tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59346329181819129782024-03-13T02:12:35.215-04:00Defying GravityWhat survivors of trauma do bestS.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.comBlogger89125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-87356302831475017372013-04-24T22:26:00.000-04:002013-04-24T22:26:42.586-04:00How to be an allySo there's been some drama at Dartmouth, my alma mater, recently. I've been trying to stay out of it because thinking about campus in conjunction with sexual assault brings back a lot of frustration and sadness. The Dartmouth administration was actually very good to me-- it's the behavior of my fraternity brothers that I am still bitter about.<br />
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That being said, it's been impossible to completely avoid conversations about this on Facebook and mailing lists, so I've reluctantly chimed in when the conversation got irritating enough. The first time I got involved, it was to put the kibosh on "but false rape accusations!" bullshit. I wrote <a href="http://sayrinasquill.blogspot.com/2011/08/myth-about-false-rape-reports.html" target="_blank">a post</a> on this a while ago. False rape accusations are exceedingly rare and almost never targeted at a specific person, because seriously, victims of acquaintance rape aren't exactly treated kindly or sympathetically in society, so if someone wants attention or sympathy and somehow thinks crying rape is a good way to do it, they're not going to name a specific person-- they're going to pick the scenario they wouldn't receive any blame in, and talk about a stranger in a dark alley with a weapon. Crying rape for revenge runs into the exact same issues. Perpetuating the idea that false rape accusations are common really hurts victims, and seriously needs to stop.<br />
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The second time I've chimed in has been in response to the notion that rape victims need to testify in court because otherwise they're perpetuating rape culture. The person who brought this up said that testifying is a service to society that rape victims should do "if they're strong enough," but that it's totally ok if they can't, and there's no judgment involved. I called shenanigans on that too, for multiple reasons. First, you can't say there's no judgment involved if you frame it as a "service to society" that a victim can choose not to do if they're not strong enough. That means that someone who chooses not to testify is weak or selfish because they're unable or unwilling to go through the hell that is the legal system. (Did I mention how going through the legal system means having to relive your experience over and over while people try to discredit you and drag your name through the mud? And that the process generally takes at least a year? Yeah.)<br />
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Secondly, stop putting the onus on victims. Why are we the ones perpetuating rape culture if we don't testify? Why is it mainly our responsibility to stop perpetrators? Saying that any change in rape culture depends on the victims is an easy way for people to absolve themselves of responsibility. You don't get a cookie for not being a rapist yourself and sitting around telling rape victims what <i>they</i> need to do to stop rape. It's not just our responsibility. Stop looking at what others can do and start looking at what you can do.<br />
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Stop telling people how to not get raped, and start telling people how not to rape. Stop ignoring when someone does something unacceptable-- say something. Tell people that rape jokes are harmful. (I know I've written about it a lot, but I feel like <a href="http://www.shakesville.com/2011/03/feminism-101-helpful-hints-for-dudes.html" target="_blank">this post</a> says it better than I have: your silence condones and normalizes rape, particularly in the minds of rapists.) Stop perpetuating the myth that women cry rape for attention or revenge. Stop pressuring victims into testifying; there are many reasons why someone might not want to testify, and they are all legitimate. Also recognize that it's exceedingly hard to procure a guilty verdict, and that doesn't mean the victim was lying.<br />
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Listen when someone comes to you and tells you it happened to them. Don't assume they're lying. Don't ask them if they were drunk, or if they were wearing something provocative. Don't ask them to hide what happened. Don't make them feel ashamed of it. Be respectful and supportive. If you don't know how to be supportive, say so, instead of just becoming distant or pretending nothing happened. Be an ally, that's all we ask.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-35861341984514041472013-03-22T16:30:00.000-04:002013-03-22T16:30:10.999-04:00Well, then.<br />
He broke up with me last night. It kind of came out of the blue-- I thought he seemed really happy to spend time with me on Monday-- and I was pretty heartbroken because I really liked him. Sure, there were things that needed to be worked on, but we talked about stuff on Tuesday, and I thought things were good. Granted, on Tuesday he also told me that he would be happier and find me more attractive if I weighed less, but he said he still thought I was cute. I was pretty embarrassed and a bit hurt, but I asked to talk to him about it, we made plans to talk yesterday, and I thought things would be fine. But after I brought up my concerns about his comments on my weight last night, he just said he was losing excitement and interest in me, and didn't think there was enough to keep the relationship going. He brought up some issues I had been working on, but it was basically that he didn't find me attractive anymore so he wasn't willing to give me any time to work on those things.<br />
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I cried for a while last night. It certainly didn't help that I've been feeling the effects of the anniversary for a while (tonight is pretty much the main night), and he was originally going to come up and spend the weekend because he knew it'd be rough for me. I think part of what hit me hard was how it seemed he pretty much wanted me to accept that he wasn't interested in me anymore and just go away. He didn't want to discuss anything. He didn't mention wanting to be friends. He basically just wanted me to say "ok," stop talking, and disappear from his life. I don't think he ever wants to speak to me or see me again. I'm a bit bewildered and hurt. I know we hadn't been dating for all that long, but to just suddenly and completely kick someone out of your life like that? Especially just because you think they're too fat? On Tuesday he seemed ok with the fact that I was working on my weight, but I guess he decided he wasn't willing to wait after all, and I wasn't worth even being friends with.<br />
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Last night was hard for a while, but it turns out I have amazing friends, and I am stronger than I realize. My self-esteem has been suffering for a while (I'm used to feeling bad about my body, but it's rare and discomfiting to feel stupid-- but he was brilliant), so I spent some time just feeling really shitty about myself. But then after talking to friends and going through half a box of tissues, I wrote some bad poetry for myself-- ok, I don't think it even counts as poetry (it's a list of affirmations that are not in complete sentences and are creatively indented :P)-- but somehow that did the trick, and I am feeling better about the breakup. It feels like it's started to heal; I just need to not poke at the scab too much.<br />
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So now the pressing issue is the anniversary, because my plans to spend it with him got thrown out the window last night. I'll spend time with friends, and I'll manage tonight and the rest of the weekend somehow. I guess I just need to focus on the fact that despite some setbacks, I've been doing pretty well with moving on with my life. The trauma doesn't define me anymore. While I will always consider myself a survivor, I am also a vet student, a researcher, a friend, and perhaps most importantly (:P), a slave to 2 adorable kittens. There are people in my life who love me, and I have to believe that they see something in me that makes me worth caring about.<br />
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Here's to five years.<br />
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S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-12880481837188838582013-03-17T17:09:00.000-04:002013-03-18T11:24:20.437-04:00In Which Time Marches OnwardsThe end of March is approaching. It will be five years. I worried a little that the fact that it would be <i>five</i> years would somehow make this anniversary different, more difficult, somehow-- I guess because people and organizations tend to celebrate five-year reunions? I keep getting emails from my undergraduate class about the five-year reunion coming up. I should have graduated with them, but I didn't because of what happened the first weekend of my senior spring. I could still attend (Dartmouth considers you part of the class you entered with and not the class you graduated with), but I'm not sure I'd want to go back to campus anyway. I went back for an important meeting at my fraternity that solidified and implemented the change in the permanency clause, and I thought maybe that would help me feel kinder or fonder feelings towards them again, but when I looked at how they were going to conduct trials, and when they asked me to recount my story and be available for questioning by the undergrads, my response was a pretty unceremonious "are you kidding me?" (ok, that might have been the G-rated version of what actually went through my head). So that was that. I have a handful of fond memories of my time there, but I don't really have any plans to form more, and I am ok with that.
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I've been thinking about the anniversary a lot this month, more so than I have in the last two years. I've been a little worried (ok, that might be an understatement) because I've just started seeing someone; I really like him, so the last thing I want to do is fall apart and give him the impression that I am an unstable ticking time bomb. For the most part, though, I've been ok. There have been a few sleepless nights and a few days when my stomach was unhappy with me (thanks, enteric nervous system), but I think I might have brought that on myself by worrying about it being five years specifically and by fretting about what to tell him. I wanted to be open and honest with him. I also wanted to spend the Weekend with him. However, I was nervous about making him uncomfortable, or putting pressure on him, or just plain saying too much too soon, which I know I've done in the past.
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And then I proceeded to start fraying at the edges yesterday, which is a week too soon, so it threw me off-balance. I managed to keep it sequestered until the prospect of being alone that night unlocked the door and let the ugly fear and memories and feelings out, and then I kind of lost it and started crying. (I did make plans to spend time with friends after I knew he was going to leave, but somehow that didn't quite stop the flood.) I felt awful, embarrassed, and scared that I actually <i>was</i> an unstable ticking time bomb. I had to remind myself that it's the end of March, and that I'm normally okay. In fact, this year marks the first anniversary where I feel like I've significantly moved on with my life and really accomplished things, which is awesome, even if it is four years behind schedule. I'm well into my first year of vet school, my grades are good, I was granted funding for my summer research (as a Merial Scholar, too, so I get to go present at a conference in August), I'm president of an organization and co-vice president of another, I have an amazing group of friends, and I'm seeing someone I really like. I've been impressively stable in the past year or so, with only a few minor episodes (most of which were brought on by people making rape jokes, which is shitty and not really in my control), which I was able to get over in a few hours at most. So yeah, life is quite good-- it's just the end of March that sucks.
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This week is my spring break. As my physiology professor has emphasized to us, it is not a break <i>from</i> studying-- it is a break <i>for</i> studying. I have an overwhelming amount of material in several classes to catch up on and a final exam and 3 practical exams the week after break to study for (and they're all on the same day, too, because the scheduling gods didn't receive their blood sacrifice or something). I was worried that falling apart last night was a sign that I would have to spend this week taking care of myself instead of doing all the work I badly need to do. I'm feeling more optimistic now, though, so hopefully this lasts. I work best with carrots dangling in front of me, so I am gathering said carrots and also making sure I'm not alone when I know things will be rough for me. I have a lot of wonderful, caring people in my life, for which I am very grateful.
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This year the dates don't quite line up, so the 25th is a Monday, but I'm pretty sure Friday is still going to be when I will acutely feel it. I asked him to spend the weekend with me, or at least Friday and Saturday, and he was really sweet about the whole thing. Haven't planned for Monday night yet, other than having an appointment with my psychiatrist in the afternoon. Overall I think this anniversary will be ok. I think I will want to set aside some small amount of time to remember and to affirm to myself that it was not my fault, that I did what I could to protect myself, that I am stronger than I give myself credit for sometimes, and that I have moved on. But otherwise I think it will be a more-or-less normal weekend where I can be happy and enjoy his company. Yay for that.
