http://www.more.com/news/womens-issues/what-makes-rapist
It's been awhile.
Welcome to (almost) April.
Friday, March 30, 2012
Monday, December 19, 2011
For Those Who Hurt in Holidays
"Through many dangers, toils, and snares
I have already come."
I hurt very much right now. I hurt very much.
I have so much I am blessed about; I have had so much good in my life, and I continue to have so much good.
I never really feel worthy of this good. I suppose that's part of what makes it so good, is grace, this grace.
But I don't think anyone who has suffered from rape ever really feels good and worthy again, maybe not fully, maybe only in moments and glimpses. Maybe not at all.
But she'd wish for anyone else to feel good and worthy, so she makes it up for herself too.
Depression never really goes away. Anxiety, it dissipates in moments, and has most everlasting effects.
The strong desire to end life is there, an ever-present shadow.
I'm not afraid to face this shadow anymore.
I've been able to hang up my clothes in the dark for the last week.
This is a HUGE accomplishment.
I still feel afraid a little, but it's okay, I can reach out and hang my shirt, and it's okay.
I'm sleeping a little better.
I took a short nap on Sunday, and woke up feeling like the bed was shaking before I was fully awake and realized it was me that was shaking, that my heart was bursting and beating so hard, and I lay there as long as I could and just felt those tiny wings inside me, pumping blood, fleeing from anything.
This will never go away.
I may face my shadow now... but now, still, I am learning to accept.
No amount of medication, even if for the rest of my life, will make these little sufferings go away.
They are little. They are silly. They hurt like splinters.
And now: right now: I do not feel that I can love.
I do not trust love in my life, any form, any amount, any show of it. I do not trust it.
I do not feel as though I can do enough: work, therapy, reading, bathing, exercising.
Writing, pshaw. I haven't written much.
But still we live. We live on. I don't know why this is, but we do it.
I suppose I do it, because even though I hurt, I don't want to hurt anyone else.
"There are no less days to sing praise,
Than when we'd first begun."
I have already come."
I hurt very much right now. I hurt very much.
I have so much I am blessed about; I have had so much good in my life, and I continue to have so much good.
I never really feel worthy of this good. I suppose that's part of what makes it so good, is grace, this grace.
But I don't think anyone who has suffered from rape ever really feels good and worthy again, maybe not fully, maybe only in moments and glimpses. Maybe not at all.
But she'd wish for anyone else to feel good and worthy, so she makes it up for herself too.
Depression never really goes away. Anxiety, it dissipates in moments, and has most everlasting effects.
The strong desire to end life is there, an ever-present shadow.
I'm not afraid to face this shadow anymore.
I've been able to hang up my clothes in the dark for the last week.
This is a HUGE accomplishment.
I still feel afraid a little, but it's okay, I can reach out and hang my shirt, and it's okay.
I'm sleeping a little better.
I took a short nap on Sunday, and woke up feeling like the bed was shaking before I was fully awake and realized it was me that was shaking, that my heart was bursting and beating so hard, and I lay there as long as I could and just felt those tiny wings inside me, pumping blood, fleeing from anything.
This will never go away.
I may face my shadow now... but now, still, I am learning to accept.
No amount of medication, even if for the rest of my life, will make these little sufferings go away.
They are little. They are silly. They hurt like splinters.
And now: right now: I do not feel that I can love.
I do not trust love in my life, any form, any amount, any show of it. I do not trust it.
I do not feel as though I can do enough: work, therapy, reading, bathing, exercising.
Writing, pshaw. I haven't written much.
But still we live. We live on. I don't know why this is, but we do it.
I suppose I do it, because even though I hurt, I don't want to hurt anyone else.
"There are no less days to sing praise,
Than when we'd first begun."
Monday, November 21, 2011
Appalachian Night Rain
I just stayed up late, watching the Chiefs & Patriots game with my Pa and brother-in-law, drinking beer...then my brother-in-law talked to me about PTSD, about denial, about therapy, about illogical fears that can seem so certain in the moment, about self-medicating vs simply enjoying, about family and marriage and children and love.
This is the first time I've come to Ohio and not felt anxious. I haven't felt a dread... that the sky will fall tomorrow, that I'll leave the door open and a stranger will barge their way into our lives, that anything will disrupt our present. I even napped this afternoon! And I'll probably wake early tomorrow. I went for a walk with my pa and dog this morning before I even smoked or drank coffee.
