Defying Gravity

Brainstorming

2012-01-26T14:05:00.000-05:00

After yesterday's brooding and being unable to sleep last night, my goal today was to work on improving my mental health. I had a wonderfully insightful conversation with one of my housemates this morning, and one thing she suggested was that I draft up a list of things to do or at least try when I am feeling numb/upset/triggered/etc. My psychiatrist and I have been trying to work on the fact that I have a hard time finding pleasure in activities as well as difficulty believing I might find something enjoyable (a remnant of PTSD and depression), but it can't hurt to have a list to come to. Some of these things I do know work-- namely all the things related to animals. Others, well, will have to be put to the test, I suppose.

I know this post sounds like it's mostly for my sake, and it probably is, but I also hope this might spark an idea in someone else if needed. Suggestions are welcome too. :)

Things to Try to Break the Downward Spiral

- petting a cat (or playing with any sort of cuddly animal)
- watching cute videos of animals
- watching comedy videos (e.g. Axis of Awesome, Whose Line, clips of the Swedish Chef from the Muppets)
- blogging
- catching up or rereading webcomics
- finding a new webcomic
- knitting
- cooking/baking
- finding a fuzzy blanket or robe to curl up in
- making a mug of tea to curl up with

... this is surprisingly difficult. To Be Continued...

Brooding

2012-01-25T19:37:00.002-05:00

It has come to my attention that Dartmouth is somewhat abuzz with revelations of hazing, in particular one person's quite graphic and disgusting account of his experience as a pledge at a fraternity. One of Phi Tau's email lists discusses this, and one of the main opinions seems to be that he is making up most of his story because he has reason to want to hurt his fraternity and Dartmouth's fraternity system as a whole. Of course, this general atmosphere of denial, or at best, apathy, triggered me.

I emailed some of the current members of Phi Tau's undergraduate government to check in, essentially, and see if plans were still on to hold a particular Elected Official accountable for his victim-shaming and his threats to me about keeping silent. The permanency clause issue is to officially come under debate on February 11, during the Tau Corp meeting (that should have been in November but had to be pushed off due to various shenanigans), and I have been told that there is rather widespread support for it, at least among the undergraduate members. (From my past experiences, I believe a good portion of alumni are not terribly happy with it.) Last I heard, several members of the undergraduate governing body do still want to hold Elected Asshat accountable in some way, but because he holds an elected position in Tau Corp, he has significant ability to make everyone's lives difficult re: the permanency clause issue, and so they want to have the change to the clause passed before they confront him.

I am still hopeful. The fact that I was triggered today shows me that I am still very much not over this, despite almost four years' passing. I am still disappointed and angered by my peers' refusal to confront him about what he said to me and tell him it was wrong. When I confronted him once, a few months after the incident, he admitted that he never would have acted that way towards anyone else; he just hated me. Since he was an elected official, that means he used his position to act on a personal vendetta-- a blatant abuse of power.

To this day I cannot truly be friends with anyone who is still friends with him. I have heard many passive "oh, he shouldn't have said that" statements, but as far as I know, no one has stood up to him and actually told him that. I hate that this whole thing makes me doubt my friends and friendships. I just never got the sense that anyone was willing to put their foot down and denounce him. In my worldview, friends support each other. I understand that no one's hatred is going to be as intense as mine, but some support would be nice. It's like boycotting a product or company to make a point, if you will. It might be somewhat inconvenient, but if you care enough, you can do it. And in this case, unlike with giant corporations or industries, it would actually make a very strong and effective statement. It would have made a great deal of difference in how I healed. I would not be as sad and bitter as I am today.

After being triggered earlier this afternoon, I am merely brooding now. I am sad about my friendships and the fact that I am not sure I can trust anyone from the Phi Tau era of my life who still claims to be my friend. The question of whether I want to be present for the Tau Corp meeting crossed my mind earlier today. I do not know if it would be satisfying or merely sad-- a reminder of what happened, an action that is too little, too late-- to be present for [what I assume will be] the official passing of the Permanency Exception Clause. I am more interested in being there if the Elected Official will also be chastised for his behavior, but I am also scared, because I do not think he will take it maturely-- i.e. I think there will be lots of victim-shaming vitriol flying from his mouth. If I had wanted to deal with accusations and having my name dragged through the mud, I would have gone to court to prosecute my rapist. I just don't know if I am up for being called a liar and being forced to recount my story and defend myself. There is one person who was witness to what he said to me, but I am not even sure she will stand up for me. :(

This post doesn't really go anywhere. It's mostly a result and reflection of my brooding state of mind. *sigh*

The myth about false rape reports

2011-08-15T17:26:00.001-04:00

I 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.

