I grieve the loss of the girl befor the rape...
I grieve the loss of the girl before the rape. 3 months after that I found out I had an STD. 3 more months and then a nervous breakdown. Several months after that, doped up on that psychiatric medication (I tried 3 different kinds and found that each added to my traumatic experiences as opposed to alleviating any of them), I married my abuser.
I would do anything to go back to just being the girl that dropped out of college twice...and had an ectopic preganancy at age 23...but I can only grieve for her.
A funny thing happened in my mind, though. When I realized I hit rock bottom, multiple times, and still survived, I realized that no one expected me to recover. My mom thought she would have to take care of me like a coma victim after my nervous breakdown, with all the side affects the meds gave me. Dad took me out for lunch once, never said a word to me...opened a mystery novel and in public...began to read like I wasn't there until our food came...then we ate in silence. In fact, for the first time in my life, I realized that the few friends and family in my immediate environment for most of my life, really didn't know me at all and had in fact contributed to my low self-esteem. It was easy not to let their insensitive comments upset me as strongly after that. I guess I realized I had nothing to loose by just trying to get better. I started to see it as an experiment on myself, to pass the time and test the limits of my spirit and will power.
I decided that if I could understand most of their insensitive behavior as inappropriate...then in some ways...I was smarter. I pondered this for months. And then I thought, well, wouldn't it really be something if I was smart enough to learn how to help myself...at a time where the people I most respected and had to rely on were really unprepared and incapable of helping me appropriately? And this sounds odd, I know, but I became liberated by every small success in my recovery because I just kept proving to those around me they weren't informed...and that their negativity was unwarranted. I even decided my doctors were insensitive. I quit the meds and asked a Buddhist monk to teach me breathing meditation. I committed to using this method to deal with anxiety and calm my thoughts and body for sleep at night. And I changed my diet.
Try to understand that I have been called a failure to my face so many times over the years when I experience cathartic and traumatic events, among other things. And when I found out I had an STD from rape, it struck me that my value to men had suddenly disappeared. I exaggerated this feeling a bit out of shock...but I have since decided that proving my value as human, not a female, was going to be the way I dealt with my condition, and this meant dedicating myself to learning and teaching.
I'm not sure I can ever be with another man... But I have learned, finally, that is ok, and probably even, for the better. And if my loved ones didn't respect me before all of this...well, we've all changed as a result of it.
I grieve the loss of the girl before the rape. 3 months after that I found out I had an STD. 3 more months and then a nervous breakdown. Several months after that, doped up on that psychiatric medication (I tried 3 different kinds and found that each added to my traumatic experiences as opposed to alleviating any of them), I married my abuser.
I would do anything to go back to just being the girl that dropped out of college twice...and had an ectopic preganancy at age 23...but I can only grieve for her.
A funny thing happened in my mind, though. When I realized I hit rock bottom, multiple times, and still survived, I realized that no one expected me to recover. My mom thought she would have to take care of me like a coma victim after my nervous breakdown, with all the side affects the meds gave me. Dad took me out for lunch once, never said a word to me...opened a mystery novel and in public...began to read like I wasn't there until our food came...then we ate in silence. In fact, for the first time in my life, I realized that the few friends and family in my immediate environment for most of my life, really didn't know me at all and had in fact contributed to my low self-esteem. It was easy not to let their insensitive comments upset me as strongly after that. I guess I realized I had nothing to loose by just trying to get better. I started to see it as an experiment on myself, to pass the time and test the limits of my spirit and will power.
I decided that if I could understand most of their insensitive behavior as inappropriate...then in some ways...I was smarter. I pondered this for months. And then I thought, well, wouldn't it really be something if I was smart enough to learn how to help myself...at a time where the people I most respected and had to rely on were really unprepared and incapable of helping me appropriately? And this sounds odd, I know, but I became liberated by every small success in my recovery because I just kept proving to those around me they weren't informed...and that their negativity was unwarranted. I even decided my doctors were insensitive. I quit the meds and asked a Buddhist monk to teach me breathing meditation. I committed to using this method to deal with anxiety and calm my thoughts and body for sleep at night. And I changed my diet.
Try to understand that I have been called a failure to my face so many times over the years when I experience cathartic and traumatic events, among other things. And when I found out I had an STD from rape, it struck me that my value to men had suddenly disappeared. I exaggerated this feeling a bit out of shock...but I have since decided that proving my value as human, not a female, was going to be the way I dealt with my condition, and this meant dedicating myself to learning and teaching.
I'm not sure I can ever be with another man... But I have learned, finally, that is ok, and probably even, for the better. And if my loved ones didn't respect me before all of this...well, we've all changed as a result of it.