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<br />S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-86018251026191576922012-09-24T13:41:00.001-04:002012-09-24T13:44:50.390-04:00So if you googled my OkC username and found this...Hi. I realized a few days in to having my OkC profile that using the same handle was not the brightest idea I've ever had. However, since Google has a rather firm grip on Sayrina being my blogger name, rather than trying to deny that this is in fact my blog, I am writing this post to intercept any misconceptions before they occur (I hope).<br />
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If you were interested enough to google my username after having read the spiel on consent on my profile, I assume that you're not resistant to the idea of women's rights. Maybe you even suspected something because who writes about consent if they haven't had an issue with it before, right? (Not necessarily true, but not a bad guess.)<br />
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I was one of those people who lived in a bubble and never thought about it before it became an issue for me. Yes, I am a survivor of both relationship abuse and rape. I realize that this isn't one of those things you normally talk about when you're first getting to know someone, so I do apologize for my lack of foresight when choosing an OkC handle. However, if you found this blog, it's already come up, so here's trying to make the best of it.<br />
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Yes, I did have post-traumatic stress disorder for some time afterwards. I've since moved on with my life and feel like I am a stronger, wiser, more confident woman for having experienced what I did and growing and learning from it. I will always care very strongly about issues related to sexual assault, relationship abuse, and PTSD. However, that doesn't mean I live in the past, or that I have so much baggage that it's practically falling out of the closet. I don't hate men or run screaming from relationships. It just means that I am more aware of the need to communicate, set clear boundaries, and make my expectations known.<br />
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If this freaks you out or makes you uncomfortable, I understand. If it would help, I am always open to answering questions; I am not ashamed of what happened and will talk freely about it if prompted. On the other hand, because I've learned that it can make people uncomfortable, I won't bring it up out of the blue. While this is part of my past and who I am, it's just that-- a small part.<br />
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One other thing: I realize that by scanning through my posts, it looks like I'm always talking about being triggered. Please just bear in mind that this is like a review site, where some people only write reviews when they're angry or displeased with the person, place, or thing being reviewed. For various reasons, for better or for worse, most of my posts were written when upset. As you can see, the number of posts has decreased significantly over time (which is actually sort of a failing on my part because I'd hoped to keep this going as a resource, but I haven't had time to do the research to post more educational, rather than personal, things).<br />
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Finally, if this hasn't gotten you backing away and looking for the nearest exit, feel free to mention to me that your Google-fu brought you here and you read this. There are brownie points to be had!S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-38617154120296253872012-07-06T20:53:00.000-04:002013-02-10T21:33:16.625-05:00Hello, World.First of all, I have to share this. It's an extraordinary read that says so much of what I want to say in powerful, eloquent terms. It comes with a trigger warning and may be uncomfortable for non-survivors as well, but please <a href="http://herbsandhags.blogspot.co.uk/2012/06/how-i-became-rape-victim.html">read it</a>. Here is an excerpt from the intro that should give you an idea of what the post is about:
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<blockquote class="tr_bq">
It's a very strong idea in our culture and one which keeps rape victims in denial about their experience and ensures that they don't face up to what happened to them for weeks, months or years in some cases, because their image of themselves, doesn't fit in with the image they've been fed, of a rape victim. So I want to talk through the step-by-step process of how a woman can be set up to become a rape victim and how that has nothing to do with her and everything to do with the man who decides to rape her.
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Secondly, a small update about my life that will shortly become relevant: D* and I broke up a few months ago (the parting was mutual), and I have tried to start dating. It's the first time I've really tried dating (as opposed to my normal friends-evolve-into-relationship pattern), and it turns out that I am having some difficulty with certain aspects of it.
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[Edited out some stuff that I decided I don't particularly want on the internet.]<br />
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This, of course, leads into the question of when and how I should tell a prospective boyfriend about what happened to me. I am trying extraordinarily hard to not repeat what happened with D*, when I blurted everything out as quickly as I could in an effort to be up-front; I suppose that at the time I thought full disclosure in that manner was a good idea, and subconsciously I was giving him the chance to run away before I could become too invested. I've now realized that this is not ideal, but I don't have a better plan. I need a way to test the waters and gauge his reaction to things like sexual assault. I need to know that he won't tell rape jokes, or laugh at them, or blithely contribute to rape culture. :-/<br />
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Also, I realized how low my bar is set right now for what I consider a good date, because I remember wondering if/when he was going to make a comment about my body or say I was fat. Hello self-esteem issues?
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I'm drained and I think I'm beating a dead horse, so I'm going to stop here for now.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-21803909992560116472012-05-03T15:56:00.000-04:002012-05-03T15:58:20.259-04:00How NOT to try desensitization...Really rough night last night. I can't remember the last time I was triggered so badly that I couldn't fall asleep when I tried. Even worse, I didn't realize I was triggered; I thought I was okay. Only after an hour of lying in bed, sleepless, with my heart pounding did I realize why I couldn't fall asleep.<br />
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I've come to accept that lots of books will use rape as a plot point in some way or another. Most of the time, it comes as a surprise, too, because the description on the back of the book doesn't mention it. The thing is, after four years, I can usually get past that and not be too affected by it. (Sometimes I will numb out a little, but then I'm usually fine.) I was reading a mindless romance novel last night, <i>Mackenzie's Mountain</i> by Linda Howard. I have liked her books in the past. A series of stranger-in-a-ski-mask rapes occur in the town, and the main character becomes a victim of attempted rape. The author tried to realistically portray PTSD in a strong, stubborn woman who values her independence, and I appreciate that. However, during my bout of sleep-destroying anxiety, I finally deduced that what really got to me was how the character tried to deal with her fear. She wanted her lover (the other main character) to re-enact the attempted rape with her in order to try to replace those memories with something good from someone caring. Sure, desensitization, that's legitimate. But when it got underway, with her running and him chasing her, the description of him became really disturbing. It felt like he was portrayed as enjoying it. And when he captures her, she starts to scream and cry and struggle and she repeatedly says "no" but he doesn't stop, and he has sex with her. In the end, of course, the author portrays her as being fine and the desensitization successful, but all I felt was revulsion and horror.<br />
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In my mind I kept screaming "oh my god, use a safe word!" before I realized that the characters had no concept of that, and had never established a way to distinguish between "I'm scared but okay to continue" and "please, stop, I'm really having a hard time." It gives me the squicks, and just thinking about it makes anxiety claw at my chest. What the characters were doing felt much more like rape to me, and it evoked a much more visceral response than the stranger-in-a-ski-mask thing because it was someone she cared about and trusted. And, cynical person that I am, if that scenario had gotten out of hand and she had legitimately wanted to stop and he didn't, and she quite correctly called it rape, he would have said she asked him to do it-- i.e. she was asking for it. It makes me nauseous.<br />
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Ugh, I can't write anymore. I will write another post later about the trouble I am having with reconciling my identity and fears as a survivor of sexual assault with my somewhat long-standing interest in [safe and healthy] dominance/submission. I know a lot of people think submission fantasies are a way of coping with being raped; I feel like all the resources I have found for assault survivors treat submission fantasies as an unfortunate consequence of sexual assault that survivors can learn to get past, like a disease people can strive to heal from. I don't think that is necessarily the case, and I'd like to do more research about BDSM for survivors of sexual assault before I write this post. If you have any thoughts or insight, let me know!S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-40297524091510299222011-08-15T17:26:00.001-04:002011-08-15T17:28:27.613-04:00The myth about false rape reportsI really enjoyed the last book I read (title omitted to prevent spoilers, but feel free to ask for it in the comments or email me if you want to know) until I got to the "girl who cried wolf" part. In a nutshell, a lust-driven 15-year-old girl chases after a married man, who turns her down appropriately, and then she (falsely) accuses him of being involved with her, i.e. statutory rape. <br />
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I'm really, <i>really</i> tired of the false rape cliche in literature and film. In this case, her motives were essentially revenge. It comes up all the time-- a female is rejected/scorned/broken up with and so she decides to get back by falsely accusing the male of rape, or the female and male have sex and she regrets it later so she calls it rape. False rape really doesn't happen as often as so many people think it does. Studies conducted worldwide (and summarized in <a href="http://www.ndaa.org/pdf/the_voice_vol_3_no_1_2009.pdf">this issue of <i>The Voice</i></a>, a publication by The National Center for the Prosecution of Violence Against Women) point to a figure of <b>2-8%</b>. <br />
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That's it. It's not 41%, as suggested by the severely flawed yet often cited Kanin (1994) study. Additionally, false reports almost always fit the stereotype of a sexual assault, the kind in which a victim can remain most "blameless" under society's flawed notions of what is considered sexual assault. False reports are almost never allegations against someone the victim knows, almost never "date rape" stories that are so often dismissed as acts of vengeance or regret. Actual false rape reports read along the lines of a "classic" (and actually very rare) scenario, involving a stranger or vaguely described acquaintance who is never named and use of a weapon and/or serious physical injury. The "assault" will only have included penile-vaginal penetration and the victim will say she struggled and physically resisted to the utmost. Essentially, the story painted will cast the "victim" in the most best light possible, with the least blame placed upon her by society. False rape reports are made mostly by mentally or emotionally disturbed individuals.<br />
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So this whole "women cry rape for revenge all the time" thing is complete and utter nonsense, yet people continue to perpetuate this harmful myth. When someone (a very brave someone) comes forth to report sexual assault by someone they know, one of the most common reactions is to doubt it, to look for other possible motives the victim might have to lie. Why? When someone reports being mugged, most people assume s/he is being truthful. What makes sexual assault so different? <br />
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The prevalence of false rape stories in literature and the media serves to keep this myth alive. It is always severely disappointing to me when "the girl who cried wolf" is used as a cheap plot point. False rape reports are not as widespread as most people believe, and they are almost never the ones people think are false (i.e. acquaintance rapes). <br />