I'm really, really 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 this issue of The Voice, a publication by The National Center for the Prosecution of Violence Against Women) point to a figure of 2-8%.

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.

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?

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).

PS- The article I linked to above is a very good, worthwhile read.

Finding the fine line between respecting a victim's autonomy and a dangerous hands-off approach

2011-08-08T16:44:00.003-04:00

[Possible domestic violence trigger in linked posts.]

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?

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 (here, here, and here), 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.

So it was very good timing that today I found two posts that discuss this situation very well. One 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.

This section of the post particularly resonated with me:

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.

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.

The post also links to another article in Glamour 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.

"I am afraid for you."

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.

"I am proud of you."

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.

One last thing I wanted to end this post with: I wanted to reiterate that an abusive relationship does not have to involve physical violence to be abusive. 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.

Fraternity-related update

2011-08-07T01:14:00.000-04:00

Interesting. I received a very nice email from some of the current members of the fraternity after they read my blog, and apparently not only has an official expulsion protocol been approved, but also I would be allowed to invoke it for past events. I would be able to ask for the man who raped me to be officially kicked out from the fraternity.

Truthfully, it's too late for it to help me much. But it was nice of them to tell me about it and ask if I wanted it to proceed. I might do it anyway, even though it's 3 years too late.

(Really what I'd appreciate most is having the Previously Discussed Elected Official That I Seriously Hate reprimanded somehow, but that's much harder to do.)

One Day, One Room

2011-08-05T15:12:00.000-04:00

Some of you House 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 here and here. 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.

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.

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.

If I hadn't seen this episode of House, 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.

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.

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 wanted 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.

Maybe?

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.

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?

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.

...

So far today I have had edamame for breakfast, watched House, and hugged cats. I think it's time to reboot my day and start over.

A brief post brought to you by The Hunger Games trilogy (no spoilers, don't worry)

2011-07-17T02:51:00.002-04:00

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.

At least tomorrow is a free day for me? I hope I can eventually sleep and that no dreams haunt me.

"Today's the day it's going to happen."

2011-03-25T15:12:00.001-04:00

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 going 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.

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.

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:

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)."

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.

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."

This is the worry-thought, the one that tries to be helpful and protective but really doesn't do me much good.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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...?

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.

Three Years.

2011-03-21T13:12:00.000-04:00

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.

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.

I'm scared. :-/

If anyone figures out how to let go of rage, please let me know.

2011-02-22T12:30:00.000-05:00

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.

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.

I wonder if she knows that the people I am talking about are her brothers in that frat.

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 anyone. 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.

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.

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.

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*

See No Evil, Hear No Evil...?

2010-11-19T18:14:00.000-05:00

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, any 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.

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.

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 Don't you hear me? Won't you help? But they weren't really close friends, and I knew I was on my own.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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. :-/

Frat Update

2010-11-18T14:46:00.000-05:00

It'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.

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.

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.

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.)

Bullying: I do not think the problem is what you think it is.

2010-11-16T23:40:00.000-05:00

(Princess Bride reference aside, let's call this "Adults and Cowardice.")

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 hanged herself after being bullied for coming out as a rape survivor. Bullying has suddenly become a big deal. Great, you might think, people might actually support anti-bullying programs in schools now that numerous victims have already died. But no. Christian groups like Focus on the Family argue that anti-bullying programs "push the gay agenda." A Michigan high school teacher was suspended for kicking a student out of class who made a homophobic comment. What is this, people? Jezebel 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?

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 this is not the case. (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.

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 address the bullying, not use it as a reason to prohibit gay couples from adopting children.

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.

Her response? "That happened to me growing up too. You can buy products at CVS to bleach that hair."

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, where was the action in response to it? 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.

This 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.

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.

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.

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.

On a more heartwarming note, here are two things that refresh my faith in humanity:

A 14-year-old student gave an eloquent speech in defense of the high school teacher that took a stand against homophobia. I was touched.

A mother proudly defended 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.

Rape Jokes, Part 3 -- Confronting People

2010-10-28T23:53:00.000-04:00

I 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:

How to tell if you are using the word "rape" appropriately in everyday discourse ~~(A Guide For Dummies)~~

It's so simple anyone can follow it, I promise. It involves asking yourself one question.

Am I trying to be funny (edgy, witty, ironic, sarcastic, etc.)?

If you are, then your answer is no. No. NO. You are horribly abusing the term. Rape is not funny. You 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?

