YES more talk about Rape!

My recent posts have primarily been focused on sexual abuse as I adamantly feel that by not speaking out about the topic then we inadvertently are contributing to the dismal lack of awareness on this imperative matter.

Every single horrific experience in my past shaped me into a stronger person as I survived those events despite the wave of devastation they caused. Did you know it is customary procedure for a rape victim to be admitted into a psychiatric ward for the evening after having a rape kit done in order to be on suicide watch? I hadn’t known that- not until I was told by my nurse that they felt I didn’t need to. In fact it was around 4 am when all was said and done at the hospital and my friends that said they would pick me up did not answer their phones unfortunately. So I took a cab home by myself in the early morning darkness back to the scene of the crime- which was my own house. If that doesn’t scream strength then honestly I don’t know what on earth does?!

Here is a chilling excerpt of the “awareness” we have:

“Republican nominee for Senate Richard Mourdock’s recent “misspeaking” is unexceptional. Despite what he may have meant when he said “even when life begins in that horrible situation of rape that… is something God intended to happen,” he is unexceptional.”
A fair reflection of our cultural tolerance, one without party affiliation, for rape and its qualifications— “Legitimate rape” versus non legitimate rape. “Forcible rape” as “stock language,” “lemons from lemonade.” Women “should make the best of a bad situation,” “horribly created gifts from God,” husbands can’t rape their wives, because of science and technology no woman ever needs an abortion, “emergency rape,”women lie about rape legislation, “honest rape,” rape blackmail, “the sodomized virgin” rape, rape is like auto theft. But, again, all of this goes hand-in-hand with Facebook rape pages, Daniel Tosh rape jokes, Reddit rapist threads, music, videos, movies, ad infinitum.”
(retrieved online via http://www.huffingtonpost.com/soraya-chemaly/50-facts-rape_b_2019338.html)

I realized after 12 years of repressing memories that I had been sexually violated more times than I had even realized! And the scariest part of being in my previous ignorance was an evening when I had a traumatic nightmare painfully revealing that my own ex had raped me several times as I said NO and his response was “That’s MY S**t!” and refused to stop. I have a multitude of stories that I won’t get into right now as my body physiologically responds with redness and flushing heat to my cheeks along with red heated blotchy marks all over my chest with intense panicked tightening. Breathing becomes labored. Faintness upon standing ensues as I just walked to get some water. I always ask myself Why, Why, WHY….? So many brutal questions that I cannot fathom an answer to as I do not fully understand the rhyme or reason to it all….

Bad things happen to good people all the time they say, however that is not a means of comfort in the least bit. I don’t know about other PTSD sufferers but I find it extremely difficult to cry when I think or talk about what has happened to me in my past. Crying is a healthy way provided by nature in order to help you release negative energy from your soul. No matter how hard I try mine seems to grasp on to the pain, and I find myself unable to muster the courage to attempt letting it go.

 Join me in standing up and putting our voices together boldly speaking with heads held high. My intended goal is to help women navigate through this excruciating minefield, and empower them to report these crimes so charges can be pressed! No more Silence! I did even though nothing came to fruition as there was not enough evidence (I was drugged), and then my rapist died before the corroborating witness that finally came forward could get my case reopened. It’s not about vengeance- It’s the deserved right to have justice! No more Victims- let’s become Victors!

Every voice matters- I implore you to awaken yours too!

*Explicit* Read this if you Dare…

I have noticed that curse words tend to be 4 letters in length. More importantly I have noticed that every time I try to write rape or even abuse on my Iphone it auto-corrects it to say tape and abide. Even Apple doesn’t want to use or acknowledge these words. It seems to fall into a category of Hush-Hush, Shhhhh, and Don’t talk Don’t tell. Much like the now abandoned rule for homosexuals in the military. Why does this topic receive such little attention and awareness though? When there are murders, robberies, or even car crashes the media instantly leaps and bounds out of their chairs to report every detail of these crises, but in the event of a rape NO ONE bats an eyelash unless they are personally effected by this disaster. God forbid a celebrity were to get abused (like how Rihanna was physically assaulted) because then everyone has a loud voice and rallies for support. What about us commoners who are scared, alone, and have no means to receive any support? Maybe it is because the overall population seems wanting to remain blissfully ignorant and maintain their silence.