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PS- The article I linked to above is a very good, worthwhile read.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-44067244566680500202011-08-08T16:44:00.003-04:002011-08-08T22:27:06.022-04:00Finding the fine line between respecting a victim's autonomy and a dangerous hands-off approach[Possible domestic violence trigger in linked posts.]<br />
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I received an email from a friend two days ago that said my posts on abusive relationships had made her think. There were some people she knew that she was worried about, she said. What did I think?<br />
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I told her what I've always told people-- that it's better to talk to someone and offer support than keep quiet, even if you think they might lash out angrily or defensively. I have mentioned, in previous posts (<a href="http://sayrinasquill.blogspot.com/2009/10/directness-or-indirectness-when.html">here</a>, <a href="http://sayrinasquill.blogspot.com/2010/02/beyond-bruises.html">here</a>, and <a href="http://sayrinasquill.blogspot.com/2010/11/see-no-evil-hear-no-evil.html">here</a>), that I feel like I am in the minority when I say that. Much of the advice I have heard recommends that friends just watch and keep quiet, or make subtle inquiries, at most. A different (perhaps slightly cynical?) friend I spoke to hypothesized that this might be because most people can't be trusted not to say something rash or judgmental or make the situation worse (e.g. by saying something in front of the abuser or in a way that gets back to the abuser). But I think maybe we should give people more credit than that, especially if they're aware enough to notice and concerned enough to consider approaching a friend they worry about. <br />
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So it was very good timing that today I found two posts that discuss this situation very well. <a href="http://www.feministe.us/blog/archives/2011/08/08/i-can-handle-it-on-relationship-violence-independence-and-capability/">One</a> is a post by a feminist who herself was in a violently abusive relationship. She talks about how the illusion of self-sufficiency can keep well-educated, independent, articulate women in an abusive relationship because they think they can handle it. She mentions how she said "I can handle it" to herself and to other people who cared enough to ask. And then she says she wished people knew not to trust her answers because relationship violence had changed her, affected her. This is important, so I'll say it again: abuse really does affect people physically and mentally (there is scientific proof of these biological changes), so while someone may be a perfectly smart, capable person otherwise, they may legitimately need help now, with this one situation. It doesn't reflect poorly in any way on their self-sufficiency in other situations.<br />
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This section of the post particularly resonated with me:<br />
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<blockquote>I needed the people around me to be more alert than I was capable of being. I needed them to not rely on my cues; I needed them to not take me at my word; I needed them to not treat me as though I were functioning at my best, fullest, most autonomous self. There’s a sentiment within the abuse-prevention community—- and the feminist community—- that we must respect victims’ autonomy, and it’s a necessary point when coupled with a solid understanding of abuse. But without that fuller understanding, respecting autonomy can too easily lapse into a hands-off approach. Which, when you’re concerned for someone who is in the fog of abuse, can lapse into the realm of danger.</blockquote><br />
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I have personally experienced the hands-off approach, and I can say with certainty that it sucked. I spent months wishing that someone might notice, might care, might show they cared by approaching me. <br />
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The post also links to <a href="http://www.glamour.com/tell-somebody/2011/05/relationship-violence-the-secret-that-kills-4-women-a-day">another article</a> in <i>Glamour</i> that does a great job of approaching the topic of relationship violence as well. One thing I wanted to pull out from that article and state here is from the section called "Here's What You Can Say." Two simple phrases can do a whole heck of a lot.<br />
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<ul><li>"I am afraid for you."</li>
</ul>This is a gentle, non-judgmental way to tell someone that the situation they are in is not okay, but that it is not their fault, and that you are listening and you are there for them. If the person has already had doubts of their own, it is validating, and if it hasn't quite occurred to them yet that they are in a harmful situation, it may get them to think without raising the defensive hackles that might come from a more pointed statement about them or their abusive partner.<br />
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<ul><li>"I am proud of you."</li>
</ul>Leaving an abusive relationship can be really difficult, even when logic dictates otherwise. Support is of the essence. This phrase goes beyond support and also conveys your conviction that they have done the right thing. It's something I wanted and needed to hear every day after I left my abusive relationships and as I was recovering from sexual assault. It's a powerful phrase-- don't assume that the survivor knows it already, because even if (s)he does, it's still indescribably rewarding to hear.<br />
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One last thing I wanted to end this post with: I wanted to reiterate that <b>an abusive relationship does not have to involve physical violence to be abusive</b>. Both the articles I linked to dealt with physical violence, but physical violence is just one of many criteria for an abusive relationship-- when a victim is already plagued by doubt, the last thing (s)he needs is to read something about relationship abuse and come away with the idea that it has to be physically violent to be considered abuse. Abuse can be emotionally or psychological as well. Threats, isolation, intimidation, and control are all signs of an unhealthy relationship. If it doesn't feel right, listen to your gut. S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-38087011497270948892011-08-05T15:12:00.000-04:002011-08-05T15:12:11.330-04:00One Day, One RoomSome of you <i>House</i> fans might recognize this as the title of the twelfth episode of season 3. I don't think it's really a spoiler just to say that House has a clinic patient who was raped. A lot of the episode consists of philosophical discussion about religion and abortion. I've already talked about my views on abortion <a href="http://sayrinasquill.blogspot.com/2010/01/preaching-from-pedestal-is-easy-isnt-it.html">here</a> and <a href="http://sayrinasquill.blogspot.com/2009/11/some-scattered-ponderings-on-revenge.html">here</a>. What was more interesting to me from this episode was when the patient (who insisted on House as her doctor) and House talk about the "why?" of the event and the "why?" of the universe: why the Event happened to her, why things happen.<br />
<br />
It made me think about my own situation and if I ever came to terms with why it happened-- or if I even cared. I don't know, truthfully. My parents, being some corrupt version of Buddhist, decided it was fate. They said they were told by a monk or a fortuneteller-like person that something bad was going to happen to me (because of something I did in a past life), and that this was it and they were glad it wasn't worse. That went in one ear and out the other; once I stopped living with them, I stopped having to put up with their version of religion. I would rather believe that bad things happen at random or because of my own bad choices than accept that my "past lives" dictate much of what I experience this time around. <br />
<br />
After rejecting the "Buddhism" I grew up with, I don't think I ever came up with my own belief system, though. I still don't know if I'm atheistic or agnostic. I don't know if I believe in Fate. After the Event happened, it didn't occur to me to ask about why it happened when I was more worried about how I was going to get through the day or if there was anything worth getting through the day for.<br />
<br />
If I hadn't seen this episode of <i>House</i>, maybe I never would have really thought about this at all. It's not a question that really bothers me. It happened. It wasn't the first time, but hopefully it will be the last. Why did all of it happen? *shrug* Therapy says the easier, or better, question to ask is if anything good came out of it. I suppose so. The event my senior year pushed me to get therapy for it and all the other previous events that I never talked about. The gravity and reality of mental illness finally touched my parents' consciousness, penetrated the Great [Asian] Wall of Denial and Disbelief, and they let me see a therapist and take medication. After the event happened, I turned into someone who lived day-by-day, which gave me a better appreciation of the little things in life once I could start to appreciate anything at all. I found purpose. I found an issue I really cared about, and I became an activist for women's rights and an advocate for survivors of sexual and domestic violence. When therapy helped me see that I didn't have to let being raped affect my whole life in order to validate my experience, I decided to become a veterinarian instead of a human-doctor because I finally saw how much animals meant to me, how much they helped me, and how much I wanted to help them. A lot of things happened because of what happened in the early, early hours of March 26, 2008. Some of them were even good. Does this mean the Event happened for a reason? Can I actually answer the question of why it happened to me? *sigh* Even after my rambling, I'm still left where I began. Uncertain about the answer, and unsure I even care.<br />
<br />
It was part of the Cognitive Behavioral Therapy program D* and I did at the VA Hospital. The last unit wanted me to make meaning of the trauma. I guess when I was still deeply entrenched in the aftermath, I did spend some particularly bad times asking "why me?" out of bitterness and pain and despair. I didn't expect an answer then, nor do I think an answer would have helped. Come to think of it, maybe it was a rhetorical question for me, just an outlet for pain and self-pity. <br />
<br />
I've always had some version of the Just World fallacy in my head, where good people always act good, good things happen to good people, bad things happen to bad people. I still blamed myself then for what happened, even though I wanted to believe that it wasn't my fault. I thought since I <i>wanted</i> to believe it, it must not have been true. It doesn't make sense to actually wonder why something happened when you think it's your fault. Therefore, I must not have really been asking why it happened, and so my question was rhetorical. <br />
<br />
Maybe?<br />
<br />
I feel like I've rambled myself in circles and not really come up or come out with much. Maybe I just needed to write something because the TV episode numbed me and I wanted myself back. Maybe the numbness explains why I don't actually care about why it happened and why I'm not really emotionally connected to this post. I wanted an epiphany, but either I couldn't find it because Fate says it wasn't meant to be, I couldn't find it because I'm not good enough, or I couldn't find it because it's not there to begin with. Regardless of why, I still don't have an epiphany.<br />
<br />
I think the conclusion I've been able to reach is that the concept of Fate confuses me. The alternatives are believing that my actions determine my life or that events happen randomly. If I believe the former, then how do I reconcile that with believing the rapes weren't my fault? Does this mean that I have to believe I have no free will in order to exonerate myself from my trauma?<br />
<br />
Also, is it weird that I can write all this yet not really... care? Maybe it's just the numbness. I don't know. It's a little unnerving to have written a whole blog post yet not really feel any emotional involvement at all.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
So far today I have had edamame for breakfast, watched <i>House</i>, and hugged cats. I think it's time to reboot my day and start over.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-48915828981036188592011-07-17T02:51:00.002-04:002011-07-17T02:51:45.047-04:00A brief post brought to you by The Hunger Games trilogy (no spoilers, don't worry)Not even entirely sure why I'm posting this, but it's 2:30am and my PTSD is hovering on the edges of my mind and I know I can't sleep but I have no one to talk to. The books were pretty intense and rather brutal, but I think it's the portrayal of PTSD as much as the violence that's keeping me too scared to close my eyes and try to sleep. Maybe scared isn't the right word. Just...on edge. Tense. Fearful of nothing and everything. My head hurts and I'm yawning, but I can't bring myself to crawl into bed and turn off the lights. I wonder if my reactions now are also the accumulation of all the times something happened in the books that made me want to cry and I forced it back. Numbing: maybe not the best idea, since that's how I've dealt with anything remotely triggering for at least the past few weeks, maybe months, I don't remember.<br />
