Category: Self esteem

Rape culture

So I am not an easily triggered person,  usually.  However,  here lately social media has been testing the limits. Several times I have opened Facebook and found articles about children dying because they were raped.  Then there are the articles about rapists getting nearly no punishment for what they have done. So then I take to Twitter,  which is usually a little bit more light-hearted. Until the presidential election.  Then there started a new hashtag. #WhyWomenDontReport. Well,  that is a huge can of worms. It caused me to discuss this with Joe.

He said that most of the women who he knows,  or has known have been either raped or molested.  Then as we were talking about it,  he considered.  Of the twenty women who he was intimate with,  he said he was unable to say for sure on four.  The rest were survivors.  That is not even a random statistic.  That is women who he was with.

I was floored by that.  So I posted on Facebook. (So there is a thing on Twitter… #whyIdidntreport
I DID REPORT! At least the first time. I was told that I was a liar. Not all rapes go unreported, some people speak and go unheard. I didn’t speak of the second time because I knew I wouldn’t be believed.) I had several of my friends express similar situations. Think on this,  according to Google,  one in three women are raped in their lifetime. Yes men are also raped,  but I am not speaking of them,  not yet anyway.  So 1/3 of all women.  We as a people need to address this… That is a huge issue.

Add to the issue the ignorance of Trump’s “locker room talk” and the treatment of the victims by those who have the power to change things.  Is it any wonder that sexual assault is the least reported crime?  We make it hard for the scared to overcome the fear instilled by violence to step into a safe place…  And I for one am tired of that.  I was raped at fourteen and molested as a small child.  I am not a statistic.  I am  not a victim.  I am not allowing Rape culture to break me. I speak my truth,  and invite you to do the same.

Love Dust

In my life too many
Have claimed that they
Loved me,
Just before turning
And walking away.

Don’t ask me
To tell you,
Who he really is.
For in my sorrow,
In my shame and pain,
I realized that I really
Never even knew.

Do not ask me
What I did,
That drove her away.
For all that I am
The one who once
Sister she called,
In truth I doubt
That she really ever
Knew the truth of me.

The shattered shards
Of self esteem and trust,
Left beside me as those who
Claim that they love me
Leave me in the dust.

Outside blind

Okay,  I believe it is time that I explain my truth,  and set myself free.  I have survived many abusive situations.  I really was a broken soul. Then I met an angry redhead. He is my anchor.  He allowed me to heal.  When I met him,  I was dissociating.  I was on more medications than a person should ever take and I flinched whenever anyone looked at me cross.  I was hiding who I was,  mostly because I had seen that it would be unwelcome.  No one believed me when I spoke of what I had been through.  So when I met him,  I was more than a hot mess. I was having nightmares nightly and I was terrified of everything.  I had at our rough count at least fifteen distinct personalities.  Twenty years later, I no longer dissociate. I Will likely have nightmares for the rest of my life,  but I have them less now.  I now wake up to arms who hold me as I cry the tears of fear.  I have someone who has encouraged me to be myself,  no matter what anyone else thinks. We heal each other.

That sounds amazing right?  Well the problem is most people see him and because he is grouchy and anti-social,  They think that he is not good to me. I have watched him walk away from people who he loved because of how they treated me.  I have watched him protect me when I was trapped in my own mind. I have had to stand between him and the outside,  because of people misunderstanding. I will always stand up for him,  he is why I have found the strength to heal a shattered soul. So many people have told me that I can do better……but What they fail to understand is that I don’t want to.  We fight,  we play,  we love,  and we have healed.  Unless you are part of it,  there is so much that you Can not see,  so please don’t judge my life based on the first impression that you have of him or me.