I recently read an article that sickened me to my very core: “Fewer than one rape victim in 30 can expect to see her or his attacker brought to justice, shocking new statistics reveal. Although 90 per cent of rape victims said they knew the identity of their attacker, just 15 percent went to the police, telling researchers it was “too embarrassing”, “too trivial” or a “private/family matter”.
(retrieved via http://www.independent.co.uk/news/uk/crime/100000-assaults-1000-rapists-sentenced-shockingly-low-conviction-rates-revealed-8446058.html)

I knew the man who raped me. And the several others who attacked me. Did I receive justice? No. And I went through the heinous process via police and the emergency room in order to REALLY try to stand up this time. However it was to no avail and only kept things fresh in my mind. Hurting me even more profoundly was the morning I found out about his death (obviously no charges could ever be now) and saw his face plastered all over my Facebook saying what a “Great loss to our community and the art world he was. What a tragedy this was”- How about the tragedy of him violating me repeatedly?

The actress Teri Hatcher from the popular TV show “Lois & Clark: The New Adventures of Superman” had the opportunity and gumption to share her story of sexual abuse on the United Nations day in November of 2014 that was called:

Commemoration of the International Day to End Violence against Women

She held back tears saying “I am 1 of 3 women who was forced to accept violence as a part of their life story…I am the one who yells from the rooftops until those numbers change, until every woman who has faced abuse, feels less alone and safe enough to find the courage to have her own voice. Until violence against women is not a part of any woman’s story. Silence will not be part of mine”! To her I can only say BRAVO!

1 in 3 women…. that could be your mother, sister, or daughter….
Let that sink in….

Later in the interview she goes on to say how she later found out her attacker not surprisingly continued this cycle of abuse with another victim (leopards don’t seem to ever change their spots do they?) and sadly this 11 year old girl had wrapped her head in a towel and shot herself in the head. In her suicide letter Teri’s attacker was revealed and implicated to having been abusing this poor girl for years. How could this have happened? Well society does cast a very unappealing light- using blaming questions like “What were you wearing? Were you drinking?”! “Shaming the victim by saying “Why did you stay?” or “Why didn’t you say something?” Instead of MORE importantly why did her abuse her?! Watch Teri’s inspirational speech I urge you! (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qFwXrBEQw1E)

The question MUST be asked why/how are there still hundreds of thousands of victims who remain silent for years missing the statute of limitations to press charges, but even sadder are the ones who immediately go and destroy all the evidence in the shower preventing any chance to find proof….?
….I didn’t…. I couldn’t even shower for days and then couldn’t sleep for an entire week.

Every 107 seconds, another American is sexually assaulted.

Here’s the math. According to the U.S. Department of Justice’s National Crime Victimization Survey (NCVS)–there is an average of 293,066 victims (age 12 or older) of rape and sexual assault each year.

For an eye opening quick read the above info was retrieved via https://www.rainn.org/statistics.
This is just NOT acceptable! Do you want to remain part of the problem by hiding away until something like this happens to you or someone you love? Or perhaps join a new movement of awareness and become part of the cure? I have the upmost respect for anyone who is not afraid to speak out and share their thoughts unabashedly… like one of my beloved heroes John Lennon. He openly and outright expressed his disdain for our society demanding to being heard and in doing so had a hand in forever leaving a change in the world. Only the good die young they say- I can’t help but wonder what else he might have had shined some enlightenment on? I dare say the world would be a strikingly better place….

The definition of Insanity – AGAIN

One would think that a person who was robbed and raped 2 years ago this month would have learned the lesson to not trust so easily. Yet here I remain an anomaly that repeatedly jumps into the frying pan time after time again. Putting your hand on the burner to test the heat is one thing however typically the act is not repeated….

A few weeks ago my “best friend” decided to rob and strip my house clean of everything with material value except for this computer I am typing on currently. All my incredibly expensive camera equipment, wall hangings, DVD players, 100’s of DVD’s, video game player and games, BUT worst of all my sweet son Lincoln’s Ipad (with his autism it has helped him so much to becoming more verbal plus semi easier to control out in public during meltdowns). An autistic child’s Ipad- How sick can one person be?? I had been oblivious and now horribly blind-sided to how much of a drug addict she was.
An unfortunate series of events went on these past few months when All of my prescription medicines would disappear. Stupidly I believed her when she blamed our other friend. Then it was her semi sketchy cousin next month. Then I caught her red-handed the following month but when I confronted her 3 times she acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about. I dropped it until the next morning and once again finding all my pills gone… ! This time I took a photo of all that was missing and sent it to her saying “How could you do this to me? I have PTSD for goodness sake?!”. Her reply was an immediate (seemingly) heartfelt response about how incredibly sorry she was since when she gets into that “zombie state” she doesn’t even remember how many pills she takes, and claimed to not remember stealing them even tho I assured her I had confronted her 3 times! “I’m so so sorry, I promise I will make it up to you” she says… And naively I believe her. Did that happen? Of course not.