<br />
At least tomorrow is a free day for me? I hope I can eventually sleep and that no dreams haunt me.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-67815077807789498992011-03-25T15:12:00.001-04:002011-03-25T15:12:50.548-04:00"Today's the day it's going to happen."I had that odd thought this morning on the bus as I was going to my therapy appointment at the ungodly hour of 7:30am. I blinked when I heard myself say it. What was with the future tense, the idea that it's <i>going</i> to happen? I didn't know and I guess I still don't know. It's not really the purpose of this post either-- I just thought it was a compelling start.<br />
<br />
I did pretty well this week. Some rough moments at the beginning of the week after D* left, but I got through the week, finished my problem set, did my lab, and even did pretty well on a midterm exam. There weren't any bad dreams or triggers. Last night, when I got on the bus to return home after the exam, there was a guy on the bus who looked exactly like Him. I stumbled a little, both mentally and physically, but surprised myself by calmly moving to a seat where I couldn't see him and then promptly zoning out instead of having a crazy anxiety attack. <br />
<br />
This morning at the therapy session I talked about how unnerved I was that I wasn't falling apart. Usually the week leading up to the anniversary is bad. This year it's even worse because March 25th actually falls on a Friday, which makes it seem all the more real, more striking. But I didn't become a total failing, flailing mess this week, and somehow that felt... wrong. I brainstormed with my therapist and came up with two noticed thoughts:<br />
<br />
1) An oldie but a goodie: "Someone who has truly been through an awful event will always feel triggered, so if I don't feel bad when I ought to, that means the Event really wasn't that bad in the first place and I've been lying to myself and everyone (for attention? for pity? who knows)."<br />
<br />
I've had that belief for years, and it's definitely been hindering my healing process because it actively keeps me from letting myself heal. <br />
<br />
2) "The fact that I don't feel bad right now means that it's all just waiting to drop a catastrophic bomb on my head later." <br />
<br />
This is the worry-thought, the one that tries to be helpful and protective but really doesn't do me much good.<br />
<br />
<br />
I was on the border of calm/numb this morning during therapy, possibly partially due to being tired as well from not enough sleep (no bad dreams or insomnia, just bad time management choices). I talked about the above thoughts with my therapist but I think I was a bit dissociated; nothing really got through to me. The only thing that stuck a little was an analogy I made, where I mentioned the study that showed that when people complain, trying to problem-solve usually doesn't help. However, acknowledging and agreeing that the subject of their complaint is bad/frustrating/etc. actually appeases them instead. I don't remember why I brought that up, but something kind of clicked and led to the idea that maybe I should try to sit and non-judgmentally acknowledge those Noticed Thoughts up there for a while, because clearly problem solving hasn't worked-- I've been working on those thoughts for quite a while-- but maybe thinking about why they're there instead of determinedly trying to obliterate them could help.<br />
<br />
What my therapist and I came up with was that maybe it might be a mutated version of a few different adaptive behaviors/thoughts. People often understand themselves or see things about themselves through others' eyes. When I first started having severe depression, I went to friends and needed to see that they saw what I felt, to receive that external validation. Another beneficial behavior is surrounding yourself with and seeking out people who are helpful, understanding, supportive. Both those things make sense and seem okay, but they have combined and mutated into a belief that I have to convince others that something bad really did happen to me or it wasn't actually that bad to begin with, and that I have to do that forever. <br />
<br />
I asked her if this was normal behavior for someone healing, and she said it's normal not to trust the signs of healing, because feeling okay is such a foreign feeling after you've been hurt for so long. That makes sense to me, but I feel like it's not the whole picture. I feel like I almost got to some kind of epiphany about what was going on during the session, but didn't quite reach it. <br />
<br />
<br />
I actually started writing this post because I took an afternoon nap and woke up after a horrific dream feeling tense and scared and dissociated. I got a little sidetracked with talking about this morning's therapy because I thought I should present the whole picture of today, but really this post was going to be about how I feel now. It's gotten a little better since I started writing this post, but I was so tense that my muscles all over my body hurt. When I was thrown out of my dream into sudden wakefulness, the world seemed different, distant. My body wanted to tense up and curl up and stay still and small and watchful. I was taking tiny little breaths and moving as little as possible, out of fear or wariness for some unknown. I tried reading a book of comforting words to survivors; while the words were nice, nothing really reached me. I tried calling D* but couldn't get through. I tried to cry but I couldn't. I felt frozen, unable to get out of bed, but I knew I needed to do something. So I got myself here, to the computer, with the hopes that writing might help. I'm not as tense anymore, but I still feel dissociated. It's better, I guess. D* is coming down to be with me tonight, and I have a long list of things I have to do before he gets here.<br />
<br />
Oh, one other thing from therapy that might be worth mentioning. In previous years, I have tried to stay up till at least 2 or 3am, in an attempt to somehow acknowledge the gravity of what happened when it happened, to sit and feel and be with those feelings and accept. However, tomorrow morning I have lab at 9am, so I have to go to bed early and I can't do that this year. The analogy popped into my head that it was a little like being a kid who had to go to bed early and miss New Year's. It feels weird, skipping over such an important time. It makes me uncomfortable. It's like a bad version of going to sleep before Daylight Savings Time takes effect and suddenly having things be different in the morning without an explanation I was there to see; like something happening in the middle of the night and I wasn't there to acknowledge and accept and understand it. I don't know, I just don't like the fact that I can't truly commemorate, for lack of a better word, the Event properly. It feels like tonight won't be the same, won't be complete somehow. I don't know how this will affect the rest of my weekend, but in a moment of either sanity or insanity, I went ahead and scheduled visits with potential roommates for Saturday afternoon and Sunday, trying to treat this like a normal weekend, I guess. We'll see how it goes...?<br />
<br />
Okay. I have to get myself to at least do some basic things like clean up the room and change the sheets and do laundry. I have to write up the pre-lab for tomorrow, but that takes more concentration so it can wait. *takes a deep breath* Onwards and forwards.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-8196748910880217192011-03-21T13:12:00.000-04:002011-03-21T13:12:17.035-04:00Three Years.This weekend will mark three years since the Event. March 25th/26th also happens to fall on a Friday/Saturday this year, which makes it all the more difficult. Three years seems like both a long time and a short time since my life broke apart and I had to put it back together. <br />
<br />
I've already cried a lot just thinking about it. I'm terrified I won't be able to hold it together this week; I can't afford to be triggered and depressed constantly because I have a midterm exam, problem set, and two labs for my classes. There's so much riding on this week, so much I have to fight for and do. <br />
<br />
I'm scared. :-/S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-24321266819838883112011-02-22T12:30:00.000-05:002011-02-22T12:30:21.128-05:00If anyone figures out how to let go of rage, please let me know.It's been a while since I've felt so triggered; I can't say I miss these feelings, the bleak numbness, the hollow pit in my stomach, the sense that somehow the world isn't quite real, or that I am not totally in the world right now. <br />
<br />
I'm not totally sure what brought it on this morning, but I can guess. Last night, a girl I do not really know well but did meet once, a new-ish brother of the fraternity I both love and hate for their role in my assault, posted a link on Facebook to a NYT op-ed condemning the media for their abhorrent responses to Lara Logan's gang rape and Scott Brown's story of childhood molestation. I commented on her link that I have unfortunately heard some of those comments in person myself, and she replied that she wondered if people would say these things if the victim was their daughter. Without really thinking too much about it at the time, I then replied that I was a survivor of assault, and that I had heard/been told awful things myself by "friends." This morning, she replied that she was sorry that my friends hadn't been there for me, and how disappointing a response that was. <br />
<br />
I wonder if she knows that the people I am talking about are her brothers in that frat.<br />
<br />
Last night I dreamed about them again. Not about the rape itself anymore-- I almost never dream about the event itself, and truth be told, I think its hold on my emotions is much less than the betrayal, hurt, and anger I still feel when I think about the aftermath. I dreamt about B*, the one person I hate more than anything in this world, more than the man who raped me. In the dream I remember crying tears of frustration and anger at B's smug little face saying things to me that no rape victim should ever have to hear from <i>anyone</i>. I dreamt of him grabbing hold of me to reinforce his threats, and my dream self kicked and cried and lashed out while still feeling helpless. And in my dream those people that were supposed to be my friends and brothers all turned a blind eye to the victim-blaming poison B* was spouting. My dream was real life all over again. Last night I was flooded with the very same emotions that hindered my recovery for so long-- the dismay at seeing "friends" stand by B* and continue to be friends with the one person I would happily condemn to a life of misery. <br />
<br />
I hate this. I hate him. I hate the fact that I want so badly to never return to campus and to cut ties with all these people who, consciously or not, hurt me for so long, but I still waver. I have quit and then rejoined and quit again from their email lists. I don't know what keeps me still occasionally fondly referring to them as "my frat" before remembering what they did. <br />
<br />
I feel like sh*t. I know that I will never fully heal until I can stop seething with anger at B* and his stupid little cronies that used to be my friends. To this day hearing his name or even thinking about him causes an immediate physical response in me, a helpless frustration, a fury that threatens to boil over, an urge to take revenge and ruin his life in any way I could. It burns me that his smug little self is living a happy life somewhere without ever being punished by anyone or feeling any smidgen of remorse for being the worst jerkface I have ever known. Some days my only outlet to that fury is to think about the worst curse I could wish upon him, a way to make his life full of failure and misery that he caused himself, so that he couldn't play the martyr. I hate him so much, yet I will never receive any satisfaction. I know I have to let this go, but I can't for the life of me figure out how. <br />
<br />
I suppose the only thing I can do to give me any measure of closure is to cut ties with those people in any way I can. Deleting them on Facebook sounds so terribly superficial and useless, but if it helps me get back to functioning in the real world for now, then so be it. *sigh*S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-5362572274091596942010-11-19T18:14:00.000-05:002010-11-19T18:14:46.534-05:00See No Evil, Hear No Evil...?From my apartment I can hear the fights of the couple across the hall from me. The screaming, the crying, the sound of things being thrown or broken...sometimes they catapult me back involuntarily to my past. A little bit of my family situation, but mostly two of the abusive relationships I was in before D*. Crying several times a day was the norm, as was being yelled at and insulted. Things were not thrown that often, but the few times it happened really stuck with me, bolstered by nightmarish memories of growing up. I was completely miserable. I was too afraid to end the relationship because I had been stripped of all my friendships and support networks and led to believe that I was too incompetent to be alone. If I had had someone, anyone, reach out to me, acknowledge what was happening, ask if I was okay, <i>any</i> sign of support, I might have found the strength to stand up and end an emotionally-abusive and draining relationship, but there was nothing for months and months and months.<br />