I live in a certainty of dread. Well, not entirely dread--though I'm certain that is oft my reaction to repeated roads and sometimes experiences, deja vu, ya know--but certainly I live in a state of suspension. Good things happen more frequently than terrible events in my life. I am beyond blessed. Yet terrible things do come our way. Unexpected occurrences, illnesses, changes... Maybe I live too much in the expectation of these devastating happenings taking place, and maybe it's out of a yearning to feel some grasp on this life I've been given. I know I'm not in control. There's no such thing as power--it's too fluid, too fickle--but it is nice to be living with my palm open, and my life, a tiny grain of salt, just lays there, open to the elements, to the wind, to it all, and I can close and cover it, and I can open it and air it, but this is all it is: a tiny grain of salt in an open palm.
No, I do not trust completely; I never will, and truly, we never will. Life doesn't allow it. There is so much beauty in this balance, of daily monotony, who's going to take care of who, of what, what are we going to do today, how are we feeling...and the moments where there are no words, just hugs, just smiles, just tears, just watching and partaking in life together.
It's been a gift to observe how my parents interact, and how my sister and her husband interact, and how my nephew interacts with all of us. I see the relationship, the memories, the feelings, the thought bubbles. I may even project my own understanding and responses. I'm learning so much about love. Love in a general sense, yes, but more specifically, love in a family, romantic love, spousal love, child love, sister and brother love, and how in love I am with learning this in this moment, at this time in my life.
It is so lovely.
This is the first time I've come to Ohio and not felt anxious. I haven't felt a dread... that the sky will fall tomorrow, that I'll leave the door open and a stranger will barge their way into our lives, that anything will disrupt our present. I even napped this afternoon! And I'll probably wake early tomorrow. I went for a walk with my pa and dog this morning before I even smoked or drank coffee.
I live in a certainty of dread. Well, not entirely dread--though I'm certain that is oft my reaction to repeated roads and sometimes experiences, deja vu, ya know--but certainly I live in a state of suspension. Good things happen more frequently than terrible events in my life. I am beyond blessed. Yet terrible things do come our way. Unexpected occurrences, illnesses, changes... Maybe I live too much in the expectation of these devastating happenings taking place, and maybe it's out of a yearning to feel some grasp on this life I've been given. I know I'm not in control. There's no such thing as power--it's too fluid, too fickle--but it is nice to be living with my palm open, and my life, a tiny grain of salt, just lays there, open to the elements, to the wind, to it all, and I can close and cover it, and I can open it and air it, but this is all it is: a tiny grain of salt in an open palm.
No, I do not trust completely; I never will, and truly, we never will. Life doesn't allow it. There is so much beauty in this balance, of daily monotony, who's going to take care of who, of what, what are we going to do today, how are we feeling...and the moments where there are no words, just hugs, just smiles, just tears, just watching and partaking in life together.
It's been a gift to observe how my parents interact, and how my sister and her husband interact, and how my nephew interacts with all of us. I see the relationship, the memories, the feelings, the thought bubbles. I may even project my own understanding and responses. I'm learning so much about love. Love in a general sense, yes, but more specifically, love in a family, romantic love, spousal love, child love, sister and brother love, and how in love I am with learning this in this moment, at this time in my life.
It is so lovely.
Monday, November 7, 2011
Mason Jars of Ohio
Another pre-therapy morning, replete with coffee, no food, smoke, My Chemical Romance et al.
Except for this pervading sense of calm, of peace...that I've been given...more especially, that I've chosen.
Therapy has been hit-or-miss. It's a relationship. There's trust, there's distrust, there's respect, there's humility, even humor; it's an organism that breathes, hurts, expands, hugs, cries, fights, sighs, and lives.
We discussed my upcoming trip to Ohio. (P.S. to Ohio natives: only going for the joy of my family. No vacancy.)
There's the 2-week dread. Money, travel times, packing, brain and heart. Soul. Check, check, check.
Then there's the one-week dread. No to little sleep, some drinking, unhappy tummy, lots of coffee and jitters, headache. Calm inside-feeling like the coating of a bottle of cough syrup. Not a good taste in the mouth, but does the body good.