The ONLY reason I had even let her back into my life after cutting her out for a solid 6 months after the rape was to angrily tell her off since I was shocked that she did not bother returning the repeated phone calls from the State Attorney trying to get ahold of her to corroborate my story. Since I had no memory of that night after being rufied (3 beers does not constitute a mind erase) my testimony was not enough because the grueling rape kit I underwent came back inconclusive…

My body told the story without any words needed from the fingered-tipped bruises all over my legs and arms I was covered in with a deep bruise on my butt. Which I was told later she heard loud noises coming from my bathroom so I can only assume I was pressed against my counter to explain that dark purple bruise. The shower curtain and towel racks were pulled off left on the ground. Piles of my puke covered the floor as well. My guest bathroom had indeed become a crime scene.

The night at the hospital getting that dreaded rape kit done I was thankful to have Christine from SPARCC (Safe Place and Rape Crisis Center for those of you that are not aware) come to my room and advocate for me helping me fill out the mountains of paperwork, and the scary stuff like stripping down naked being combed everywhere to collect any sort of DNA. I knew the chances of them finding anything there was slim to none since I do not have very much body hair, and even though I had not showered I did change clothes since mine had vomit stains. My nurse was a very kind woman but nothing like my fellow New Yorker Christine who helped distract me during all the antibiotics, anti-HIV shots injected, along with countless horse pills, and of course intense questioning. We had thought provoking conversations about philosophy, religion, and other topics to keep us entertained- even laughing despite the situation.
However when the moment came finally all prepped and ready for the doctor to come in for the pelvic exam, swabbing, and examination of my vagina the VERY moment his fingers touched me I instantly burst into tears. I hadn’t cried that entire time. The slightest touch from this male doctor (how insensitive in my opinion given the situation- couldn’t they have paged a woman?) sent me into panicked tears making my stomach heave so much that he had to stop momentarily until I could regain my composure. My nurse and advocate held my hands crying themselves and said “That is ALL the proof needed to know that you were raped”- you cannot fake an instant involuntary reaction like that.

Those words still chill me now even writing this.

In a former post about other details of that night I divulged the information that this guy had been a fellow photographer that I was close friends with for 3 years even while I was still married. Never anything romantic between us in the slightest bit. I knew him so well to know that he always had carried a condom in his wallet. So of course my kit came back “inconclusive” or rather an infuriatingly unfair insult to injury. My now ex best friend who just robbed me had told me that her boyfriend who was also there that night began to later tell her details… the heroin they bought with my money, stealing and damaging my new car, things he had done/joined in doing to me, but even more sickening is that he and this other “man” (I use that word with complete condescension) apparently both put me naked in the bath tub still vomiting profusely. The amount all over my living room, all over my bathroom, and bathtub is obviously what saved my life since the drugs were not able to stay in my system permanently- just long enough to completely wipe my memory and make me violently ill.

The silver lining to that is of course that I did not die. However waking up that morning can only be described as awakening in a foreign country with no idea how you got there and no explanation to the million questions whirling around in your head a mile a minute. If you have ever watched the show “The Living Dead” the very first episode the main character wakes up to walk out and see a desolate destroyed incomprehensible world, and that is the exact feeling I felt.

There will be no “Victim’s rights” brochures handed to me by the police again.
There will be justice this time. This I vow to myself.

The Worst 4 letter word: RAPE

Why do we as a society keep brushing off the torturous atrocity of rape under the rug? I have noticed that this word falls into this sad don’t talk don’t tell hush-hush category. I find that appalling. Every time I go to write abuse and rape on my I-phone it auto-corrects it to say abide and tape. Is Apple too afraid to use unpleasant emotionally devastating words? Shame on them. It’s conceptual ideology such as this that guides this generation into hiding an epidemic that everyone is too apprehensive to acknowledge. I find that very sad. Not just being a victim of sexual abuse but as an empathetic soul touched easily by others misfortunes. The Bureau of Justice Statistics states:

Rape – Forced sexual intercourse including both psychological coercion as
well as physical force. Forced sexual intercourse means penetration by the
offender(s). Includes attempted rapes, male as well as female victims, and
both heterosexual and homosexual rape. Attempted rape includes verbal
threats of rape.

Sexual assault – A wide range of victimizations, separate from rape or
attempted rape. These crimes include attacks or attempted attacks generally
involving unwanted sexual contact between victim and offender. Sexual
assaults may or may not involve force and include such things as grabbing or
fondling. It also includes verbal. (retrieved via http://www.bjs.gov/index.cfm?ty=tp&tid=317)

I realized that I actually have been assaulted and raped before but didn’t process it besides the time in Italy I’ve yet to divulge. MULTIPLE times.
Even last year around this time last year I found myself in a situation where I was pinned down by my wrists and repeatedly penetrated with fingers begging him to stop as he lifted me up effortlessly while laughing dragging me into his bedroom where again my wrists were pinned over my head. “I’m going to rip your panties off…” he said with no emotion again seeming entertained and amused. I finally said besides the countless repeated “NO Stop Please” that I had been raped around this time last year so sex of any kind would be completely off the table and then immediately burst into tears. I sat there on his bed sobbing and shaking. He then realized what an A**hole he had been and let go then offered to hug me!? I said “NO, no thank you” and finally found the strength and courage to bolt out the door.

