zombie, allowing no emotions to be felt.

When I wanted to feel something, on my own terms, I would cut, punch, scratch, or burn myself. If it hurt me, then I would do it. I had control that way.

I bet you didn’t know that I had made a New Year’s Resolution at the end of that year? I tried to commit suicide. TRIED. I was rather unsuccessful, obviously as I’m here writing this to you. I didn’t want to be in the darkness I had fallen so far into. I wanted the hold you had on me gone. The anger and hate, sadness and hopelessness, I wanted it all gone. I needed the memories and images gone, the flashbacks that wouldn’t end to disappear.

 

I never told anyone what happened to me. I was embarrassed that you had this control on me. I didn’t want to admit that I needed rescuing to anyone. I didn’t like that I was now a victim, helpless. I thought I was better than that. I could not bring myself to say “Save me, I need help.”

I did it though, despite you. I saved myself. I became a survivor, a fighter. I grew stronger and took control. I fought for my survival. I had to, as my only other choice was taken away from me, suicide. I sought help at the rape center. I learned that the only hold you had on me was the one I created in my mind.

I broke it.

I tore you away as if you were nothing, because that’s what you are. You are not worth a single thought. You don’t have control of me. You mean nothing to me.

How does it feel to have the tables turned? You treated me as if I was nothing, and now you are nothing.

You know, if it wasn’t for you, I would not be the person that I am today. I wouldn’t be strong. I would not be the fighter that I am, nor would I be able to love and accept myself, in turn letting myself love others. I now believe in myself. I kick ass now.

For that, I thank you, but I still hate and despise you, like the worthless fuck you are,
Your Former Victim
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Escape

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Angel of death, come take me away
Remove the sorrow and emptiness surrounding me
Release the pain, erase the tears, destroy the heartache
Let your sweet black nothingness be all I see

Oh Sweet Girl, why do you think it’s your time
You are yet so young, with life in front of you
What will those around you think
When you have decided to pass on through?

Oh Death, Those  around me are soulless and cruel
Their hearts are empty, mouths spewing hatred
They hide the evil they contain with a smile and lies
Always reveling in the horror you have tasted.

Sweet Girl, put those pills away
Come over here and let me hold you for a moment
Take comfort that not all is lost, not all are as they seem
Tell me again, why it is that you are so broken

Death, there is so much emptiness within.
When I slowly remove that with some with love and joy,
There are those that wrench it away from me,
Laughing all the while, like my life is just a toy.

Sweet Girl, put the alcohol down,
Take hold of this hand of mine and rest your head
Letting me kiss your painful tears away
And please finish telling me all that has yet to be said

My Angel of Death, this one told me he was an angel
He said he loved me and I was his one.
I didn’t see the evil he possessed, he didn’t hear my NO
Now that my innocence is gone, his cruelty done.

Sweet Baby Girl, can you please put that razor down
Look me in the eyes, tell me again why
Why do you seek to end it all this way
Are you going to give up and not even try?

Kind Death, Another one told me I was his World
That we were going to be Heaven on Earth
What he showed me was hell with a fist
To all who could see, I was nothing of worth.

Sweetness, can’t you see, that there is hope.
Step out of that water and listen to this.
You still have life left in you and years to go
It might not look like it but soon there’s bliss.

Death that’s what I’m asking for now, sweet bliss
Give me what I seek, for nothing else has proven true
Love and hope have failed, people prove false to their words.
Faith is worthless, and ending this is my way to get through.

Oh Little one, What lies you have been told.
For what I see is one so strong from trials you face
A beacon of hope for those struggling as well
You have been living and surviving with so much grace.

Death, I do not see this grace and strength
Pain, darkness, hurt, betrayal, and anguish are what I know
Where do you see this survivor, this one full of hope
For here all I see is hopelessness, loss, and nothing left but woe?

Sweetest Baby Girl, You have survived and battled on
You can still be here, showing them how wrong they are
Fights and battles, you’ve made it through them all,
You haven’t lost yet, though you carry some scars.

Death, why do you care so much for one wanting to die
One ready to surrender all that they are to you
I’m seeking a way out, to finally be at peace,
And you’re turning me away, have I no true value?

Sweet Little One, sorry to deceive you, but Death I am not
You overflow with love, a soul so sweet it’s hard to find
A warrior’s spirit you have, strength abounding within you
Death does not deserve you, for he would be so unkind.

Sweet One, you have life and love to experience still
There will be heartache and pains, failures and losses along with lows,
Scars and bruises, but you will win love, hope, and faith.
You are the author of this story, now show me how it goes.

Shattered

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Your love is a dirty little drug
Seeping, flowing through my veins
Leaving me frozen and numb
To feel none of the pains

It was one of those times that I thought I had met my one. The match. The person I’m going to spend the rest of my life with. No, I wasn’t in the bloom of first crush, I was passed that. I already had a broken engagement behind me. I thought I knew what I was getting into. I thought this was going to be it.