<br />
I am very conflicted about the role of "bystanders," if you will, in abusive relationships. The worst relationship for me took place in the very same coed fraternity house in which I was raped. This was when I had first transferred to Dartmouth and didn't know anyone. People in that frat had similar interests to me, and I enjoyed going there. I got into a relationship much too quickly and became isolated from everyone, even though I pretty much lived with him in that house. When things turned sour and he and I started fighting, I knew everyone could hear it. (The walls were paper-thin and you could hear a normal conversation in one room from the next room over.) I was too intimidated to approach these people that I sort of knew but wasn't sure I was really friends with, and for six months, no one ever approached me. <br />
<br />
To call the situation awkward was a huge understatement. I saw my neighbors in the social spaces of the house, but I had to keep up the friendly facade of talking about classes and every day chit chat, even though part of me screamed inside <i>Don't you hear me? Won't you help?</i> But they weren't really close friends, and I knew I was on my own. <br />
<br />
A couple months into our fighting-and-crying phase, my then-boyfriend received one email from someone asking if he was okay. When I heard that, a surge of jealousy and desperation rose within me. Why couldn't I have received one? If I had, I might have spilled out all my misery and been able to ask for help. But I didn't have the courage to just go to someone and bare my soul unwarranted, and so I continued to stay shut-in. I was lonely even though I was surrounded by people. That kind of loneliness is the worst-- the kind where it's not about absence of people, but rather absence of interest. People politely looking away, shutting their ears and eyes, because they're not interested or because they think that's what they're supposed to do.<br />
<br />
Because of my past, I have always urged people to speak up and say something if someone they know seems trapped in an unhappy relationship. I have done so myself, after witnessing a friend and the very unhealthy dynamic in his relationship. But I was surprised at the reaction I got-- he closed up, assuring me that everything was fine, even though it clearly wasn't. All I could do was just be a friend on the sidelines and hope all was well. But at least I was glad I had expressed my support and willingness to listen if help was ever needed.<br />
<br />
On the other end, when I talked to friends about reaching out to other people, they expressed concern about prying into people's private matters, and said it was better to just wait and see. I was terribly confused. Why were my beliefs so very different from theirs? I would think that it is better to express care and concern and be brushed off than to not do so at all while someone hopes and waits. The friends I spoke to were so reluctant to bring up the topic even when there was evidence of other unhealthy relationships in the House. They were content to just wait until the explosive breakup happened, and then swoop in with care and comfort. I didn't understand then, and I still don't understand now. Is it that they were worried someone might be shamed by being approached about his/her relationship? Would being asked if they needed help be that embarrassing and awful? Is it about losing face? I don't understand.<br />
<br />
To me, this culture of caution and privacy is awfully close to being dangerous. It seems like avoidance. Maybe part of it is the bystander effect-- if I see the signs then other people must too, so someone will probably handle it and it doesn't have to be me. Maybe part of it is projecting embarrassment or denial onto the person and thinking they won't want to be asked if they are okay. Maybe it's fear that the response will be so strong and angry that the friendship is harmed. I don't know what combination of reasons it is, but my heart breaks to think there are other people hoping someone will reach out to them and waiting, in vain.<br />
<br />
So coming back to the present-- I suppose I am in even more of a dilemma here, because I don't really know my neighbors. The guy asked to borrow a vacuum once, and I know his first name. That's it. In terms of feasibility, it doesn't really seem like there's anything I can do, but I feel so helpless just sitting around. Any kind of inquiry I could make might be mistaken as a complaint that they're too loud or disruptive, which isn't what I would intend at all. (From experience, the last thing an abused person needs is to have someone complain that their fights are too loud.) It really does seem like there's nothing I can do, and it grates on me. I wish there were more I could do to help people in situations similar to my own. :-/S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-23865819820054549482010-11-18T14:46:00.000-05:002010-11-18T14:46:24.467-05:00Frat UpdateIt's funny-- the physical and emotional reactions I have to someone talking about rape or something reminding me of my own event are never as bad as the ones I have in response to my fraternity. <br />
<br />
They have resumed talks (again, for the third time?) about changing the permanency clause, thanks to a good friend of mine. A few minutes ago, an alum sent an email to a mailing list about it. When the event happened two and a half years ago, and during the few months afterwards, I remember him being a bit of an insensitive jerk about the whole thing. When I read his email just now, my heart started pounding. I feel chilled and very tense and everything around me feels dulled down and unreal. With one email, my world has been flipped around. I haven't had physical symptoms this bad for a long time.<br />
<br />
We'll see how this discussion thread goes. I guess my body is just gearing up for an emotionally upsetting and tumultuous fight. I don't know why I still care about this issue, but the fact of the matter is that I do, despite my best efforts to change that. <br />
<br />
I'll try to still study for my organic chemistry exam, even though I feel like this. At least tomorrow I get to see D*, and we're going to try to go dancing as part of our therapy assignment. (More on that later.)S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-29341619669216083212010-11-16T23:40:00.000-05:002010-11-16T23:40:24.956-05:00Bullying: I do not think the problem is what you think it is.(Princess Bride reference aside, let's call this "Adults and Cowardice.")<br />
<br />
<br />
Bullying. You've all heard about it recently-- the heartbreaking stories of gay children and teens driven to suicide, and the 14-year-old girl who <a href="http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2010/11/10/samantha-kelly-suicide-rape-charge-dropped_n_781955.html">hanged herself after being bullied for coming out as a rape survivor</a>. Bullying has suddenly become a big deal. <i>Great</i>, you might think, <i>people might actually support anti-bullying programs in schools now that numerous victims have already died</i>. But no. Christian groups like Focus on the Family argue that anti-bullying programs "push the gay agenda." A Michigan high school teacher was <a href="http://www.queerty.com/michigan-high-teacher-suspended-for-telling-anti-gay-student-to-shut-it-20101026/">suspended for kicking a student out of class who made a homophobic comment.</a> What is this, people? <a href="http://jezebel.com/5690343/its-time-school-quit-treating-homophobia-like-a-valid-opinion">Jezebel</a> has got it totally right: it's time schools quit treating homophobia like it's a valid opinion worth respecting. Homophobic hate speech is no different from racism, and you wouldn't allow that in your schools now, would you?<br />
<br />
One recent argument I heard against homosexual couples was that the children that gay couples might adopt would be harmed. A slew of studies have shown that <a href="http://parenting.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/07/28/an-end-to-gay-adoption-bans/">this is not the case</a>. (That article links to several different reports and studies.) As far as studies go, the most recent one was fairly scientifically rigorous: the measurement of social development and psychological health of the children was not based on the opinions of their parents alone but also of outside observers, like teachers and caregivers, and a control group of heterosexual couples was used. The conclusion? Quality of parenting determines the psychological health of the child, not the sexual orientation of the parents. From a policy standpoint, the data provide no justification for denying lesbian and gay adults from adopting children.<br />
<br />
But won't children of gay and lesbian parents be bullied in school, you might ask? Yes, there is a high likelihood that they will. However, obese children, ethnic minorities, economically disadvantaged children, even smart children get bullied too. The solution to the bullying problem is to <i>address the bullying</i>, not use it as a reason to prohibit gay couples from adopting children. <br />
<br />
When I was in elementary school, I was bullied every day. Sometimes it was for being Asian in a neighborhood of rich white kids; sometimes it was for being a smart girl; but usually it was about my physical appearance. I got picked on for having a "mustache," the unfortunate result of having black hair but light skin. This bullying went on for years and only got worse as the tormentors grew in vocabulary and cleverness. It was a sly comment here, a rude gesture there. All things that might have been caught and reprimanded in kindergarten but ironically were ignored in sixth grade. I cried every day when I came home from school. Finally, I told my parents, and they spoke to my teacher about the bullying. <br />
<br />
Her response? "That happened to me growing up too. You can buy products at CVS to bleach that hair." <br />
<br />
My parents accepted that as an answer. So did I, at the time. Only after I left for college and had the ability to look back on those years without overwhelming bitterness did I realize how wrong a response that was. Where was the apology for letting this hateful bullying happen right under her nose? More importantly, <i>where was the action in response to it?</i> Even after my parents met with her, she never spoke up or stood up for me against the bullies. They never got in trouble, even though now she couldn't say she didn't know it was happening. <br />
<br />
<i>This</i> is the huge problem with bullying nowadays. It is easier for teachers and administrators to coerce the bullied into changing than it is to confront the bullies themselves. Society already does its fair share of looking down upon the marginalized and pressuring them to change their identities; that makes it far too easy for adults to do it under the guise of looking out for the child's best interests when it is in fact a cowardly way of handling the problem. <br />
<br />
If gay children are bullied, don't try to change them-- stop the bullying. If children of gay parents are bullied, don't prohibit gay couples from adopting-- stop the bullying. The problem is not why these children are the way they are. The problem lies with the parents, teachers, and administrators who turn a blind eye to the hateful words and actions that shouldn't be tolerated in the first place. <br />
<br />
Why is this such a hard concept for policy-makers to understand? It's not like bullying is a valuable skill that children need to learn to grow into healthy, capable adults. (And if it is, well, something is grievously wrong with our society.) Stop bullying. Make sure kids understand that it is wrong, it is hurtful, and it reflects badly on them, not their victims. Give victims support. Stand up and say that bullying will not be tolerated in my classroom/school. And actually follow through with that-- watch for instances of bullying and address it every time it happens, not just when you feel like it. <br />
<br />
No one should have to change who they are in order to go to school and not be picked on constantly. It's not about "pushing the gay agenda" or "protecting freedom of speech"; it's about creating a healthy environment for children to learn and grow in. Racism, classism, homophobia, and all other forms of hate speech are not valid opinions to be respected. Period.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
On a more heartwarming note, here are two things that refresh my faith in humanity:<br />
<br />
A 14-year-old student gave <a href="http://tv.gawker.com/5689407/openly-gay-student-defends-teacher-at-school-board-meeting">an eloquent speech</a> in defense of the high school teacher that took a stand against homophobia. I was touched. <br />