Unfortunately I have plenty more equally and worse stories than that. That is just the most recent…..
What is wrong with this world? Had that guy (who I had photographed for head-shots that day and thought we were cool enough to hang out afterwards) treated me respectably who knows he might have achieved his goal without assaulting and almost raping me. I can’t even look at the photographs I took of him because I am so repulsed- not just by his actions but also letting myself get into a situation that could have easily landed me back in the hospital getting yet another rape kit done. It is quite sobering.

Do actual men exist that don’t think that abusing women is as much of a normal pastime like baseball or football? I may never know as my guard of course is up now having made SO many mistakes in my little life. Will I ever learn the lesson? YES, yes I do believe I will finally. It has taken me an eternity having been first assaulted and almost raped when I was 18 years old during my dream vacation of backpacking Italy. Sad to think that experience pales in comparison to what I have been through now.
They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger…. Well I have to wonder if who said that actually went through any trial tantamount to paralyzing ones such as these.

Let it be…

Sentimentality…. Oh what a double edged sword you are. On the one hand taking a stroll down memory lane promotes smiles, belly laughs, and a sense of joy from familiar memories. However the flip side of that coin is seeing pictures of yourself remembering how you were faking that smile and vividly can see the pain in your eyes. Or seeing photographs where a series of events play out that led to an eventual disastrous course- the look of joy and happiness in your eyes was real; yet it was soon to be replaced with sorrow.

Friends lost and gained…
Lovers lost and gained…
Jobs, aspirations, marriages, pregnancies, and *fill in the blank of something meaningful to you*
Lost and possibly never regained…

It is all there on your Facebook for a nice emotionally cutting experience.
Why do I/we do it? I know that I have always been the nostalgic scrap-booking kind of gal who enjoys remembering days and evenings that burst and overflowed with laughter and adventures. Even when I was younger I would keep every little momento- down to my first reciprocated loves guitar pic he had flung at me during a “jam session”. The bad times of getting over him passed by long ago, and we actually maintained a friendship that when we talk we end up being on the phone 3-4 hours. Then there’s all my Italy photographs I am able to look at now and only see the beauty (not all the near death stuff) instead of being too afraid scared that all the traumatic scars will reopen.
I am still actively working on getting the pain from my ex-husbands abuse gone (including cheating on me with the teenage girl he recently married) after realizing recently that I am not 100% over it all. These instances however of having my home and body robbed are something that I just currently have no hope of ever being capable of letting go. The pain intensifies and resurfaces frequently and just trying to shove it down and ignore is like putting a band-aid on a bullet-hole wound.

Let it go… those words roll off the tongue so easily from someone who either has no capacity to emphasize or has no one to relate the situation to personally. I would not/could not ever wish this pain upon anyone else- I just wish there was more compassion and less judgement especially when ignorance is the only foundation for no awareness.

I am not afraid to speak now….

Time heals all wounds… Well when?!

“It has been said, ‘time heals all wounds.’ I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.”
-Rose Kennedy

I have to share her sentiment as unfortunately I cannot shake these godawful wounds from having been robbed recently, and now this coming Thursday is when it will be the 2 year mark from when I was robbed and raped. It’s not about the tangible items that were stolen- it’s the part of my soul that feels it can never recover. I was violated in every meaning of the word. By people I trusted. How can I not feel to blame for being so naive to let myself get blindsided? I asked my ex-husband to take our son next Thursday so I can try my best to do some nice things for myself and stay busy so I can desperately try to keep my mind off of the tragedy. His response was “What are you going to make an anniversary out of it?!” laughing at me to my face. I said to him it’s called PTSD have you ever heard of it, plus what if this had happened to someone you actually still loved would you be so callous and have such unemphatic attitude …? His reply was less than cordial.

The wounds from 2 years ago are re-opened even further having recently been victimized. I despise how when you receive your police report and case number you are referred to as a Victim on tangible paper in your face and given information on your Victim’s rights. It’s like an extra jab into your already broken back and heart.

