Tuesday, May 29, 2012


There are moments that I look back on and have no idea how I made it through. Thinking about it baffles me - even nauseates me. There is no explanation as to how or why I survived and so many others don't.

I am a normal person on the outside. I smile a lot and laugh a lot. I have a beautiful child and loving husband and a great dog! My life is picture perfect on the outside. You would never know the secrets that lay beneath the surface.

I think we are all like this in one way or another. We all have secrets and things in our past we wish would just disappear. I tried for a long time to push all of my secrets into a box and lock them tight forever. Sad thing is, once the box gets too full, the nasty, icky, slimy memories start to ooze out and you are no longer able to contain them. They stain everything and everyone around you. Some things are ruined - some stains wash out... reguardless of which - you are different ... flawed ... exposed.

Friday, May 11, 2012

What was I thinking?

None of this makes sense - at least to me.
There was a period of time where, during the dealing and acceptance of the rape, that I grieved for my rapist. Stupid right?

My rape (holy cow - it has taken me a LOOONNNGGGG time to say that) was very complex. There was nothing simple about it. I don't mean to belittle anyone else who has ever been raped or abused saying theirs was not as bad as mine - because no matter how bad it was - whether it was simple or not - to that person - it's lifechangingly bad.

My rapist was a sadist as well. He found arousal in the punishment and release in the sex itself. Mind games were huge with him - and I unknowingly fell right into my role as I was supposed to in his stupid plan.

Since he was so calculated in his actions - he had two sides. There was a sweet, attractive, funny man - who at times I desired to kiss. He was a protector. He saved me from the other man ... the asshole. The asshole was just that - an asshole. He was cruel and calculating and lived for the snap of his belt. Sex with him was not enjoyable - it was torture.

During the rape, there were many times where I longed for the sweet man to emerge and save me - and several times - he did. I fell in love with him. Stockholm syndrome - or so I've been told. Even years after, while replaying all of the horriffic clips in my head, I missed the sweet man. I felt as though my heart had been broken. To this day, I don't completely understand this.

Through therapy and long talks with a friend, I have managed to accept the reality. The sweet man was an illusion. He never existed. He was an act - and I bought a front row seat to the show.

I often feel foolish when I think back on my feelings through this point. I think of myself as a smart person - someone who is not easily fooled and a pretty good reader of people. Boy - I really read him wrong!

I'm not the stupid, scared, naive little girl anymore. I am a mother and a wife and a friend ... but down deep inside, that scared little girl still resides.

I am proud of the progress I have made and continue to make. It is all a part of my story - one that someday may be told to the world. It has made me who I am today - flaws and all.

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

My wish

I wish that life was easy. I wish the world made sense. I wish that our friends were really our friends forever. I wish that hearts didn't break, feelings didn't get hurt, and people were good.

Little girls should not sleep in fear - ever. Innocence should not be lost stolen. Tears should not be the constant comforter for anyone - child or adult.

Parents should not lose their children. Questions should not remained unanswered. Violence should not be forgotten.

I wish the world was easy. I wish the world made sense. I wish our friends were really our friends forever...

Saturday, May 5, 2012


There are times that I wish things were "easy" - less complex... Dealing with trauma is difficult, but when you add a whole other layer of difficulty and complexity to the mix, it seems to become almost impossible. One step forward, two  twenty steps back! I make progress (in my mind) and the next time I turn around, I am even further behind than when I had started.

A friend once told me that it is like the layers of an onion - layer by layer you peel away the emotions and memories until finally in the end - you dont have a huge, solid onion - you have paper thin layers. You will shed tears along the way - but in the end - it's over and done. I'm not sure which layer of the onion I am on at this point. I think my onion is regrowing new layers!!!!

My rape (HOLY CRAP - I can't believe I just called it that - blech ...) was complex...at least to me. Even now, trying to process it is difficult. I don't see it like others do. I see it as a movie - complete with graphic and horrifying images and scenes. Even when I read what I have written about that night - I still can't get through it in one sitting without the movie becoming too intense in my head. Will it always be like that?

