The fight that I will not win

An aching realization, defeat. A terrible destruction: to fight and not win. To struggle for control over your own body and realize that you are not strong enough to win the fight. I had dreams where I punched him with all the strength in my body and it was enough to make the heavens rumble and leave him dying on the ground. My rings sliced across his face. Left him bleeding and dying on the ground. Neck broken, face bashed in, body destroyed by my fury. I had dreams where I won but this was not one of those dreams. This was my bed, my body fighting and losing against someone I considered my equal.

My legs were hammers on an anvil, my arms vines with thorns to tear. My teeth were the teeth of wolves and my hands fiercer than bullets in their pounding. and yet with every blow he pushed harder inside of me until the whimpers began to escape my mouth like runaway children. "no" is a word that is supposed to have meaning but when it just spurs your rapist on into harsher acts of cruelty it becomes useless, it becomes the word that actually brings you pain instead of stopping it. This person will always be a part of me, there is no use in denying it. My rapist was my boyfriend, my lover. The man who gave me pleasure when I asked for it. The man beside whom I laid at night and told my secrets to. Who better than to betray me with his lust for power? When no becomes a talisman for pain your world will never be the same.

 The first time: she saw nothing, eyes open. saw nothing except the fear coming off of her body in great billows of red flames. Flames to reach around them and consume the bed on which they struggled. her bed had become a battleground, colored red with lost blood and strangled dreams. blood to roll and drip down into a viscous pool in which he bathed, holding her down as she fought. fighting only made it hurt worse but still she struggled and he pumped deeper inside. deeper and harder every time she pushed against him. "no" becomes an aphrodisiac and fighting the key to open the door to more pain.

The second time: she was staring at the ceiling, she was staring at his shoulder over her. she closed her eyes and stared at nothing but her own defeat. her own defeat that screamed in rage as her body was ripped open and a wound was given that would never truly heal. It took nearly all of her concentration to keep those muscles relaxed. for to tense them, to struggle would only cause more pain. the pain a live, writhing thing with all its teeth locked into her soul. she did not struggle this time but let herself drift away, eyes open so that the pain was a heavy weight on her body rather than the searing, all consuming fire that had taken her before.

Life is a prison

Life is a prison, someone let me out.

No one to listen, to hear when you shout.

Climb the walls of insanity, ride the waves of despair.

If you fall it don't matter, there's no one to care.

Used to wish for a window, to see birds, trees and sky,

But you're better without one - Stops you aiming too high.

Watching freedom is painful, for those locked away.

Seeing joy, love and happiness, another price that you pay.

Strong is good, weak is bad. Be it false, be it true.

Your mind makes the choice, and enforces it too.

Cell walls built by society, with rules to adhere.

If you breach the acceptable, you had better beware.

Hide the pain, carry on, routine is the key.

Don't let on that you're not, what you're pretending to be.

Lock it all up inside you, how badly that bodes.

Look out for that one day, when it all just explodes.

Leaving naught but a shell, base functionality too.

But killing all else, that was uniquely you.

So how do you grow, with a time bomb inside?

Or how to defuse it, without destroying its ride?

You can't.

I'm a survivor

Why is it that we look at rape survivors differently than victims of other crimes? You may look at me trying to figure out what I did wrong; what I did that you won't or what I didn't do that you will so you can believe it could never happen to you. Trust me it can. Because then you'd be able to see what it's like to be me. And I wouldn't wish this on my worst enemy.

You'd see what it's like to watch television and have to run to the bathroom to vomit when a scene triggers memories of what happened. You'd know what it feels like to walk down a street and think everyone must know what happened because you feel like half the person you used to be and feel different than everyone else. You'd know what it's like to go to the police and instead of dealing with someone who is caring, supportive and non-judgmental - you end up like I did with a detective whose line of questioning was as bad as the rape. You'd see that when you're strong enough to talk about it - how uncomfortable people get. You'd see how silly it feels to lose control of your body's reactions and emotions. Panic attacks, increased startle response, insomnia and nightmares would be your daily routine. Leaving your house might be a daily struggle. You'd feel guilt and shame. You'd feel dirty. Some days you'd be sad, other days numb and just about everything else in between. Most days you'd feel this emptiness that can't be filled or chased away. Did I mention how dirty you'd feel?

