So I’m risking everything with this post but it is so important and I am hoping more than anything to expose what this process is really like, how it feels and what it looks like when you’ve finally broken beyond hope.
I know that it’s hard to believe, it’s hard to believe I’ve had the life I have had, even to me at times. But it is my truth and there is nothing that I can do about that. I grew up as a very abused little girl. My light was taken from me very, very early along with things like my innocence. I didn’t ask for that and it has shaped my entire life. I never knew what healthy looked like. Ever.
My little mind splintered off into itself in an effort to protect me. For that I am grateful because the handful of memories I do have are hard enough to deal with. Especially during this trial, having to confront and relive those experiences to satisfy the defense and I hope they’re satisfied because the damage has been done.
I can’t see a way past this. I just can’t see any way to exist beyond this. I want the pain of my life to be over. That is a symptom of my disease. Major depressive disorder is a terminal illness and I’ve been fighting it my whole life without help…until recently. I now question why? with every moment, why did I bother fighting this hard? I feel utterly empty. I feel nothing but pain and I want the pain to just stop.
I ran away when I was 13 years old, previously I thought I was 12 but going back through notes and police reports I was able to determine that I was 13. Thirteen in 1988 was a lot different than now. I was raped when I ran away. And for anyone keeping track not only was MY definition of rape satisfied back then, but the law also defined what happened to me as rape, I was a scared, frightened 13 year old who believed that the streets would be safer than my home. I was threatened by the person who raped me a day after first reporting and I recanted my story out of fear…A scared 13 year old girl who was raped and threatened by her attacker recanted her story out of fear and that fear is what led my parents to putting me in the back of my father’s car to go to live in Virginia to TRY give ME an opportunity to start over.
I went to live in Richmond,Virginia with a father who hadn’t spent more than 2 consecutive days with me since he was court ordered to do so (weekend visits) and I suffered greatly. I developed an eating disorder as many, many girls do as a result of sexual trauma and not only did I have the sexual trauma of a rape BUT I was still reeling from our time with my step-father. My father desperate to help me had me committed to a facility for my eating disorder at the age of 15, TWO YEARS after struggling on my own to cope with what happened to me. I remained in Charter Westbrook for 90 days receiving help. The facility was later closed down due to numerous issues, including patient suicide they tried to cover up as well as male staff members inappropriately touching female underage patients. You can read ALL about it, just spend a few moments goggling it.
After my stent in Charter Westbrook I managed to go another 25+ years without ANY major issues. I worked my ass off, put myself through school and attempted to live life just like everyone else and yes, I suffered. I have suffered with depression from the first moments my soul was stripped from me by a grown ass man who decided to use my child occupied body as a receptacle for his needs…Wouldn’t you?
I never claimed to be mentally healthy, because I had no frame of reference for health. I watched my mother get beat, choked, kicked, strangled, run off the road and ultimately I watched my step-father try to squeeze the life from her on Christmas Eve while my brother and I were putting up garland. It changes you. Some things are so horrific that you can never un-see them and I will never forget her lying on the floor barely breathing with the long beige phone cord on the floor beside her, she was trying to call 911, she was trying to call for help.
You know what the police did? They did nothing.
They did absolutely nothing.
Domestic violence back then was viewed through a very different lens, much in the way they viewed a 13 year old runaway…we weren’t worth saving. We weren’t worth being heard.
Attempts to paint me into this narrative, to say I’ve been lying my whole life..for who’s benefit? mine??? am I benefiting from being raped???? for what? what have I gained? Fame? notoriety? financial success? attention?
And then as if THAT wasn’t enough in and of itself…
To defend that I’ve had BREAST CANCER, knowing how much cancer has ripped my family apart, my grandmother losing her battle to cancer after surviving inflammatory breast carcinoma years earlier, my mother bravely battling breast cancer TWICE herself…My beloved Aunt Ginny passing from her SECOND battle with breast cancer…it’s so disgusting. It is so unbearably disgusting. And what’s worse is that my rapist KNOWS all of this because HE tried to organize a breast cancer team to walk in my honor and yet here he is now pretending like it wasn’t real, like he didn’t text me years ago when one of my best friends sent me chocolate covered strawberries and a note thanking me for surviving my battle with cancer and tell me that made him choked up. As if he hasn’t seen the scars that cover my body and as if he doesn’t have intimate knowledge of the fact that my nipples have been tattooed on in an attempt to make me feel LESS like a freak…that he would attempt to use something so deeply personal against me…what kind of human being does that?
ALL I ever wanted was an acknowledgment. That’s it. To hold one person in this life accountable for a CRIME that he ACTUALLY committed.
But you know what I have finally, finally accepted today? I am a conduit for pain.
That is all I am, that is all I will ever be.
I was built to house the pain of others, my body was never mine and it will never be mine. I have been the vessel that others pour their rage into. I’ve been fighting that feeling my whole life because I couldn’t accept that this was the world I was born into.
I have continued to love and forgive like a dog who has been beaten but still returns to it’s owner looking for that one instance of kindness. I kept loving openly and transparently hoping to attract what I so willingly give. It has never happened. Ever.
I have naively believed lie after lie, even knowingly at times because I just hoped so much that someone would believe I was worthy enough for justice but that simply is not the case. I’ve even asked to be lied too because the pain of my reality is so unbearable at times that I want to sink into the comfort of any lie…any fucking lie at all.
This is crisis. This spiral of horrific thoughts, this despair, this pain, this voice that constantly repeats over and over how useless you’ve become, how incapable you are of functioning, how wholly bleak and dark and unforgiving this world is and you just want it to go black…You want it to end, you want the pain to just let up for a moment…and it won’t. It follows you into your darkest corner and screams until all you hear is the pain of your soul shattering out into the galaxy and there is nothing you can do to stop it.
When you realize you are only existing to prevent additional pain in other people that is a realization you are in a place that can not sustain itself.
THIS is the aftermath of rape. THIS is what terminal depression looks like. I hope this helps someone.
At some point you just have to accept the fact that you are not supposed to be here anymore and maybe you never were supposed to stay this long.