Yesterday in therapy I mentioned that I wish I had experienced a normal rape. A quick "in and out" - wham bam thank you ma'am - and the end. I don't know how to process all that "my" rape was. There are so many levels to its intensity that I almost can't process it. I get so mad that it happened at all - then I immediately feel stupid. Stupid that I allowed it and stupid that I (at times) participated. I am SOOOOOO not looking forward to sorting though the layers, but I know I need to.  It's time.  I trust my therapist - I just wish I had a hand to hold through it. ......

Thursday, May 3, 2012


I've been doing a lot of cleaning lately - "spring cleaning" if you will! I have successfully gutted and purged every ounce of crap from the basement (oh yes I have a basement in Florida), the master bedroom and closet, my craft (aka "crap") room, the guest room and my sons room! I have very little left to do upstairs and still have to tackle the downstairs ... sigh ... but while cleaning today, somehow I managed to knock over a vase and watch it hit the ground and break into a few pieces.  No big deal - more of a pain than anything - just clean it up and pitch it. But I started really looking at the pieces and realized that some were missing. When I tried to piece it together, there were gaps - like those shards just disintegrated due to the trauma.

This made me think - how much of who we are/were does just this? Completely disintegrates when we are dropped and broken? How many times can we be broken and glued back together without there being some form of inconsistency in our appearance?

Does being continuously broken make us more fragile that the average bear? Once you have glued your broken vase back together, I would think you would make sure to take extra special care of it as it is in greater danger of shattering again ... Are we like that? Once broken, should we be handled with kid gloves and placed on the top shelf out of harms way? What happens when we once again hit the floor and shatter? Are our insides just as fragile as our outsides? For me, my heart seems to be broken easily - something as simple as not hearing from a friend in a month or two can cause me to go into a tailspin. Why? Am I too broken???

There are so many ways for us to be "broken". I wonder if people like me - people who have been to hell and back on a few occassions - are too broken to resemble what we were made to be in the first place. You can only glue a vase back together so many times before it stops serving its purpose (to hold water). What if someone can only go through so many traumatic journeys before they can no longer fulfill their purpose? Do they just find a new purpose? Maybe ... even a broken vase can serve a new purpose - a beautiful mosaic.

Is it time?

How do you know when you are ready to talk about everything? All the details ... I've written them out - but never spoken of them - even in therapy I tiptoe around it. I don't like to talk about it - partly because I truly am afraid that someone (in this case my therapist) will be disappointed in me - or will think differently of me. Stupid, I know - but it's still there. (Maybe that's a whole new therapy session!)

I've been told you know it's time when "it" keeps poking its ugly head out over and over to the point where you can't ignore it. What if it is ALWAYS there? It never goes away - HE rarely ever goes away. I can push him/it into the closet and when it starts to play in my head, I can usually change the channel and find a new movie to play in my head, but somehow, the horror film always returns.

So if it is time to talk about it, where do you start? Is it cheating if I have my therapist take the reins and lead me though this?! Even thinking about going through all of the details - I feel like a child just needed someone to hold my hand though it ... it is like walking though hell alone (see above pic - I am TERRIFIED of clowns)...

Wednesday, May 2, 2012

Its Never Going to Make Sense ...

"Its never going to make sense because it doesn't make sense". I heard this the other day and it has stuck with me, popping into my thought stream every time I start to question "why".

I have so many questions - and all of them start with why ... Of course there are the usual "Why Me?" and "Why did he do it at all?' ... but there are others ... "Why wasn't I strong enough?" - "Why was I so stupid?" - and of course "WHY?".

I have never had any intention of telling my husband about the abuse I have suffered in my life. He knows that I was raped - that is all he knows. Somehow, the other night, he needed more. He asked questions and learned of my childhood abuse as well as the rape. His question - "Why didn't you tell your mom..."  I'm so tired of the Why's  -  mostly because I keep trying to make sense of it all. I am the type of person that wants  needs to understand why someone does what they do.

So here's to my short term goal - "Stop asking why" because it's never going to make sense because it doesn't make sense.