Ohio. Lovely, gorgeous, amazing, beautiful strong family. Happiness. Maybe a few stray tears. Hugs, kisses, good nights, good mornings, sunshine, sunrise, sunset, rain, wind, food--lots of it--movies, games. Hellos and goodbyes. I love yous.
Long drive home. Quiet. Thinking. Some delirious singing by the time I reach about Meinrad area.
The one-week settling back in. Miss the fam, don't miss the dread. Anger. Sadness. Frustration. Love.
...Bring it. It's been a long time. A real long time.
Amply constructive from my one-hour visit this morning: I'm not completely damaged. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I can love. I can be loved. I can trust, give-and-take, give-and-give. Satisfaction. Trust. Love. Maybe.
Except for this pervading sense of calm, of peace...that I've been given...more especially, that I've chosen.
Therapy has been hit-or-miss. It's a relationship. There's trust, there's distrust, there's respect, there's humility, even humor; it's an organism that breathes, hurts, expands, hugs, cries, fights, sighs, and lives.
We discussed my upcoming trip to Ohio. (P.S. to Ohio natives: only going for the joy of my family. No vacancy.)
There's the 2-week dread. Money, travel times, packing, brain and heart. Soul. Check, check, check.
Then there's the one-week dread. No to little sleep, some drinking, unhappy tummy, lots of coffee and jitters, headache. Calm inside-feeling like the coating of a bottle of cough syrup. Not a good taste in the mouth, but does the body good.
Ohio. Lovely, gorgeous, amazing, beautiful strong family. Happiness. Maybe a few stray tears. Hugs, kisses, good nights, good mornings, sunshine, sunrise, sunset, rain, wind, food--lots of it--movies, games. Hellos and goodbyes. I love yous.
Long drive home. Quiet. Thinking. Some delirious singing by the time I reach about Meinrad area.
The one-week settling back in. Miss the fam, don't miss the dread. Anger. Sadness. Frustration. Love.
...Bring it. It's been a long time. A real long time.
Amply constructive from my one-hour visit this morning: I'm not completely damaged. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I can love. I can be loved. I can trust, give-and-take, give-and-give. Satisfaction. Trust. Love. Maybe.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
The Etiquette of Rape
My newest project. I don't know how to unveil it, and I think it might even be offensive to some...though I'm trying to stay away from total shock value.
This is actually a short story I started awhile back--in the summer I believe--when I was probably frustrated by a strange man trying to talk to me in front of CVS. Yeah, he waited for me outside while I was buying smokes. I think there were other incidental occurrences such as this throughout the day, and by the day's end, I was ready to make a manual on how "if you must rape, at least hold to these truths, and bear these things in mind...."
But this is also something that originated when I was writing my paper earlier this year as well, an off-shoot, of how rape should be treated in literature, and art, ...well yeah, and life too.
I won't share my rough draft here, because it's rather rough... but I was reminded of this "etiquette of rape" idea recently.
A sort of maybe silly, maybe just cope-worthy, break-through I had back in August's therapy--culminating at the same time as the CVS man--was that when a strange man, or really anyone who makes me uncomfortable and unhappy and just tries to get in the way and trip up (mostly, these are some men, though not always, some women too, some lesbians, some straight), I think about what I've already experienced. Being raped used to make me feel as though I had nothing to lose. Who cares if I walk under this bridge in the dark? I've already been raped. What worse could be done?
Re-traumatizing is not fun. It's not fun. It's not a game, and it's not a test of how brave are you now, young life? It's not worth it. Please don't do it.
So, getting away from THAT, my recent thought process has been more along the lines of, "Sweetheart, what do you want to say? Why do you want to say it? Do not make me feel uncomfortable. Do not hurt me. I've been hurt. You've maybe been hurt too. Please think about what you're doing, saying, your body placement...please open those eyes, please see into mine, please do not do this, because you're hurting so much more than me; you're hurting you too, and I won't let you, not at my expense, and not at anyone else's."
This escalates, pretty quickly, into, "Okay child, seriously, there's someone in prison right now because he hurt me. I've done it once, I can do it again; but don't make me."
There is a fallacy in this though: I really didn't do this once. Oh sure, there is someone in prison right now because he hurt me, but he also hurt my family, and it's really my family who carried me along through that time...I was only a child. With bangs. And fairly buck teeth. (Pre-braces; still had baby teeth.)