<br />
A mother <a href="http://nerdyapplebottom.com/2010/11/02/my-son-is-gay/">proudly defended</a> her son's right to wear whatever he wants for Halloween and correctly points to other mothers' judgmental attitudes as the problem. This was an amazing and uplifting piece to read.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-72054953365237744642010-10-28T23:53:00.000-04:002010-10-28T23:53:05.489-04:00Rape Jokes, Part 3 -- Confronting PeopleI am mentally and emotionally burnt out from the last two days. It has been a constant cycle between trigger-induced numbness and seething anger that I have had to control enough to do three problem sets for school. While I was waiting for my organic chemistry lecture to start this evening, I thought I would turn my exhausting ordeal into something productive. So, since my recent experiences have told me that some people need help with this, welcome to:<br />
<br />
<br />
<center><b>How to tell if you are using the word "rape" appropriately in everyday discourse <strike>(A Guide For Dummies)</strike></b></center><br />
<br />
It's so simple anyone can follow it, I promise. It involves asking yourself one question.<br />
<br />
<i>Am I trying to be funny (edgy, witty, ironic, sarcastic, etc.)?</i><br />
<br />
<br />
If you are, then your answer is no. No. NO. You are horribly abusing the term. Rape is not funny. <i>You</i> are not funny (or witty, or cool). Being offensive is not "cool." Contributing your ugly, unwanted, unneeded two cents to a culture that is already violence-insensitive and victim-shaming is not "cool." Triggering rape victims and reminding them of the horror they survived is not "cool." There is nothing about being an ignorant jerk that makes you cool or funny. Capice?<br />
<br />
Now let's say you slipped up, made a rape joke, and got called out on it. Let's talk about your choices now.<br />
<br />
a) Apologize and don't do it again. (No, don't just promise not to do it again-- actually <b>don't</b>. Ignorance isn't an excuse after the first time you get called out on it.)<br />
<br />
b) Call the person who asked you not to do it "selfish" and accuse her of expecting the world to revolve around her.<br />
<br />
c) Tell the person who asked you not to do it that it's a free country and you can do what you damn well please.<br />
<br />
d) Say that you think they're funny and other people do too so you're going to keep making them anyway.<br />
<br />
e) Delete the polite Facebook comment asking you to use a different analogy and then proceed to "like" every other joke about or reference to rape in the comments following the post.<br />
<br />
<br />
You might be thinking, <i>hm, the last four choices seem awfully specific and full of bitterness</i>, and if so, you are quite correct. Those are all responses that I've personally received after asking someone (in person) to stop making rape jokes or (online) requesting that they delete a particular status and repost using a better analogy.<br />
<br />
The situation described in choice (e) happened on Wednesday and really pissed me off. I have been struggling to sit with my feelings and still function like a normal person and go to class and do homework the last two days, even though inside I feel like a cold, barren tundra filled only with painful memories and numbness or a raging inferno of anger and desire-to-introduce-person-to-my-fist-or-other-forms-of-pain-equaling-what-I-feel-every-time-someone-makes-a-g*ddamn-rape-joke. It's really hard to do that for two days. And it's all because of a careless comment made by someone who thought he was being cool and edgy, and the immature response to my polite request.<br />
<br />
I sent a message to that person that reads as follows:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Dear X,<br />
<br />
Yesterday you made a status update that I found to be offensive and in poor taste. I left a comment politely asking you to use a different analogy that would not trigger or trivialize rape victims. I was not alone in the sentiment-- two of your friends clicked "like" on my request. Yet your response was to delete my comment and "like" every other comment on your post that made a rape joke or reference.<br />
<br />
I found that to be a hurtful and immature response. If you can find something funny about pain, shame, and terror, please enlighten me, because I just don't see it. You're probably thinking "it was a joke-- no one gets raped by elephants." Please remember that even careless and casual references you might make can affect people, even if it's not the exact situation and you think you're being edgy or witty or funny. Rape is not funny. Period. This insensitivity is one of the reasons we live in a culture that trivializes rape and shames victims.<br />
<br />
<br />
Sincerely,<br />
Me<br />
</blockquote><br />
If he writes anything back, I will post part II of this saga.<br />
<br />
<br />
The point of this post (apart from letting me rant) was to ask you to help spread the word that rape jokes are inappropriate. Not only are they seriously not funny, but they are also hurtful to people who have already gone through more trauma than anyone ever should. Please, if you hear or see someone use "rape" in anything but a serious and sensitive context to mean nonconsensual sex, call them out on it. As demonstrated in this <a href="http://www.alternet.org/reproductivejustice/148607/what_happened_when_i_yelled_back_at_the_%22christians%22_calling_my_wife_a_murderer/">unrelated but still very awesome video</a>, most people who have these attitudes are ignorant and/or cowards. If they were simply ignorant, maybe they'll realize the error of their ways. If they're cowards, then maybe they'll stop if enough people confront them. Either way, a changed mind or a shut mouth would do the world good.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-64282388524609617142010-10-23T22:53:00.000-04:002010-10-23T22:53:45.116-04:00When people come together to do things, amazing stuff can resultThis will seem like an odd thing to post-- I certainly didn't expect this video to have any connection to PTSD and hope and support-- but I found it surprisingly touching. About halfway through the video, maybe a little later, he talks about projects he's started on the internet to foster communication and connection between people. He then mentions some personal requests he's had from people to write songs addressing fear, or addressing sadness and anxiety. I won't spoil the surprise-- I'll just say that he does it in a pretty touching, amazing way. I felt really good at the end of this video.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Slightly pared down, here is what I find to be the choicest bits:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>At first, the fraternity issued a cover-your-ass smirking apology for offending people’s feelings (read: you feminists can’t take a joke). Their next apology, a day or so later, was far more abject, and showed they’d put some serious thought into how their actions might have been experienced by others. It seemed sincere enough.<br />
<br />
But it lacked historical perspective. In 2006, fraternity guys marched in a sort of picket line outside the Women’s Center on campus, chanting those same phrases. In 2008, members of another fraternity celebrated their love of “Yale sluts” by screaming about it outside that same campus Women’s Center.<br />
<br />
What does it mean to chant “No Means Yes” outside the campus Women’s Center, the place that offers a safe space for women who have been assaulted or abused? What does it mean to target the one place where women might actually feel safe enough to find their own voice, feel strong enough to succeed in a world still marred by gender inequality? It’s a reminder that men still rule, that bro’s will always come before “ho’s”. Even the Women’s Center can’t protect you.<br />
That is, it’s a way to make even the safe unsafe.<br />
<br />
We could leave it there, and let the campus judiciary and the blogosphere continue to debate about free speech and hostile environments and hate speech. But I think it would miss another, equally important element–the second half of the chant, “Yes Means Anal.”<br />
<br />
This chant assumes that anal sex is not pleasurable for women; that if she says yes to intercourse, you have to go further to an activity that you experience as degrading to her, dominating to her, not pleasurable to her. This second chant is a necessary corollary to the first.<br />
<br />
Thanks to feminism, women have claimed the ability to say both “no” and “yes.” Not only have women come to believe that “No Means No,” that they have a right to not be assaulted and raped, but also that they have a right to say “yes” to their own desires, their own sexual agency. Feminism enabled women to find their own sexual voice.<br />
<br />
Sometimes, as in the case of the now-famous Karen Owen at Duke, they can be as explicitly raunchy as men, and evaluate men’s bodies in exactly the way that men evaluate women’s bodies. (I agree with Ariel Levy that women imitating men’s drinking and sexual predation is a rather impoverished style of liberation.)<br />
<br />
This is confusing to many men, who see sex not as mutual pleasuring, but about the “girl hunt,” a chase, a conquest. She says no, he breaks down her resistance. Sex is a zero-sum game. He wins if she puts out; she loses.<br />
<br />
That women can like sex, and especially like good sex, and are capable of evaluating their partners changes the landscape. If women say “yes,” where’s the conquest, where’s the chase, where’s the pleasure? And where’s the feeling that your victory is her defeat? What if she is doing the scoring, not you?<br />
<br />
Thus the “Yes Means Anal” part of the chant. Sex has become unsafe for men–- women are agentic and evaluate our performances. So if “No Means Yes” attempts to make what is safe for women unsafe, then “Yes Means Anal” makes what is experienced as unsafe for men again safe–back in that comfort zone of conquest and victory. Back to something that is assumed could not possibly be pleasurable for her. It makes the unsafe safe–- for men.<br />
</blockquote>S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-73736777110560602062010-10-19T23:20:00.001-04:002010-10-19T23:21:45.350-04:00For lack of a better title, My StoryTonight marks the intersection of several different thoughts. I started typing this post and realized that this thought was going to get buried in my other musings, so I'll pull it out and stick it right here, up front and center. I've decided to link this blog and my Facebook page together, because I have decided to publicly "come out" about my experience as a rape survivor. There are some people who should be ashamed about what happened, but I should not be one of them. So for anyone of you reading this whom I knew in elementary school, middle school, high school, college, who thinks rape is something that doesn't happen to people you know-- well, it does.<br />
<br />
The second thought is one I had on the bus home tonight. I spent most of today ruminating on last Wednesday's <a href="http://www.salon.com/life/broadsheet/2010/10/15/yale_fraternity_pledges_chant_about_rape">Yale fraternity pledge incident</a> after I found out about it this morning. It's disgusting, there's no doubt about that. My first thought was "how did anyone with the intelligence to get into Yale ever think this was a good idea?" And then I realized that Dartmouth-- and, I wager, most of the other top-tier schools in the country-- has its own fair share of misogynistic frat boys, and that brought me back to my own experience. <br />
<br />
One thing about the Yale incident really stuck with me, though, and that was from <a href="http://jezebel.com/5667590/yale-frat-punished-for-stupid-chant">this follow-up article</a>:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Yale Dean Mary Miller says any disciplinary action against individual DKE members will be confidential from start to finish, and that such action "is not designed to provide satisfaction to those who might feel aggrieved."<br />
</blockquote><br />
To me, this reeks of institutional neglect. What I see is a university that wants to brush this under the rug as quickly yet inconspicuously as possible. Is this a shameful incident? Of course it is. But the way to handle it is to stand up and take action, not try to cover things up with excuses like confidentiality.<br />
<br />
I realize this may be an issue of debate. Should disciplinary action, if it were to take place, be kept confidential? My opinion is this: confidentiality should be to protect victims, not perpetrators-- especially not when the perpetrators went parading around campus openly in the first place. I don't think the frat brothers and pledges involved in this case should have the right to privacy. When someone does something this offensive and hurtful to others, their privacy should be the last concern on people's mind. It should not be a way to hide or lessen the severity or possibility of punishment. Period.<br />
<br />