He was kind and sweet, as well as interested in me out of all the other girls, or should I say women. He would single me out to talk to. He asked for my number. I said yes without hesitation, and thus handed it over. He called me later that day. After talking he sent me goodnight text. My heart was sold that this was a good guy. This one cares, he’s different. I can see this going far.

We would talk every day to every other day. Getting to know each other. Our pasts, what’s going on now, and what we hope to accomplish later. The habits and likes of each other. What talents the others had, and what they lacked in that the other excelled in. Learning from him what it’s like living in a different country and then moving here. Religion. Wishing each other a good night and hope that the day was good or will be good to them.

Things looked good. Things felt amazing. He was ok with the fact that I was raped and was pregnant, even though I lost the baby, which is something I had not told my ex fiance as I was in a state of denial until the past few years. I was shocked that was ok with this because here’s a kicker, he’s Iraqi. Goes against their cultural beliefs of purity with women or something like that (yes, I’m not always politically correct, but this is what I think/thought at the time).

You made me feel alive
To forget the fear raging inside
Covering my world in shadows
Urging me to run and hide

It wasn’t hard to move into a relationship. It just happened without us noticing, or at least without myself noticing. He would stop by where I was working to say and then wait until I was done working to say goodnight and see me to my car. One night I left work to find flowers and a card on my windshield. My manager said it was creepy, I thought it was sweet. I should have listed to the manager, but I was in love and wouldn’t realize until later he was right.

He told me once that he wanted to see me jealous, so he checks out other girls, talks to them. Then he would tell me how they all look at him as he is walking down the street, but all he wanted was me. I didn’t think any of this at the time, as he told me jealousy showed him that I liked him, and like him I did. He filled that hole that was left of being unloved, unwanted. I felt protected, wanted, cared for, loved.

Then things gradually changed, and I didn’t see this happening.

I remember I was growing my hair out from a pixie cut, so when I met him I had my hair just about chin length, maybe a little longer. He said he liked long hair, he liked seeing  me growing my hair and seeing me with long hair and hoped that I would never cut it.

It was normal to let him know where I was and who I was with. If he didn’t like the person, he’d tell me to either not go, or to leave and go home. If I didn’t tell him where I was or whom I was with, I was lying and cheating on him. I was no longer allowed to have guy friends. He didn’t have issues with it before, but now, I was cheating on him with all of them. I liked them more than I liked him. He had to approve my friends. Even being with family members or people I’ve known since I was little, became an issue to him.

I remember when I went on vacation with my family. Things started to get weird. He wanted to know what I was doing almost constantly, and if I didn’t respond, he would get irritated and upset, saying I was cheating on him. Yes, I’m cheating on you with my family. It started to bother me. I started thinking he was trying to be controlling. I told him this, and he told me it’s only because he worried about me. He knew about my past, and was ok with it, and said he worried though that it would happen again. I accepted this and put it behind us. He cares and worries about me, that’s not a bad thing at all I would think.

Holding on to my dark addiction
Obsession that overrides sanity
I need the love you hurt me with
I crave the desire that tortures me

Then I was being pressured about sex. (This is harder to talk about for me, so I am briefly covering it.) I was brought up religious, still have religious values and thoughts, just not a part of the religion right now, so to me, sex before marriage was a no no. That’s how I felt. I was a virgin when I was raped and I wasn’t giving what I still considered virginity (as it was taken from me, not given before) to just anyone even if they were a boyfriend. I didn’t have sex with the fiance, I’m not having sex with this one either unless I’m married. It’s how I felt. Not how he felt. Constant pressure, constant reasons why I should. It will show how much I love him, it will make our relationship stronger, he won’t love me if I don’t. There are other girls out there that would in a heartbeat.The arguments and reasons kept coming. He would try to force me, and eventually he won. I couldn’t take it anymore.

I felt god awful and dirty afterwards. There was a feeling of guiltiness and worthlessness that took over. I felt used and cheap. Almost like I was going through the rape again.

I’m done. I cannot take this anymore. I needed to get out.

I told him I’m done. I told him that this is it, I can’t do it anymore. I heard a bunch of accusations against me. I’m cheating on him, I’m not good enough for him anyways, there are better girls out there, and on and on. I said that’s fine. I’m done.

Then the apologies came. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, you just turn me on when you’re around me. I love being with you. I won’t do it again. After several days of it, I believed it. I forgave him. I went back. He said that he wouldn’t do it again. I believed him.