Could I do this again? REALLY?! I guess if the circumstances necessitated it, but my god... I've been itching, just a little, not as much as I had, to go through all those legal documents. I watched a show with a couple friends, and it wasn't the murder scene that got me, it wasn't the scenario; it was simply seeing legal documents, and seeing the person face the future ahead with a legal dictionary stuck in front of their faces, and the court rooms, and the night before the court rooms, and the careful choosing of clothing and outfits that really isn't that much fun when you're wearing it to a court room, and maybe only it's fun when you're a lawyer, but not when you're not making a job out of it, but you're trying to make a life out of it. Pieces of paper, with foreign jargon. And my name. Written everywhere.
It is incredible--I spoke with a friend about this recently--it is incredible to look straight into someone's eyes. Sometimes I think, "If I just don't look directly at the person, they won't come over to me, and I won't have to face this person and all this person is bringing with them, whatever it may be...if I don't look at them, they can't see me." However, I have found along the way that when I actually look--not just directly in the general direction of a person near me, coming towards me, maybe meaning me harm, but certainly not meaning me goodwill--but straight in that person's eyes, locked, breath stopped, arms at side, the world slows. We slow. Eye contact. The best thing since jam.
...I think I'll include this in "The Etiquette of Rape." And I think I'll stop trying to be brave simply because a man is in prison for hurting me. I'm a bit in prison myself sometimes, though I've found fresh air, and sunshine, and beauty, and life.
This is actually a short story I started awhile back--in the summer I believe--when I was probably frustrated by a strange man trying to talk to me in front of CVS. Yeah, he waited for me outside while I was buying smokes. I think there were other incidental occurrences such as this throughout the day, and by the day's end, I was ready to make a manual on how "if you must rape, at least hold to these truths, and bear these things in mind...."
But this is also something that originated when I was writing my paper earlier this year as well, an off-shoot, of how rape should be treated in literature, and art, ...well yeah, and life too.
I won't share my rough draft here, because it's rather rough... but I was reminded of this "etiquette of rape" idea recently.
A sort of maybe silly, maybe just cope-worthy, break-through I had back in August's therapy--culminating at the same time as the CVS man--was that when a strange man, or really anyone who makes me uncomfortable and unhappy and just tries to get in the way and trip up (mostly, these are some men, though not always, some women too, some lesbians, some straight), I think about what I've already experienced. Being raped used to make me feel as though I had nothing to lose. Who cares if I walk under this bridge in the dark? I've already been raped. What worse could be done?
Re-traumatizing is not fun. It's not fun. It's not a game, and it's not a test of how brave are you now, young life? It's not worth it. Please don't do it.
So, getting away from THAT, my recent thought process has been more along the lines of, "Sweetheart, what do you want to say? Why do you want to say it? Do not make me feel uncomfortable. Do not hurt me. I've been hurt. You've maybe been hurt too. Please think about what you're doing, saying, your body placement...please open those eyes, please see into mine, please do not do this, because you're hurting so much more than me; you're hurting you too, and I won't let you, not at my expense, and not at anyone else's."
This escalates, pretty quickly, into, "Okay child, seriously, there's someone in prison right now because he hurt me. I've done it once, I can do it again; but don't make me."
There is a fallacy in this though: I really didn't do this once. Oh sure, there is someone in prison right now because he hurt me, but he also hurt my family, and it's really my family who carried me along through that time...I was only a child. With bangs. And fairly buck teeth. (Pre-braces; still had baby teeth.)
Could I do this again? REALLY?! I guess if the circumstances necessitated it, but my god... I've been itching, just a little, not as much as I had, to go through all those legal documents. I watched a show with a couple friends, and it wasn't the murder scene that got me, it wasn't the scenario; it was simply seeing legal documents, and seeing the person face the future ahead with a legal dictionary stuck in front of their faces, and the court rooms, and the night before the court rooms, and the careful choosing of clothing and outfits that really isn't that much fun when you're wearing it to a court room, and maybe only it's fun when you're a lawyer, but not when you're not making a job out of it, but you're trying to make a life out of it. Pieces of paper, with foreign jargon. And my name. Written everywhere.