Now let's say you slipped up, made a rape joke, and got called out on it. Let's talk about your choices now.

a) Apologize and don't do it again. (No, don't just promise not to do it again-- actually don't. Ignorance isn't an excuse after the first time you get called out on it.)

b) Call the person who asked you not to do it "selfish" and accuse her of expecting the world to revolve around her.

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.

d) Say that you think they're funny and other people do too so you're going to keep making them anyway.

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.

You might be thinking, hm, the last four choices seem awfully specific and full of bitterness, 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.

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.

I sent a message to that person that reads as follows:

Dear X,

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.

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.

Sincerely,
Me

If he writes anything back, I will post part II of this saga.

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 unrelated but still very awesome video, 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.

When people come together to do things, amazing stuff can result

2010-10-23T22:53:00.000-04:00

This 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.

Men: Finding Security in Making the Safe Unsafe?

2010-10-20T23:52:00.000-04:00

I found a great article with interesting and insightful analysis of the awful but all-too-common chant "No means yes; yes means anal!" (Most recently it was featured in the previously-discussed Yale debacle.)

Slightly pared down, here is what I find to be the choicest bits:

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.

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.

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.
That is, it’s a way to make even the safe unsafe.

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.”

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.

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.

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.)

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.

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?

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.

For lack of a better title, My Story

2010-10-19T23:20:00.001-04:00

Tonight 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.

The second thought is one I had on the bus home tonight. I spent most of today ruminating on last Wednesday's Yale fraternity pledge incident 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.

One thing about the Yale incident really stuck with me, though, and that was from this follow-up article:

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."

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.

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.

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 their campus and done by some of their 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.

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 that would all be my fault. We needed to keep the illusion that we were better than other frats, that rape doesn't happen at Phi Tau, or else.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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.

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 should be partly to satisfy anyone who was troubled or hurt by the incident. Yale needs to take notice of its community's distress and address it. Action, not just words and discussion and other passive means of patting victims on the head and turning away.

PTSD under a directed microscope

2010-08-22T19:23:00.001-04:00

I 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.

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.

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 me. 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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:

Don't believe everything you think.

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.

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 possibility 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 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. 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.

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.

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.

Choice and Blame

2010-06-03T16:40:00.000-04:00

You've probably seen it: "that exam totally raped me," "this monster in (video game) is raping me," ad nauseum. 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.

I just read this article on how Kristin Stewart, star of that terrible movie Twilight, 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:

"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."

(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.)

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.

Song: "Nightminds" -- Missy Higgins

2010-04-27T00:28:00.000-04:00

A touching song about supporting someone through dark times.

Just lay it all down
Put your face into my neck and let it fall out
I know, I know, I know
I knew before you got home
This world you're in now
It doesn't have to be alone
I'll get there somehow, 'cause
I know, I know, I know
When even springtime feels cold

But I will learn to breathe this ugliness you see
So we can both be there
And we can both share the dark
And in our honesty, together we will rise
Out of our nightminds, and into the light
At the end of the fight
...
And in our honesty, together we will rise
Out of our nightminds
And into the light at the end of the fight

Site: National Center for PTSD

2010-04-26T17:12:00.000-04:00

http://www.ptsd.va.gov/

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.

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 every 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.

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

Anniversary

2010-03-30T17:55:00.000-04:00

The 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.

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.

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.

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.

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?

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.

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.

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?

I don't know. I just don't know.

Another Hiatus

2010-02-11T00:13:00.000-05:00

Dear Blogland,

I am terribly sorry for not having posted as much these past few weeks as I had wanted to. I stressed out a lot over application essays and ate chocolate. All my applications are finally done (huzzah!) as of this afternoon but alas, I will shortly be leaving for Thailand. I have arranged to volunteer and shadow doctors at three hospitals there while I am also visiting family for the first time in almost ten years, so that'll be a blast.

I do not think I will have the time or the capability to write posts while I am there, so unfortunately I will have to put this blog on hiatus until I return to the States at the end of March. Take care of yourselves, and I wish you all the best! See you in five weeks.

Cheers,
Sayrina

Beyond bruises

2010-02-01T23:38:00.000-05:00

After being in several abusive relationships, the thing that took the hardest hit was my self-esteem. I don't think my shaky sense of self-worth even has much to do with the sexual assaults-- those events affected certain parts of my self-esteem and identity, but really the damage comes from partners who regularly hurt me and said it was all my fault. What that led to was the serious, deep-down conviction that I am broken or tainted, that I can't do anything right, and that I can't have/don't deserve a healthy relationship. Those feelings have resurfaced several times during the last month with D*; I overreact to something, get upset, cause a fight, and then become convinced that this is evidence that I can't do anything right in a relationship. I've set myself up a self-fulfilling prophecy, and it's a cycle I'm finding it really difficult to break out of. I know it's there, I recognize it for what it is, yet I still can't stop myself from following the path I've laid out.