You'd look within to find blame when there is only one person to blame for the rape. And IT'S NOT ME. It is the sorry excuse for a man, the coward, who RAPED me. The one who didn't give me the chance to fight back, who took away my dignity and pride then left me naked in a car by the side of the road 

When someone is in a car accident, is robbed or house is broken into - there's an outpouring of support. People can empathize because they too drive a car, carry money in their pockets on city streets, or own a home. Therefore they can feel for the victim because they can imagine themselves in that person's shoes. With rape it's different. I don't know why for sure - it just is. While those who have had their home broken into can attest to "feeling violated" and many of shudder thinking of how horrible it must feel to have someone go through your things, be in your home and take something that isn't theirs; nobody wants to imagine what it would feel like to truly "BE VIOLATED" in the most personal, degrading and horrific sense of the word. Because then we're no longer talking about sock and underwear drawers or jewelry boxes or the fact that someone has been in our home uninvited - we're talking about someone being inside us uninvited. We're not talking about things being taken we're talking about basic safety being violated.

When I think about how my life has changed since the rape and how unique rape is I feel more alone and isolated than ever before. Because I'm different now. Because someone raped me. My body was violated. So if you can't bring yourself to imagining what if it were you - at least imagine how difficult it is for survivors. We don't need to dwell on details of the attack. It is truly unimaginable. I understand why people can't imagine themselves in my shoes and why it's difficult for many people to experience empathy. So let's skip that part and fast forward to what it's like for me now. Don't look at what was done to me, look at what was taken from me.

Rape doesn't just affect the victim it affects their family and friends and makes intimacy an issue. Not just sexual intimacy either - a simple hug from an old friend or concerned relative can cause discomfort for a survivor. My sleep is affected by frequent nightmares or sleepless nights and my breathing is often rapid and panicked. My appetite swings between non-existent to insatiable and my whole system is out of balance. I walk around in a constant state of fear and no longer leave my house alone. I went from a successful, confident woman to a frightened and extremely cautious shell of who I used to be. I was disgusted with myself, felt like damaged goods - unworthy and alone. I was unable to trust myself or my decisions. Everyone around me became a source of stress, confusion, annoyance or fear. The man who attacked me took away my belief for awhile that this is a good world filled with good people. And everyone was a potential threat it my mind.

Writing had always been therapeutic for me. But I was at a loss for words after the rape. There just weren't adequate ones to describe what I was going through or what was done to me. Eventually my words came back and I could write again. And I tried to work out my emotions though my writing.

I want you to know that for every person who goes to the hospital and/or the police, there are countless others who do not. It is a shame but some survivors don't feel they can come forward without having to endure an attack on their character, an incorrect assumption that most people who cry rape are lying, and questioning or scrutiny by people over the actions of the victim as if some how it could be their fault. People who have been raped don't need you judging their actions - believe me they've done it themselves and they will for the rest of their life. If you're a survivor of rape I'm going to repeat again that it is - not your fault. I know no matter how many times you hear it or say it to yourself it's not an easy thing to believe.

When we hear about a rape often we ask ourselves why the woman was in a park at night by herself or in my case why did she walk by herself? Didn't she know better? I ask myself such questions. So trust me I don't need you asking them.  Instead of focusing on what people should or shouldn't have done prior to being raped - as if it was their fault in someway - let's focus on the fact that the ones to blame and focus on here are rapists - not victims. Nobody has the right to rape. The thinking that a woman shares responsibility with her rapist since she was careless to be jogging alone at night or leave a drink unattended in a bar is as ludicrous as it would be to allege that someone whose house is broken into is in someway to blame. Don't they know that people break into houses? Why do they have valuables if they know that someone might steal them? How could they sleep at night when that's obviously when burglars strike?

If you are a rape survivor whether it took place 2 hours ago or 20 years ago - you are not alone. It is not your fault and you can and will get through it. It takes work. Hard work. But there are resources available to help you heal. You don't need to feel ashamed. You are the victim. Once you've truly owned that, once you believe and feel it in every fiber of your being - you'll start living like a survivor instead of a victim.