Sometimes I fear that I will never be able to let go of all my traumatic experiences…. Being attacked, nearly killed, and abandoned in Italy, my ex-husband who was abusive constantly but actually hit me for the first time when I was pregnant, and of course the robberies ESPECIALLY the rape. I was never able to press charges on my rapist because I had no corroborating witness since I was rufied, and then he died months ago. That is not justice. I wanted him to pay for what he had stripped me of literally and figuratively speaking.
I have tried everything… counseling, yoga, antidepressants, anti-anxiety medicines, positive reading, But it just isn’t cutting it. Hypnotherapy or Electric shock therapy sounds enticing at this point. This affliction can be debilitating to say the least, and I feel so much that NO one understands. No one that I know of has been through trauma like I have, so I feel absolutely lost most days and find myself just looking for ways to mask it.

Anyone remotely familiar with PTSD knows that anytime someone experiences a “trigger” they can be brought back to that place of horror instantaneously. Oh how I wish I could erase all of this from my psyche like the quote from Alexander Pope:

“How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot!
The world forgetting, by the world forgot.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind!
Each pray’r accepted, and each wish resign’d”

Perchance to dream. In the meantime I have no other choice than to take care of my sweet autistic son and eagerly await next week when I possibly will have 3 days to myself instead of the normal 1 & 1/2 day per week of freedom. Tie a rope and hold on right….?

First Poll Ever- so pull the band-aid off if you deem necessary

This was a particularly brutal and raw post that I wrote barely editing a thing (https://ariellemegan.wordpress.com/2014/09/)
It was basically  PTSD spewing out my vividly reopened experience. Again written in the hopes I may inspire someone who has recently been abused to reach out and get help! From me even too!
Leave me your info or look me up on Facebook and I would be more than willing to offer any/all help that I can!

The catch 22 of Karma.

 

The fear is back…

This weekend I became another victim of crime and I am in disarray still. This flooded back the moment when I was robbed/raped 2 years ago next month and the wave of shock and sadness. Thankfully this time my son wasn’t looking up over me smiling since that night they put me in his bed naked after everything violating that was done to me.
I will never forget that chilling moment. Never. It is burned into my nightmares.
Today however I have to deal with the realization that all the material goods I had saved and made payments for years to own for myself were now all gone. And my “best friend” was the one who did this beyond evil stab in my back. Ironically she was involved in that above mentioned atrocious incident. Having PTSD makes this even worse than an average person who just had their world turned upside down. I say that with no judgement, however this brings back all those horrific experiences like they happened last week. I would do anything to erase those memories from my head and heart. Sometimes I see people that have no defined mental illness and I think that it is unfair that I live with the fear everyday in the back of my head of something triggering my past and then the chance that I could spiral out of control into a dark place again. I’m not sure if I gravitate towards people that will abuse/use me subconciously, or there are just too many deceitful people out there in this world looking for the next person to victimize.

12 years ago a different former “best friend” abandoned me in a foreign country, laughing when I told her I was sexually assaulted, and left me for dead way too many times to count where easily I could have been killed. The coping mechanism I learned then was to eat. Not normal eating but eating for a family of 4 uncontrollably. You might read this and say “Yeah right” but that is how my brain short circuited. It was an addiction created in order to mask the traumatic feelings I could not deal with. To this day I still grapple with it… I’ve thought about going to Over-eaters Anonymous but have been too scared and I’m not sure why…. Maybe I don’t want to be labeled publicly. I am not obese by any means but just have body/self esteem issues, so maybe am afraid of being judged like “what the hell does this small girl know about it?!”, or maybe I am just too afraid that by telling my stories it will make my issues even worse. Now again for those of you who may not understand this- it is not something you can just easily say “Oh I’m full so I’ll stop eating”. No you eat for an hour straight to the point where your stomach is distended. The worst part about it is that I never had these issues until all those tragic things in Italy. I was a “normal” 18 year old girl that loved her hobbies, friends, had a craving for living life to the fullest, and loved being outside active in any way shape or form! However afterwards I would find myself hiding in my cave, not wanting to leave my room, even hiding my food (much like a drug addict hides their drugs), and trying to fake it when in public until I was alone at home “free” to let this overpower me.

I once discussed this with someone who is in Narcotics Anonymous- and when I described the cycle of how it completely consumes your life he understood that my issues were one in the same. It made me realize that virtually anything can become an addiction- food, alcohol, drugs, sex, and even working out too. Anything you cannot control in moderation is a red flag that you need to potentially seek counseling so you can catch it before it falls so to speak.

I am a photographer so having my at least $6000 worth of equipment stolen (that took me 4 years to acquire) hurt immensely, But the absolute worst was my son’s Ipad since he LOVES that thing to death. Honestly I would have rather been physically assaulted than knowing that both of the things that my son and I love the most were taken away. I was never able to press charges against my rapist so this time with this crime I want justice! I will stand up and fight because anything to do with my son brings out the “mommy claws”! He cannot speak so I will advocate for him so hopefully he at least can get his prized possession back. I will not be silenced this time by the previous failed efforts of the judicial system- No I have to succeed at pressing charges this time because I am not going to allow myself to sink down into a deep dark hole ever again. I will choose to live our lives to the absolute fullest at whatever the cost!