What an insidious aftereffect. *shakes head* Abusive relationships that lack physical violence often get overlooked or brushed off by outsiders. Some people think, how bad could it actually be? The answer is: bad. In an ironic way, it can be worse without physical violence because that's the only thing society seems to accept as clearly wrong. If you weren't hit or kicked, it's difficult to find validation for your experience. How can I explain to people what it was like to be screamed at everyday? to be constantly made to feel stupid and worthless? How can I explain how quietly, insidiously damaging that is? I've had trouble, honestly. I usually don't identify myself as a survivor of domestic violence because of it, not only because I worry it minimizes what others ("real survivors of DV") have gone through, but also because I feel like no one will believe me.

The other day I found myself faced with a huge myth about domestic violence. A friend of mine said something that I thought was just a tasteless joke, and so I reproached him for it. He said, "Who said it was a joke?" He honestly believed that women who stayed with abusive boyfriends did so because they secretly liked it. I was flat-out flabbergasted. There was so much wrong with that statement that I didn't know where to start. It makes me wonder how many myths about domestic violence exist today in society. I often hear about rape myths, but I think the line between right and wrong about rape is much more clearly marked in society's minds than it is with domestic violence. Society seems to heavily favor looking the other way when a problem arises between two people who are involved in a relationship. All kinds of rationalization occurs to explain the existence of clearly abusive relationships-- for example, the belief that she stays with her abusive boyfriend because she secretly likes it. It doesn't occur to people to think about the other reasons she can't leave, like forced financial dependency, threat to herself or her loved ones, or having nowhere to go. That last one is particularly intricately involved with society's views on domestic violence-- you aren't received and accepted in society as a refugee from something terrible if society doesn't believe your situation was that terrible. Refugees of war-torn countries are more easily accepted here because war and violence in another country are easy to condemn, and therefore sympathy can easily be extended to those refugees. A woman fleeing from an abusive partner may not find such sympathy in her peers.

Perhaps accepting that domestic violence exists and is a terrible and painful thing is too much for society to handle because it strikes too close to home. I guess it's the same reason that women are often the harshest critics and least sympathetic peers of rape survivors-- if they accept the reality of rape or domestic violence, then it could happen to them. Better to deny it than accept that frightening reality. Ignorance is bliss? I don't know.

Returning to the original point of this post-- self-esteem. That's been my hardest struggle, believing that my abusive relationships are over and that my new relationship with D* doesn't have to be like them. I have so many insecurities to work through, so much fear to have to wade through, with just blind faith to guide me to the other side. I have to believe that things can work with D*. I have to believe that the abuse and assault has not left me broken or tainted. I have to believe that I have healed a great deal and can and will continue to heal further. I have to believe, and belief is terrifying. However, many brave survivors of sexual and domestic violence have been able to cultivate healthy, loving relationships, and therefore so can I.

The Pros and Cautions of Volunteering

2010-01-29T12:22:00.001-05:00

My volunteer work with WISE has finally gotten underway. WISE (Women's Information Service) is the local crisis center here that deals with sexual assault, domestic violence, and stalking. It is a wonderful place with wonderful people, and I couldn't be happier about volunteering here. The building is warm and homey, and the best thing about it is that there are dogs! I love dogs. They're big, lovely, friendly dogs, and they definitely add a touch of comforting personality to what could otherwise be an intimidating place. Unless you don't like dogs, I suppose. :-(

It looks like I won't be able to do actual crisis work (i.e. staffing the 24-hour hotline) because I am leaving the States just a few days before the February training session and then the next session is so late in the spring that I will pretty much be leaving Hanover right after it is done. The project I'm currently working on does feel very rewarding, though. I am reorganizing, editing, and updating the volunteer advocate resource manual. So far I have reorganized some chapters and moved around bits of information that seemed out-of-place, and now I am going through each organization listing one by one and verifying the organization name, address, phone number(s), and website. There are definitely things that are out-of-date, so I feel useful, not just like some glorified copy-editor.

Last night, while I was going through the list of local crisis centers and particularly their 24-hour hotlines, I was struck by an overwhelming sense of gratitude to the volunteers who keep them running. It was so touching and humbling to realize exactly how many organizations there are just in the New Hampshire/Vermont area, how many crisis lines there are, and therefore how many people are needed to staff them so they can be open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Dear volunteers, you're the best.