 

A concept flawed

for·give·ness
ˌfərˈɡivnəs/
noun
noun: forgiveness; plural noun: forgivenesses
  1. the action or process of forgiving or being forgiven.
    “she is quick to ask forgiveness when she has overstepped the line”
    synonyms: pardon, absolution, exoneration,remission, dispensation,indulgence, clemency, mercy;More

    reprieve, amnesty;
    archaicshrift
    “we beg your forgiveness”
    antonyms: mercilessness, punishment
Origin
Old English forgiefenes, from forgiefen (past participle of forgiefan ‘forgive’) + the noun suffix -nes .
                     For me forgiveness has been a tough matter.  I am a survivor,  and I cannot tell you how many times I have been told to forgive my abuser.  That it is for my peace.  No it is not.  It is the way that everyone around me feels better about my mental state.  Forgiveness for me has always meant being able to go around the forgiven.  To accept that this was done and not hold the person responsible for it.  Well I refuse.  He hurt me.  I still wake up from nightmares.  That is unlikely to change.  I am not a victim anymore, I have healed as much as I am likely to do.  Still if I was to be in the same room with him,  I would not be civil.  He was responsible for some of the darkest moments of my life.  So I think that the concept of forgiveness needs to be adjusted.  If you Google it,  forgiveness comes up only as a way to heal from abuse.  The fact that the word has been adjusted in such a way says quite alot.  I am a writer.  I see words as they are meant.  So for me forgiveness is being misused,  and mostly by people who have never been there.  If someone chops your foot off then I  guess you can forgive them?  You can say that it’s ok and that you are fine with it?  Well I have my doubts.  My abuser caused horrific nightmares,  ptsd,  and an overwhelming claustrophobia.  Those are not something that my “forgiving” him will fix.  I have managed to put a shattered mind mostly back together.  I was dealing with dissociation.  I am not anymore. I am able to speak of what I went through,  even if it is not an easy thing.  Forgiving him will not change that. He is a monster.  Accepting that was needed.  That is not forgiveness,  I will never be able to be in the same room as him.  As a matter of fact,  I told him the last time I saw him that I would scream if I ever saw him again.  Forgiveness is not a tool for my peace of mind,  it is a tool for those who have not been where I have.

Sensitive body topics

Okay,  this is not an easy thing for me to write.  I am a firm believer in teaching children about their bodies and teaching consent. What that means is teaching a child that their bodies belong only to them. No forcing the child to give unwanted hugs,  no ignoring discomfort with affection. Teach girls about what is natural for their bodies. Oh I realize that eventually most have to explain the whole puberty thing.  But if you make no topic taboo,  then if there is something wrong,  your child is not afraid to speak up.

There are several reasons why this is a tough topic , and why it is such an important one.  I was molested.  He convinced me that no one would believe me.  My mom was so uncomfortable with some topics that she couldn’t discuss them… Puberty was not a easy time (I was given a pamphlet and told to go to my room to read it.) So when I finally worked up the courage to speak,  well he was right.  I was not believed.  So when I had my own daughter,  I swore I would do things differently.  I don’t allow anyone to force affection.  We don’t have secrets.  If she has a question about anything,  I try to answer it. So at twelve years old,  I had tried to run away from home three times.  She feels safe. I was sexually active at twelve and pregnant at thirteen.  She has said that she is not ready for a boyfriend and really is not wanting to have sex anytime soon. She is a smart and sensitive girl who is learning how to be sarcastic and funny,  not as a defense mechanism like I did….but because she enjoys laughing. I have been told that I should be less open with her because people were uncomfortable with how honest I am with my twelve year old.  I let her ask questions and I refuse to lie.  I will not apologize for my doing what I felt was right for any of my children. Even if I fail at all else I do in life,  I have a smart funny happy girl.

Fear does not mean weakness

Some one I care very deeply for was upset because she couldn’t face someone who had abused her.  Well I got to thinking about that.  Fear is a healthy reaction to danger.  If you have ever survived any form of abuse,  you understand that.  I am a survivor.  I have been raped,  molested,  beaten.  I have been in abusive relationships.  I am not now,  because I found my way out of that darkness. I don’t think I could be brave enough to face those who abused me.  When I tried to stand up,  and tell someone…. Well I was not believed.  I was told I was lying.  Even though I showed the signs of the abuse.  So when I was raped by a group of five at thirteen,  Fear kept me silent.  Fear turned into the backbone I needed to become who I am. So I would not be a victim again.  However,  even as strong as I have become,  I doubt that I could face my molester or the five who raped me.  And if I did,  I doubt that I would have anything to say.  The piece of me that was stolen is gone.  I am not that girl anymore.  Nor do I want to be.  So I will keep my fear,  as it strengthens me.  It allows me to realize that there are really monsters out there.  It allows me a chance to know that I won’t break,  for life has tried.  Be proud of what you are,  and do not hide your truth.  For that is what made you.