And the other part of Dean Miller's statement, that any disciplinary action "is not designed to provide satisfaction to those who might feel aggrieved." And may I ask, why not? I think Yale does need to take responsibility for the distress people might feel about this event, since it was on <i>their</i> campus and done by some of <i>their</i> students. I'm glad that Yale has chosen to use this incident to spark discussion about sexual assault, but that is not enough. That doesn't help people who might have been triggered by the incident. It's just talk talk talk, which is all that most victims seem to get for compensation these days. All talk, no action. Believe it or not, just discussing how the incident was bad doesn't help a victim feel all that much better. It's easy to say how awful something is and how things should be changed. Hearing that doesn't mean a thing if no action comes of it.<br />
<br />
This Yale incident and how it stinks of institutional neglect really hits close to home. I was raped in my fraternity by a fraternity brother, an alumnus who was visiting for the weekend. For the most part, the reaction I got when I told people consisted of hugs and "that is awful" and "let us know what you need and we'll be there for you." Except for one. A few days after I was raped, I was told by a high-ranking elected official of the fraternity to keep quiet about the rape because if word got out, no one would come by the frat anymore and it would get ruined and <i>that would all be my fault</i>. We needed to keep the illusion that we were better than other frats, that rape doesn't happen at Phi Tau, <i>or else</i>. <br />
<br />
When I was first told that, for a split second I believed it. It was only through remembering the writing I had found online by other strong, courageous women about how being raped is not your fault and you should not be ashamed that it happened because it was solely and completely the rapist's choice to commit that crime. And then I realized how wrong it was for someone to tell me to keep quiet about what happened in order to preserve my fraternity's reputation. It was wrong, and it made me angry that this so-called brotherhood of mine, my so-called family, would try to brush this all under the carpet. <br />
<br />
I went to other brothers of the house and relayed what I had been told. The reaction I got? "Oh, that's awful. You should tell whomever you want." At first I thought that was a good reaction, that it meant people disagreed with the person who told me and would stand up for me and change this attitude. But no-- what it really meant was that words are easy to say, even for cowards. All talk and no action. The official was never reprimanded in any way for his actions, and even more, for all their talk about supporting me, they seemed to agree with his sentiment. I was allowed to tell whomever I wanted, of course, but they tried to do as little as possible about the event, as inconspicuously as possible, despite their promises to stand up and be a model for other frats about integrity and courage.<br />
<br />
The man who raped me was banned from returning to the fraternity house. That seems like a pro-active, positive step, you might say. But in truth, he lived in a different state, and was never going to come back anyway because he knew I was pressing charges with the police. Yeah, my fraternity sent him a letter enforcing what he was going to do anyway. Doesn't take that much effort, does it? On the other hand, how about the fact that to this day, he is still considered a brother of Phi Tau? There was talk of editing our Constitution to make it possible to revoke brotherhood, but then two things happened: the undergrads who would have had to do the legwork stopped bothering, and the alumni got freaked out by the possibility of change. I was told by the President of the whole corporation that many alumni would withdraw their support of the House were I to push for any kind of change, and "strongly advised" that I cease and desist. How's that for another version of telling the victim to keep quiet and shoving everything under the rug?<br />
<br />
It has been two and a half years since the incident happened my senior spring. After taking a year of medical leave, I did return to classes and receive my degree, finally moving away from Hanover this July. I struggled to make meaning of what happened in the aftermath of the rape, where people whom I thought of as friends-- even family-- failed to support me. Not only did I have to bear the burden of PTSD on my own, but also I wondered why they turned a blind eye, if it was something wrong with me that made them not care, and what that meant about my concept of brotherhood and friendship. There were times when I sat in the social space of my fraternity house and cried, needing a caring word or hug, yet people walked straight past me, carrying on conversations with other, sitting on the other side of the room to play games or read, etc. After the first week, no one bothered to even ask if I was okay when I cried. After a month or two, people started rolling their eyes when I brought up the event to see if anyone was going to push for further measures by the brotherhood. My recovery would have been so much faster and more effective if I had had the support of my fraternity, yet here I am, still struggling with what it means and how it feels to be betrayed. <br />
<br />
Surprisingly, what hits hardest is not that the man who raped me is still considered a brother of the house, but that the official who threatened me to keep quiet was never once reprimanded or told that he should not have said what he said. In fact, pretty much everyone is still friends with him. It leads me to wonder about the fragile and fickle nature of friendship. I thought friendship meant standing up for your friend; the enemy of your friend is your enemy as well. I once asked someone how they managed to be friends with both him and me, and why, and the answer I received was that it was too hard to take a stand against someone in their social circle. She nonchalantly agreed that what he said to me was bad, but shrugged it off and continued to try to keep both his and my friendship.<br />
<br />
Now that I have moved away from the influence of the house, I have begun to see clearly that that is not real friendship. Anyone can toss words of support out there. It takes a true friend to do something about it. And as an organization, integrity demands action. My fraternity took no action that required any effort on their part, citing excuses some of the time and just remaining silent or looking away the rest of the time. Silence condones the crime. Silence is cowardice and apathy. Silence and passivity tell the victim that s/he is not worth the effort to do what is right. <br />
<br />
Although there are, of course, many differences between my story and the Yale pledge incident, I think the common thread is that an institution had the opportunity to stand up, take an appropriate amount of responsibility, and most importantly, take action, yet it is hedging. It's not too late for Yale to openly denounce what happened and push for serious consequences. Confidentiality is not a valid reason to hide any disciplinary action, and I think any action taken <i>should</i> be partly to satisfy anyone who was troubled or hurt by the incident. Yale needs to take notice of its community's distress and <i>address</i> it. Action, not just words and discussion and other passive means of patting victims on the head and turning away.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-89777873941414791892010-08-22T19:23:00.001-04:002010-08-23T22:56:42.915-04:00PTSD under a directed microscopeI haven't written here for a long time because life has been overwhelming, so much so that the thought of trying to write about everything--or anything!--is too much and I can't sit down and choose one thing and just type. But I am going to try, now, because I think I have learned something.<br />
<br />
A little over a month ago, I finally left Hanover. Hanover...Dartmouth...I still do not know what my final thoughts on it are, what is left when I subtract my pain from my joys. I made friends, but I lost friends. I learned to be social, then had my trust in people painfully punished. I do not know if I can trust anyone from that era of my life. But that was not the subject of this post.<br />
<br />
What I wanted to talk about was the biggest change I am experiencing now. As part of a study, I am undergoing a couples-based cognitive behavioral therapy program designed for PTSD. I am not sure how much I can go into the details of it, since it is still a study, so instead of the mechanics, I will talk about what I have learned. Namely, I have learned that PTSD is not just a collection of symptoms like nightmares, flashbacks, emotional numbness, and hyperarousal. It is a damaging way of thought and of living life that results from trauma. I have been told, and am still trying to accept, that PTSD is not <i>me</i>. I am not my pain, and my pain is not me. My therapist likes to call PTSD a gremlin that invaded my life, something that can be eradicated that isn't part of myself. That is a stuck point for many people with PTSD, she says-- thinking that your suffering is part of you and so it becomes much more difficult and terrifying to fight it. <br />
<br />
Fear. Fear is what PTSD thrives on. I have learned that my particular PTSD gremlin delights in constantly making me worry about the worst thing that could happen at any moment. I am filled with the dread and conviction that I am always in danger, or at the brink of losing what is dearest to me because bad things can and do happen at a moment's notice. Every time D* leaves, I am scared sick that I will never see him again. I live in a state of hyperarousal, jumping at the slightest noise, terrified that my door rattling means someone is going to break in, always watching, always looking. <br />
<br />
Fear wants control. I have to be in control of what happens both around me and in me so I can be prepared for when something bad inevitably happens. The way I subconsciously try to control my emotions and prepare myself for the worst that can happen is what was destroying my ability to lead a happy and healthy life. For example, because of the lack of validation that I received from others each time after I was raped, I rely on my pain as evidence that something terrible did in fact happen. I control my displays of distress until I know they are happening for a reason (such as after a stimulus that I consciously recognize as a trigger-- e.g. a mention of rape, seeing someone who looks like him, realizing it's Friday night or the 25th/26th of each month), and then I allow myself to feel distressed and show visible pain. That is the only way I found to believe that what happened to me was legitimately bad. This is another stuck point for PTSD: believing that you have to keep your pain around as proof that something bad really happened.<br />
<br />
Lack of control is severely distressing and leads to a spiral of negative thoughts. For example, after one evaluative session, I was feeling tense and a little numb but otherwise okay. I met up with D* and, after a little while, ventured up the courage to ask for a hug. As I was trying to relax, I very suddenly started sobbing. I had no idea that I was about to cry, and the feeling of being startled and totally helpless was terrifying. I could not stop sobbing no matter how hard I tried. Don't get me wrong-- I cry all the time. It wasn't the fact that I was crying that terrified me. It was the fact that I was crying and didn't know why and hadn't found a trigger or reason to allow myself to. <br />
<br />
Control becomes an issue in other ways too. Remember what I mentioned earlier about fear? When you put together fear and control, you get fear that you won't be in control of a situation, fear that something bad will happen and you won't be prepared. What that leads to for me is extreme black and white thinking and thinking the worst. This is where my therapist's bumper sticker comes in. <br />
<br />
After our first session, I was having trouble calming down and I couldn't stop crying, so D* and I went back to her office (interrupting her lunch :( ) and she spent another hour kindly and patiently explaining the pitfalls of my own mind. Then she gave me a bumper stick that said:<br />
<br />
<blockquote>Don't believe everything you think.<br />
</blockquote><br />
It didn't make sense to me at the time, but I am starting to see its significance now. We have just started the stage of bubble sheets in therapy. What I'm supposed to do is notice a PTSD-fueled thought, write it down, brainstorm alternative thoughts, and evaluate which is the more balanced thought. In short, it is an exercise to literally replace my harmful PTSD thoughts with more balanced, less black-and-white thoughts. As you might be able to imagine, my mind is barely submitting to this, kicking and screaming all the way. <br />