Italy knows best

My favorite place in the world is anywhere in Italy. Every chance I get I reference how magical it felt being there, and so I squeeze it into conversation. Well my admiration and affection for this country grew even stronger after seeing this video: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=b2OcKQ_mbiQ. An Italian director made a short film asking boys ranging in age from 7-12 to answer questions on various subjects, but then requested actions that inevitably is the focal point of the documentary. “Slap her” they say. “Slap her”. Even after repeated attempts of persuasion the boys adamently refused. Some looked shocked, confused, and even indignant. “NO” was the resounding answer across the board. It didn’t take more than 2 seconds for an affirmative declaration that violence against women is wrong. Here these children know more than grown “men” the fact that practicing abuse in any form towards women is despicable.
What does Italy know that America does not?

According to a 2013 review of available data “35 per cent of women worldwide have experienced either physical and/or sexual intimate partner violence or non-partner sexual violence. However, some national violence studies show that up to 70 per cent of women have experienced physical and/or sexual violence in their lifetime from an intimate partner.” For the full article read: http://www.unwomen.org/en/what-we-do/ending-violence-against-women/facts-and-figures#sthash.sMUUJBA3.dpuf). Also the article: World Health Organization, Global and Regional Estimates of Violence against Women, http://apps.who.int/iris/bitstream/10665/85239/1/9789241564625_eng.pdf,. I find these facts so bitterly saddening. Since I am a victim of domestic and sexual abuse my stomach churns thinking that these numbers are not even accurate as so many women are afraid to come forward. Afraid of the consequences and the social stigma. When I had my rape kit done I was told that one had not been performed in 10 years. That left me disconsolately sorrowful wondering how many women did not come forward and report the abuse since trust me going through that grueling experience was grievous to say the least.

The days of wholesome values seem to have evaporated into a wave of accepted cruelty. The media portrays role models with absolutely no morals or integrity; i.e. musician Chris Brown who beat up girlfriend Rihanna yet still sells his CD’s left and right. NFL star quarterback Michael Vick and three of his associates operated “Bad Newz Kennels,” which housed and trained over 50 pit bull dogs, staged dog fights, dog killing, and they ran a high stakes gambling ring. Convicted of federal and state charges related to illegal dog-fighting; however he remains a star playing in the public eye where idolizing sports figures is dominant in our culture. The connotations examples like these showcase to our children is an appalling impression to ponder. No more “Leave it to Beaver” or “The Waltons” portrayed on TV. Instead we have shows like “Family Guy” where one of the main characters constantly schemes to murder his mother, bestiality, alcoholism, and prevalent violence subconsciously is promoted by the acceptance of this behavior. Sadly this is the horrific and sickening version of society we live in now.

The catch 22 of Karma

I always sit back and wonder when someone has deeply wronged me if they will ever face any repercussions. That if/when it does come around are you allowed to be happy? Or is that just vengeful, heartless, and inhumane? After all what they did was inhumane however does my feeling relieved make me sink to their level in a way…?

Today my ex friend/robber/rapist died. Apparently the obituary (which why did I even read- such an emotionally cutting thing to do) said that he went peacefully in his sleep. Although the three years I knew and was close to him I wonder if it was a drug induced passing- that is neither here nor there I suppose. Is my reaction of  “There is the justice I didn’t receive since I was unable to file charges!” cruel to have thought instantly? —- I suppose this is time to reveal the story I had insinuated with some previous posts that I would divulge eventually. Since I am so raw today having flashbacks from that traumatic incident this is a perfect day to expel these demons ….So here goes nothing…

* The Story*
I had been friends with (no names will be used, let’s call him “B”) since I was even married 7+ years ago. Not very many people liked him as he was quite volatile and not a “people person” unable to maintain healthy relationships with his frequent outbursts. However I was able to understand him since he confided with me with a lot of his inner demons and me being the caregiver I am was always trying to help him. Flash forward now to about a year or so after my divorce was final. We always were close friends, having adventures, going on little photography excursions since we both are photographers. This particular night he called me overwhelmed with an ensuing panic attack. He said he was at a bar getting drunk and about to get in a fight since he had just suffered a tragic loss of his fiance’ having a miscarriage and dumping him due to his abuse. So I went to pick him up, paid for his drinks, and didn’t want to take him to his house as I had never seen him so upset I was worried he might harm himself. He had a serious heart condition and panic attacks certainly could have killed him even if he were not to attempt to by his own doing. I took him back to my house where I had one my best friends and her child living with me at the time to help her get to on solid ground. Her boyfriend at the time showed up and just never left- settling himself into my home and kindness. I allowed it since the three of us got along quite well. I brought “B” to my house  we had some beers and all laughed and were going to watch a movie. I was so happy that his disposition changed so fast, and my taking him under my wing so to speak helped. Well somewhere along the line my prescription medicine for sleep got involved in our drinking (and stolen). The boys took one or maybe two since I was not looking, and I still remember the shock when “B” crushed it on my table and rolled up a dollar bill to snort it. I had never seen this before except for in a movie!? I do not remember anything else after this… I had three beers but my memory was wiped. I’m not sure when it could have been spiked since I was distracted looking for something to cook for us, playing DJ with my Ipod, and just being silly.