It is incredible--I spoke with a friend about this recently--it is incredible to look straight into someone's eyes. Sometimes I think, "If I just don't look directly at the person, they won't come over to me, and I won't have to face this person and all this person is bringing with them, whatever it may be...if I don't look at them, they can't see me." However, I have found along the way that when I actually look--not just directly in the general direction of a person near me, coming towards me, maybe meaning me harm, but certainly not meaning me goodwill--but straight in that person's eyes, locked, breath stopped, arms at side, the world slows. We slow. Eye contact. The best thing since jam.
...I think I'll include this in "The Etiquette of Rape." And I think I'll stop trying to be brave simply because a man is in prison for hurting me. I'm a bit in prison myself sometimes, though I've found fresh air, and sunshine, and beauty, and life.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
A Moment, or Simply an Opportunity?
So the Strauss-Kahn big rape debate continues.
Eve Ensler, the writer of The Vagina Monologues and architect for V-Day, weighs in via Huffington Post about this:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/eve-ensler/dominique-strauss-kahn-so_b_891643.html
Word to how does a person in less than desirable circumstances ever hope to find some justice for having been raped? A court case is not an end-all. It is risky business. But you have to weigh out what is riskier. I'd like to think my parents did this, and I do, whole-heartedly believe, that we made the right decision in prosecuting. I'm thankful we were in a place that we could do this, even in a small town.
What's remarkable to me--what has really stayed with me--from Ensler's post is how she defines this:
"This case is a defining moment, a signifier of the direction we move in -- towards transformation or more abuse and loss."
I don't think this case is a defining moment. I think it COULD be. The players are in place, the case has gained world attention, and it's over rape--how much more glamorous could this possibly be? But it could also just be a moment. I'm sure none of the players want this to be a defining moment in their lives, though it could be. I believe Ensler is stating that this is a defining moment for society, that vague blob of faces and spit and words and name brands. And defining moments, for society, are hard to come by.
Why am I pessimistic about this being a defining moment, I ask myself. I don't think we're ready to take this opportunity for a defining moment, as a large, collective unit. He's just a politician. She's just a woman. We're just middle class folks, and while we may rally around the woman who's also just trying to make it, generally we don't do this, because it's too uncomfortable still for us to relate to someone who's raped. I mean, it's just too fucking awful and scary. Well yeah, it's awful and scary, but we live on, don't we?
As long as our attention is so focused on so many other things to distract us--Lady Gaga's clothing, politics talking about Lady Gaga's songs, Planned Parenthood, abortion, gay rights, the wars, the debt--we're not going to readily assume a rape case as a defining moment in our lives, until we're the players.
Eve Ensler, the writer of The Vagina Monologues and architect for V-Day, weighs in via Huffington Post about this:
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/eve-ensler/dominique-strauss-kahn-so_b_891643.html
Word to how does a person in less than desirable circumstances ever hope to find some justice for having been raped? A court case is not an end-all. It is risky business. But you have to weigh out what is riskier. I'd like to think my parents did this, and I do, whole-heartedly believe, that we made the right decision in prosecuting. I'm thankful we were in a place that we could do this, even in a small town.
What's remarkable to me--what has really stayed with me--from Ensler's post is how she defines this:
"This case is a defining moment, a signifier of the direction we move in -- towards transformation or more abuse and loss."
I don't think this case is a defining moment. I think it COULD be. The players are in place, the case has gained world attention, and it's over rape--how much more glamorous could this possibly be? But it could also just be a moment. I'm sure none of the players want this to be a defining moment in their lives, though it could be. I believe Ensler is stating that this is a defining moment for society, that vague blob of faces and spit and words and name brands. And defining moments, for society, are hard to come by.
Why am I pessimistic about this being a defining moment, I ask myself. I don't think we're ready to take this opportunity for a defining moment, as a large, collective unit. He's just a politician. She's just a woman. We're just middle class folks, and while we may rally around the woman who's also just trying to make it, generally we don't do this, because it's too uncomfortable still for us to relate to someone who's raped. I mean, it's just too fucking awful and scary. Well yeah, it's awful and scary, but we live on, don't we?
As long as our attention is so focused on so many other things to distract us--Lady Gaga's clothing, politics talking about Lady Gaga's songs, Planned Parenthood, abortion, gay rights, the wars, the debt--we're not going to readily assume a rape case as a defining moment in our lives, until we're the players.
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