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The first time we tried it, the thought we challenged was "If D* leaves, I will be all alone." (This was made all the more poignant by the fact that D* actually had to leave immediately after our therapy session to go to his first day at a new job, and I was crying the whole way through the session because I was thinking about being left all alone right afterwards.) While we were working on this in the session together, I just couldn't come up with any alternatives. My mind simply did not understand that there was any alternative to that thought; it could not conceive of the <i>possibility</i> that there was a more balanced way to think about him leaving. D* and my therapist made a great list of alternatives; for example, "Even though I want to be with D* the most, I am not totally alone when he leaves"; "When D* leaves, I can still reach him by phone"; and "Even if D* leaves, he still cares about me." All my mind could think of was <i>these alternatives are all lies and I don't believe them because I really do think I will be all alone and I will be terrified and despondent and I may never see him again and I just can't do this</i>. To make the rest of the long story short, that day I almost ended up hospitalized. My mind really was not liking this exercise at all.<br />
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I tried doing some more bubble sheets with D* again this afternoon. I ended up sobbing hysterically again, but I realized something important: the reason they affect me so is that I am terrified that I could delude myself into thinking that things are better than they are and so I would be caught defenseless and unprepared when it is all revealed that it was a lie. I feel safest believing the worst because that way, I will at least not be caught unprepared (whether The Bad Thing will happen or not is not even up for consideration). The way my therapist puts it, PTSD has given me fear-colored goggles that only see danger everywhere I look. This translates into a desperate need for control and a crippling lack of trust in everyone, even D*. Even though part of me knows he cares about me, I still can't bring myself to fully believe that he does. I don't fully trust that his affections won't stray, or trust that he means what he says. It's an awful barrier between us that he has done nothing to bring on. He is the sweetest, most wonderful boyfriend that I can imagine, who has done everything he can to help me through my PTSD spells and who is sacrificing so much to come with me to therapy even though it means he has to drive down to Boston at least once a week. I am trying to plant in my mind the conviction and determination to go through with this therapy program to beat the PTSD gremlin that is building all kinds of barriers between us.<br />
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We're almost halfway through the treatment program. The trauma focus is about to begin, where I will have to challenge my beliefs about blame, trust, and control regarding the rape and the aftermath. I will try to be less intimidated about writing about it and blog more regularly.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-67864991297105903172010-06-03T16:40:00.000-04:002010-06-03T16:40:27.055-04:00Choice and BlameYou've probably seen it: "that exam totally raped me," "this monster in (video game) is raping me," <i>ad nauseum</i>. Such careless use of rape as a metaphor for something unpleasant is absolutely acceptable; throwing around the word so blithely demeans survivors of a terrible crime and desensitizes people to an issue already commonly misunderstood or ignored. <br />
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I just read <a href="http://www.cinematical.com/2010/06/03/kristen-stewart-in-hot-water-for-comparing-fame-to-rape/?utm_source=twitterfeed&utm_medium=twitter">this article</a> on how Kristin Stewart, star of that terrible movie <i>Twilight</i>, compared the intrusive nature of the paparazzi to being raped. I of course still think that metaphor is unacceptable, for many reasons, but the article brings up an interesting point. One argument commonly made is that celebrities choose to seek out publicity, so therefore they have a choice, while rape is a violation in which the victim has no choice. However, the end of the article states: <br />
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<blockquote>"There are choices when it comes to being an actor, yes, but much less choice when it comes to celebrity, and making that distinction comes really frakking close to blaming rape victims because of what they wear or how they behave."</blockquote><br />
(Then the article goes on to say that Kristen Stewart took on an "indie movie" and is simply "living up to her contract and suffering through the consequences of a film's publicity, not her own," which I think is a bit of a ridiculous statement, but let's ignore that and return to the original debate about the nature of choice.)<br />
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What do you think? Does the above quote make sense? I have to admit that I am still unsure of my own opinion, so I'd love to hear your thoughts.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-2548941343182752252010-04-27T00:28:00.000-04:002010-04-27T00:28:49.740-04:00Song: "Nightminds" -- Missy HigginsA touching song about supporting someone through dark times. <br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 10px; line-height: 20px;"><i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Just lay it all down<br style="clear: left;" />Put your face into my neck and let it fall out<br style="clear: left;" />I know, I know, I know<br style="clear: left;" />I knew before you got home<br style="clear: left;" />This world you're in now<br style="clear: left;" />It doesn't have to be alone<br style="clear: left;" />I'll get there somehow, 'cause<br style="clear: left;" />I know, I know, I know<br style="clear: left;" />When even springtime feels cold<br style="clear: left;" /><br style="clear: left;" />But I will learn to breathe this ugliness you see<br style="clear: left;" />So we can both be there<br style="clear: left;" />And we can both share the dark<br style="clear: left;" />And in our honesty, together we will rise<br style="clear: left;" />Out of our nightminds, and into the light<br style="clear: left;" />At the end of the fight<br style="clear: left;" />...<br style="clear: left;" />And in our honesty, together we will rise<br style="clear: left;" />Out of our nightminds<br style="clear: left;" />And into the light at the end of the fight</span></i> </span>S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-29845519781198296832010-04-26T17:12:00.000-04:002010-04-26T17:12:54.679-04:00Site: National Center for PTSD<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><a href="http://www.ptsd.va.gov/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">http://www.ptsd.va.gov/</span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
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</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The National Center for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (NCPTSD) is sponsored by the United States Department of Veteran Affairs, but its work (as well as its website) is a good resource for all trauma survivors, not just military veterans. On the website you can find fact sheets about PTSD and its various causes as well as links to other good resources and information on how to find a mental health care provider for yourself, a family member, or a friend. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">What I think stands out about the NCPTSD's work is the PILOTS database-- Published International Literature On Traumatic Stress. The goal of the project is to index <i>every</i> academic work published on PTSD, no matter what language or journal it is published in. If you might benefit from reading academic studies on trauma, this is definitely a great resource.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />
</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Also, this summer I will actually be working on PILOTS with Dr. Fred Lerner and his team. Best volunteer job ever! I am thrilled to have this opportunity. :D</span></span></div>S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5934632918181912978.post-72139733626389150882010-03-30T17:55:00.000-04:002010-03-30T17:55:13.750-04:00AnniversaryThe two-year anniversary of my rape was last weekend. I couldn't find the words to write a blog post. I cried the moment I realized the weekend's significance, and sunk into a depression until my D* held me and helped me out of it. Then I spent that Weekend with him and was mostly fine. On Saturday night, when my mind was filled with intrusive memories and fear and misery, he held me and the storm eventually passed.<br />
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But now I am back to being alone, and the thoughts have settled in again. This morning I could not bring myself to get out of bed. I do not remember having bad dreams last night, but I woke up feeling numb, miserable, afraid, closed-down. I passed the morning under the covers with my laptop, doing everything I could just to pass the time. Finally I willed myself to eat something, and my numbness loosened up just enough for me to accept that the memories and emotions are back.<br />
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I have been reading survivor stories and allowing myself to cry. Some of the stories echo my sentiments and sometimes even my very own words. I cry because of the reminders; I cry because some wounds are still fresh; I cry because to this day I still grasp for validation even though the pain is there right before my very eyes. Even though I saw my symptoms, I still feel inferior, ashamed, to call myself a rape victim when so many others have experienced trauma worse than mine.<br />
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Right after it happened it was too easy to convince people-- no one argued with me, and everyone just accepted that it happened, because he was a jerk and he was gone, never to return anyway, so it required little effort to throw support behind some words. Words, but few actions. Words drift away. Words fade away. Two years later, all I know is that I feel alone because I do not, cannot, tell my friends when it hurts. I tell D* sometimes, but then I feel awful because it just becomes another weight for him to bear. I tell my therapist when I see her, but somehow nothing really helps these moments-- they have to come and go on their own.<br />
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It is lonely. My covers are warm and my laptop is a decent connection to the outside world, but I am lonely. Perhaps I will return to Pandora's Aquarium again, to seek out a group of people who might understand. Still, though, the pain, the exhaustion, the tears-- they are mine to bear. I don't know how to reach out to people when most everyone thinks, or wants to think, I am healed. I don't know what anyone can do to help me. Somewhere in my mind I know that I have a good future and that my life is not solely made up of the Event, but right now it is a distant thought shrouded by the fog. I have at least been able to stay safe and not harm myself-- that is one relief. But how do I escape this fog? And more importantly, can I let myself, or will my ability to move on deny me the validation I still yearn for?<br />
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When I am happy, I feel guilty. I feel as though I have lied. Because if my experience really had been that bad, I would still be suffering. The more I suffer, the easier it is to accept that my pain is legitimate and okay and real. But then another voice whispers that it has been two years, and maybe it is finally possible to reconcile those two things, that the event could still be intrinsically and truly awful, yet it is okay to heal.<br />
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I still struggle to convince myself that being able to walk away from pain doesn't lessen the severity and true, legitimate horror of the event. For some reason, I cannot simply accept that it is okay to fully heal, or even to want to heal. Instead, I fight my body's desire to seek relief and happiness. Sometimes I seek exposure to triggering media in order to immerse myself in the familiar numbness and pain. I would try to explain that behavior by calling it an attempt at mastery, but that's not it, either-- if I were trying to re-expose myself to traumatic thoughts to prove to myself that I am stronger, I would not be so hesitant to break the spell and return to my happy, carefree self. Instead, I sink. Am I waiting for someone to rescue me? God, I hope not, because I don't know who could, or would. What am I waiting for? Why do I do this? Two years later, I still don't have good answers. The memories of the Event do not burn as brightly as before, but dull pain is not much better than fresh pain. Dull pain brings with it the worry that I will never heal.<br />
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It is 6pm and my entire day has been lost in the fog of my mind. The solution is not as simple as taking a bubble bath or treating myself to some soothing tea or music or books. Crawling out of the fog has never been that simple. Do I talk to someone, or do I hide? Do I stare at mindless things on the internet, or do I bury myself under the covers and will everything to go away? Do I ask sleep to overtake me in the chance that all will reset, or do I struggle to stay awake because I am afraid the next day will just be more of the same? What should I do?<br />
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I don't know. I just don't know.S.http://www.blogger.com/profile/13380828869565574299noreply@blogger.com4