The next morning I woke up in my son’s bed naked and covered in finger-tipped bruises. I’ll never forget the sight of Lincoln looking over my head smiling so big and bright that mommy had slept next to him. I shudder to think what else could have happened since he is mainly non verbal and unable to tell me if something awful had happened. I Will not think of that now because I cannot handle that disturbing thought. I stood up and put some clothes on and nearly fainted. Stumbling down my hallway holding onto the wall I see piles of vomit everywhere (mine even though again I have no recollection). My house was trashed- bottles everywhere, various objects misplaced, cigarette butts and more beer bottles strewn all over my patio. I stumbled to the ground, found a towel, and vomited more. I laid down on the towel I put on the tile floor and violently shook, not from the nausea but from the side effects of whatever drug that apparently was still in my system. Crying in the fetal position still shaking but now rocking back and forth I hear my best friend outside screaming at her boyfriend on the phone. I didn’t hear much since the door was closed but I heard the word Heroin. At that point I realize that both of them were gone. My car keys were not where I always had left them. And my debit/credit card was not in my wallet. I ask my friend what the Hell happened and got evasive answers. My son was put on his school-bus so thankfully he did not see me this way.

I try desperately to pump everyone for information only to be ignored or given very different stories, and then attempt to clean up my house even though I felt the strangest sickness I’d ever felt in my life- How could I still feel nauseous and keep dry heaving my stomach even though it was emptied? I then make it to my bathroom- It looked like a surreal crime-scene. More piles of my vomit, shower curtain and rod ripped down along with my towel rack, random things on the floor. I check my bank account- all my money is missing besides about $20 (granted there was only around $180 in it)! Thankfully my son’s school bus arrives at 3:45. I drive there and now notice my car is dented, the hubcap is missing, it is filled with cigarette ashes (I don’t smoke), and the backseat is drenched with an unidentified smell. I go to pick him up and immediately head to the bank to cancel my card. Then take him to get his favorite chicken nuggets and walk around Target still so confused and in a surreal daze. I had continually texted them to demand answers only to be ignored. At this point ADT calls me and informs me that the alarm in my bedroom window is going off (they knew when his bus came) But they did not know I had an advanced security system besides just the door sensors. The operator asks me if I want police to be dispatched since my bedroom window sensor alarm was going off and I burst into tears saying “Yes Please. Please send them right away!?”.

Arriving at my house they were not there so I called 911. Apparently they had came out so quick and left assuming it to be a false alarm. I say please have them come back right away, and then called another one of my best friends who lived very close to come over and help me with my son. When the police showed up they secured the premises and were about to leave wondering why on earth I was sitting on the floor bawling my eyes out. Finally I uttered the words “I was robbed and might have been raped”… Well they certainly jumped to attention now. My girlfriend took Lincoln out to his playground so I could speak with one of the officers, or try to speak rather nearly choking from the overflowing tears and panic. I show him the bruises, the bathroom disaster which still had some of my vomit on the floor and in the bathtub. Immediately he says you need to go to the hospital to get a rape kit done. “I can’t I have my son!” I said. Meanwhile my girlfriend informed the other officer of these people’s names. A even bigger cause for concern arose as he recognized ALL their names from previous offenses.

At this point they went from suggesting to insisting I go to the hospital for the kit to be done. I call my ex husband 9 or 10 times… No answer. I call my mom and dad. I call another one of my best friends. No one answers and I fall to pieces. They wanted to throw me into their car and take me themselves but I did not know what to do since I had my son. I decide to let my friend who was there take me but she had to leave shortly after taking us the emergency room. It was packed. I write on the paper “I might have been raped”– within 5 minutes they take me back to a private room to speak with someone and explain the severity of the situation. Thankfully they did not keep me long but admitted me nearly instantly. I change into the gown and they bag my clothes. They start to give me a prophylactic. Thankfully my other friend was able to come get my son and bring him to my parents who very unwillingly took him overnight (they had not ever at this point and he was 5). Then the rest of the “fun” started. Before any of the excruciatingly hard stuff started an advocate from SPARCC came to my side to help me navigate all the paperwork and my options. The papers calling me “the victim” was a tougher pill to swallow then all the antibiotics, anti-pregnancy, and anti-AIDS medicines that could not be injected as the plethora of other ones were. It took so long to get everything done I was there for a total of about 9 hours. The nurse informed me that she hadn’t performed one in about 10 years- I’m not sure if that is good news that either no other rapes occurred or that these people were too afraid to go through this horrendous process….