Things were fine for a while, but after a couple of weeks, it started again. He was controlling. I wasn’t allowed to speak or do anything unless he was with me. If he wasn’t with me, he would call or text and check on me, and I better answer or accusations were flying in my direction. My life became a constant. Work, Home, Him. I did nothing else. I wasn’t allowed. If I did, I was cheating. If I wasn’t were I was suppose to be at a certain time, I was lying and cheating. I had to text when I would leave work, and text when I was home from work. Nothing else was allowed.

I was in prison. A prison I allowed to be created.

I am now a patchwork quilt
Just pieces of torn fabric
Emotions stitched together
With ragged melancholy seams

He had told me that he could have any girl he wanted, but he chose me. That use to make me feel like special, made me feel as if he saw me and wanted me, then it became a threat. A threat that I was replaceable. He would replace me in a heartbeat if I didn’t listen to him, didn’t obey him, didn’t worship him. I went from being someone I thought was cherished, to being an object, almost as if I was a pet that was suppose to adore him, or be punished if I did not.

Then one day there was a discussion that tipped me over the edge. He told me he wanted to marry me, but there were conditions. I wasn’t to tell anyone about the rape, I needed to stop taking depression medications, and I needed to have surgery to become a virgin again. He wanted me to have surgery to repair my hymen so it could be broken again. The last time it was broken, was when that ass stole my virginity with rape. Now that I was overcoming all the problems I held within that whole time, he wants me to cover it back up, and then to take me off of the medications that were keeping me sane enough to not want to kill myself again. Where did this monster come from?

I told him no, that nothing was worth hiding a part of pass and trying to put a bandage on it, pretending nothing happened. He told me I didn’t love him then, had no respect for him. No, I guess I do not then, since I’ve only given in to your every whim and let you dictate my life for the time you’ve known me. I told him it was over and walked away.

I was allowed peace for a short period of time. Then the phone would start ringing in the middle of the night. 2, 3, 4 in the morning trying to get me to talk to him. He’d leave voicemails and texts saying he was sorry and he loved me. I would try to ignore them, erase them as they would come in. He didn’t give up. It was as if I’d acquired a stalker now on top of everything else he put me through. I continued to ignore him, not telling anyone about this. When he kept getting persistent, calling at all hours and texting nonstop, I remember what he said about my hair, that if I cut it we were done for good. I made an appointment the next day and got myself a cute little bob. Goodbye hair.

The next time he saw me, a few days later at church, he stalked over to me, asked what the hell did I do, and then walked away. I haven’t heard back from him again.

All I wanted was to be loved, and it seems it will forever be out of reach.

With your skin like Iron and mine like Glass
Saying you love me and want to set me free
Reaching ever closer and closer
you lean in and shatter me

Anniversaries – Not Always Happy

So, I don’t usually bring this up at all, but it’s hitting me a bit hard this year. On this date 11 years ago (which happened to be Mother’s Day), I found out I was pregnant as a result of the rape. This year it’s like a punch in the stomach. And I know in a few weeks in July, it will be the anniversary of my miscarriage.

When I found out about the pregnancy, I admit, I was shocked and devastated. I now have a reminder of what had happened to me, and have it always there. I didn’t want that. I felt that  would not be able to care for this child without constant reminders. I didn’t tell my family, because then I’d have to tell them about the rape, not something I wanted to do.

It took a little bit of time, and I’m unsure why, but my mind changed. I accepted the fact that I was pregnant, as well as realized that it was not this baby’s fault. This baby that was starting to grow inside of me, was not who  hurt me and took away what was me. This could be a chance to make myself better, perhaps get over what had happened, or at least move past it. This could be my silver lining, after all, I was always wanting my own family and children.

Then the bottom dropped out again. At around 14 weeks pregnant, I lost the baby. My world fell apart again. After just realizing that I had a chance to find a bit of happiness and move on a little bit, it disappeared again. I had a bubble of sunshine, that was swallowed back up in the empty. It was after this that I had slipped into the deepest darkest depression that took forever to get out of. You know the one, where I was self harming, attempted suicide, cut myself off from anyone, so on and so on.

So for some reason this year, it’s hitting me hard. I’ve cried a few times this week and felt awful. If I’m feeling like this now, what’s it going to be like in a couple of weeks? I hope the dark doesn’t become too much.

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A New Beginning

All of my trips down the rabbit hole have lead me to this mad tea party in my head. I’m more than depression, PTSD, suicide, and rape. I’m more than that. I have many things going on from art and photography, tattoos, animals, writing, video games, friends, new lifestyle changes, and just living in general. I am this crazy in my head, this mad tea party.  So instead of tripping through the rabbit holes, I know who I am, and am ready to accept that and share it.

I’ve started up this party to share what I’m thinking, the good, the bad, the crazy, all of it. I’ll share some of the posts from the previous blog, but I think it’s time to move on and start a new.

Welcome to the party and enjoy your Unbirthday with me.

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