Nightmares of the human kind

Survivors know,  monsters are real.  They wear human faces,  sometimes even the faces we are supposed to love. I have survived abuse,  been raped more than once.  It is how I have become. I have seen the darkness in  mankind. And just as I am ready to stop seeing the light as possibility,  that is when someone comes to show me there is people who are still worth believing in.

I try to be positive,  for even though I have seen the monsters walking around in man’s skin,  I really don’t want to let the darkness seep too deeply in. To do that,  lets them win. So I teach my daughter that which I was not taught (that no one has a right to do anything she is uncomfortable with) And I make my own way in this scary world.  Some days that means waking up soaked in the tears drawn from the past.  Some days it means pulling away from the world on whole. This is what life is after you meet the nightmares of the human kind.

Too much on my mind to write fiction, so here is a dish of truth.

Identity is not something that is set in stone.  Even though society seems to see it that way. As a  child of the eighties,  the mere idea of gender fluidity was absurd.  You were either a boy,  or a  girl. And the closest to fluidity was being a tomboy or a nancyboy. Either way,  you were bullied.  And the “no bully” thing wasn’t going on then.  Now mind you,  I am not complaining.  It was just how life was.  I am pleased to see the progress.  For me,  the idea of creating who I am now,  well it is part of what I want in life.  For others it is definitely more painful.

I am “one of the guys” most of the time.  The first person who told me that,  Scared me.  As being one of the guys meant that I was flawed,  somehow less female. Still in truth,  it is how I am.  I am happy working with my hands,  no make-up,  simple hair and pants.  Once in a blue moon,  I will get girly.  Dress up in flowing skirts and soft boots.  I love science and nature,  and not just the flowers.  I have helped to do landscaping.  I have spent time in the pit at the track.  I spent summers working on farms.  Oh what is that?  Girls can do that too?  Well yeah… But I was seen as masculine because of it. I was the center for my high school football team (at one of them.)  And could out bench the football team (at another).  So does that make me a guy?  No not really.  I think that is the problem.  Identity tends to be based on stupid things.

For me,  Identity should be less about male/female and more about what you make of yourself.  I am not male.  I am not female… I fall somewhere in between.  I am a poet. I am a mother.  I am a writer.  I am an artist.  I am human.  I am a gamer.  I am…….

Random thoughts.

Random thoughts as I travel to the store.

That willow is so lovely.  How many stories hang within?

Hope my neighbor gets better.  Her cough is scary.

Such a pretty red bird. Wonder what it is called?

Someone really needs to cut the grass. Lovely little creatures might be hiding within.

Really need to finish the last page of the princess lost. Just so busy today.

What should I make for dinner?  Really not hungry.

I miss my best friend.

Small towns are fun…to visit.  I want to live in the middle of nowhere.

I want to go to college,  but I wonder for what.  No longer interested in computer programming. And taking a  course in creative writing scares me badly.  I fear I will find out how bad my writing is.

The older I get the less I like people.  Is hermit an option?

I need milk. Good grief,  i made a list, quit worrying about forgetting to get things.

 

 

 

 

Life, Death, and suicide.

Many of my friends suffer depression,  and I am not untouched by it. Although when asked if I have ever been suicidal,  well only once. When I was given medicine for the depression as a teen, the medicine made me want death.  For me,  i see it different usually.  I have heard other survivors say it,  and truth is really so much more than the words say. I don’t want to die, however on my darkest days,  I do wish I had never been born. Days where the pain feels more than I am able to bear, when the nightmares are stronger than the dreams. Those are the days where I have to recount all i have done. Those are the days when my blessings must be noted. And those are the days when kindness is most needed,  and when I am at my least kind.