After all was said and done I called my friends who said they would pick me up but unfortunately it was around 4 am at this point so no one could be reached. I was told that the normal procedure is to have a mandatory stay at the mental institution overnight for suicide watch. However they decided that it wasn’t needed for me. So I called a cab and went to my house that was no longer and never would be a home to me. Going back to the crime scene alone at 4 am was pretty damn incredibly strong on my part if I do say so myself. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t change my clothes from the ones that my SPARCC rep gave me. Didn’t shower. Just sat in a state of numbness. Picking up my son from the bus I was still in the same state but had to take him to his ABA therapy appointment since I didn’t want him to miss out despite the wreck I was.
At the appointment my eyes were probably 3 times the normal size all puffy and the therapist asked if I was Ok…. I immediately burst into tears and said “NO! I was just in the hospital and I’m still wearing the clothes they gave me”! She of course figured it out easily and thankfully she let me sit in the room adjacent to the therapy room that had a double sided mirror so I could watch him and also fall to pieces at the same time. Guess what happens next…? She calls the Department of Child and Family services on me since my state was so shaky…?  I didn’t cancel the appointment I was there for his advancement despite what had happened.

The next day I’m doing some work on my computer and my doorbell rings repeatedly and banging on the door. I scream and heart pounds out of chest peeking out the window to see who it is absolutely petrified. It’s an officer coming to observe my house to make sure my son is safe. I couldn’t believe it. Here I am just having undergone a traumatic event and he gives me yet another anxiety/panic attack. He sees my clean house and apologizes for scaring me. I’m still surprised when I think about it how alone I was throughout this process. I didn’t receive much help in taking Lincoln so I could try to recover. In fact my mom even had the nerve to lecture me about how trusting I am and how I get myself in these messes, mentioning a previous incident. She says “Where were the angels? Maybe you aren’t being protected since you left Jehovah!” I scream at her “There aren’t any Angels obviously only Demons!!”. I was offered free counseling which of course I started doing. They also had that available for friends and family so they could understand and not say the wrong things. Nope. Never did. Continuing to lecture me and be pretty unavailable in taking him so that I could be alone to try as best as possible to “fix” myself. I always think of the song by Coldplay called “Fix you” and the line “When you lose something you can’t replace”- I think of this incident and how I lost the last shred of innocence I had….

* End of Story*
I put my house on the market that next week since I had not sleep a wink. Before it sold I moved anyway that following week into a new apartment since I just could Not stay there. It did sell thankfully and there wasn’t much of a monetary loss; however the loss I felt of being so proud to finally have my own house that I painted whatever colors I wanted, decorated however artsy way I wanted, the big backyard, pool, and playground my parents had bought for my son that he loved so much. Subsequently I went through a major depression for the next 6 months until I ran into my SPARCC advocate randomly visiting a friend in the hospital. It set me back a little at first recollecting that night, but then I remembered how amazing she was. She held my hand, cried with me, we made jokes to try to lighten the mood, and even had philosophical conversations. At that moment my depression shifted to determination because I realized I wanted to do what she did for me for others! I realized that if I could persevere through this then I would be the Perfect person to help others in a similar situation. So I signed up in a psychology college 2 days later and am actively working towards my degrees to pursue this new passion and goal!

So was it the worst experience of my life? Yes.
Instead of letting it destroy me though I went from “victim” to being a victor in  progress since I survived and thrived, and will soon enough be empowering other women to do so. That is the silver lining. I have found that if you look hard enough you can always find one. The light at the end of the tunnel may be so dim it appears to be a 3 watt light bulb, But it is there…
Do bad things happen to good people and vice versa? Yes.
Has this taught me how powerful not powerless I am? Yes.

I will use this to be a steppingstone to provide benevolence towards as many people possible compelling awareness to this rarely talked about subject. If I can change at least one persons life to help them overcome this horrendous and heartbreaking warfare then I will die happy.

ADT (800 number), 911, Mike the ex husband (10 times and he didn’t pick up the phone), Mom, Natasha, and Dad. I couldn’t reach anyone

The quintessential rape victim photo

Ironically enough this was written on a dry erase board in one of the rooms at the hospital