RAPE IS NOT SEX. Sex requires consent. I didn't consent. I wasn't even conscious and I generally don't have sex when I'm unconscious. RAPE ISN'T EVEN ABOUT SEX. It's not motivated by desire. RAPE IS ABOUT VIOLENCE AND CONTROL AND FORCE. A robber might use a gun or knife as a weapon. THOSE WHO RAPE USE SEX AS A WEAPON. Sometimes they use sex and a knife or a gun. Though I don't have a stab or gunshot wound - my wounds run just as deep. They can't be sewed up like a stab wound, taken out like a bullet or seen in an x-ray. They lie deep inside. And they hurt. They cause me to lay awake at nights, struggling to sleep then wake me in a state of panic. They cause me to be afraid. All of the time. And no matter how many times I tell myself "I'm safe." "Nobody can hurt me." They cause me to be jumpy and fearful of everyday sounds and events. They cause me to doubt myself, forget things and live a sad existence. They caused me to want to die and to act upon that want. They caused me to end up in a psych ward. They caused me to quit my job. They caused me to stop leaving my house except for doctors appointments and therapy appointments.

But really there are no words to adequately sum up or label what we survivors live through. Sounds dramatic but the closest I can to come describe what happened to me, what I lived through is MURDER. Wikipedia defines Murder as "the unlawful killing of one human being by another. ...generally distinguished from other forms of homicide by the elements of malice, aforethought, and the lack of justification." I'm not trying to insult families whose loved ones have lost their lives at the hands of someone else. But I make the parallel because I too have lost my life in a way. My life as I knew it has changed forever. That man killed my spirit and may as well have killed me the night he decided to go to my street forced me in his car and rape me.

What happened to me meets the criteria for murder in that his intent was certainly malicious - Malice is defined as "feeling a need to see others suffer." He had to plan in advance which covers - aforethought - or he wouldn't have driven his car close to my street. And I think it should go without saying that he lacked justification. Gone are the days of thinking "she asked for it." But just in case you're wondering - not that I need to explain since what I was wearing should have NOTHING to do with what happened to me - I was not dressed to impress and I certainly wasn't looking for a date. I DID NOT ASK FOR IT. And neither has ANY MAN, WOMAN OR CHILD who has lived through this horrific, humiliating, violent crime. So as you can see he certainly lacked justification.

I guess the difference between someone raping me or murder - really lies in the fact that I still walk and breathe even though most days I feel dead inside. In California Rape is defined as "a sexual act of violence, a method of dehumanizing the victim, turning her (or him) into a controllable object. Rape can happen to anyone regardless of age, class or race." A felony offense with a 20 year sentence sounds steep for a crime - but it's a hell of a lot less than the sentence myself or any survivor lives with. For ours is a LIFE SENTENCE. And there's no time off for good behavior. Our life sentence includes years of hard time beginning with shock and numbness mixed with shame and fear. Then because we aren't capable of realizing and dealing with what happened there's a denial stage where we try to convince our selves that it's not that bad or maybe it didn't happen at all. This stage was an easy one since I'd rather believe this. And the police and society in general help with this in their reluctance to believe rape survivors or even in their inability to fully comprehend just how demoralizing and injurious being raped can be for the victims.

It was the denial that helped me in the days following the rape. I tried to ignore and hoped it would go away. But the pain was there. The hardest part is people can't see your pain. I turned inward. It was my instinct to blame myself or search for things I should have or could have done to prevent the attack and dealing at the same time with a similar attitude from the sexual assault detective that caused me to become very angry with myself.

My anger turned outward when I realized that while I might be too sick mentally to realize that it wasn't my fault - the Detective should have known better. People should know better. But Rape isn't something that people want to talk about. Here is where sex gets in the way. Sex is something that is private. People don't like to talk about it openly. And rape is so humiliating and demoralizing for it's victims that sometimes they are unable to talk about it. And they are met by people who mistake it as a sex crime and therefore view it the same way they view sex - private. But what everyone is forgetting is that RAPE IS NOT SEX. RAPE IS A CRIME. ONE OF THE WORST IMAGINABLE.