Even though my work is superbly rewarding, I am starting to realize that overexposure is possible. Last night I was reading a movie summary for Precious (having known nothing about its plot) to see if I wanted to go see it, and I discovered that rape/incest play a pretty big part in the movie. Then I found out that Slumdog Millionaire also involves rape. I went a little numb in that way I always do when rape gets brought up, and so I couldn't work on my applications. Instead I decided to do some more work with the resource manual. That basically involved looking up websites for crisis center after crisis center, and therefore thinking about sexual assault and domestic violence for two hours. I didn't think much of it, and in fact felt pretty good about doing something useful, but then I couldn't sleep last night. I got a few hours of very restless sleep towards the morning, but anxiety is still fluttering in my stomach and I don't quite feel right. I think it is from overexposure to issues surrounding rape the last few days (since quite a few of my application essays talk about my experiences as well).

I am learning to set boundaries, though. A year ago I probably would have followed the compulsion to continue steeping myself in these issues until someone rescued me. However, I am trying to set healthy boundaries now. As worried as I am about time and trying to get my applications done before I leave for Thailand, I am giving myself a break today. I simply don't think I could get anything done in this anxious and wonky mood I'm in. D* is coming up this evening, and I am very much looking forward to getting to see him. Hopefully the weekend will reset things and I can start seriously working again on Monday.

Aww, D* just called me on his lunch break, just because. :) Yay for much-needed smiles.

Anyway, I think I am off to go do mindless productive things today. Cheerio!

Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus

2010-01-21T17:59:00.005-05:00

alternatively titled:

How (not?) to Start a Relationship

A while ago, I wrote a post about how to tell a potential significant other about your experience. As I mentioned in the post, I didn't really have too much to say on the topic, because I sort of had to do it once but then it didn't work out and all that. However, now, I think I have a little more to add, so here's part 2.

When it became clear to me that I really wanted this thing with D* to work out, I did what comes automatically to me when I get anxious-- I went to the library and checked out a bunch of books on the subject. One of the lucky ducks I brought home with me was Mars and Venus on a Date: A Guide for Navigating the 5 Stages of Dating to Create a Loving and Lasting Relationship. (Yup, part of the gigantic series written by the guy who wrote the original Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.) I should probably feel embarrassed to be admitting to this in a public forum, but I will claim that it was all in the name of experimentation and research for this blog. (*shifty eyes*)

Anyway. I read about one-third of the book, and then I had to stop. Why? Because the moral of the book seems to be "Resist the urge to do what comes naturally to you, because following your instincts will just mess everything up." If I were to believe in the advice offered in the book, I totally messed up everything with D*. And I believed that for a little bit. Some unquantifiable amount of anxiety later, I talked with D* and thought about things, and ended up deciding that I wasn't such a screw-up after all and John Gray, Ph.D., can take his advice to other people who might actually care.

Let's take a step back and look at what I actually did with D* that was deemed so awful by the Book. I essentially followed my instincts: I was wary but eager, and I showed my desire to get to know and trust him through unflinching honesty. Basically, I took the first chance I got to spill my guts about everything and waited to see his reaction.

...

I know, it probably sounds silly and wholly ridiculous now, but it made sense at the time and still kind of does, to me. One of the most significant changes post-trauma was the way in which I saw myself. For the longest time, my traumatic experiences were everything to me. I thought about it a lot and talked about it all the time. I simply could not conceive of a self that did not revolve around my trauma, because I did not remember my "old self" and my new, current self was so preoccupied with what had happened that there was no room for anything else. I could not have described myself without talking about my experiences. I had a terribly hard time having a conversation with anyone in which I did not bring up something related to trauma. I could not see myself in any other light-- I did not have other hobbies or interests with which to define myself, and I had no concept of personality apart from my obsession with advocacy regarding assault.

Granted, that all got better by the time I returned to classes and a semblance of a normal life. I made the effort to rediscover interests and hobbies so that I could tenuously define myself like a Facebook profile, with at least some answers for the requisite fields like "activities" and "interests" and "favorites." I even managed to hold off for some time before blurting out my experiences to new friends I made. (Though the fact that I stressed over when to tell people and made such a big deal of it to myself led to fantastic amounts of awkwardness, as chronicled in this post that I wrote after one experience with telling a friend.) In any case, I was doing better with not defining myself wholly according to my trauma.

Then I started talking to D* online, and all my carefully conceived sense went out the door. Because this was something that I felt could be special, my instinct was to be completely honest. No facades or filters-- just complete and total honesty. I remembered all too well the meltdown that occurred when I told Boyfriend 3 a couple weeks into our relationship about how I lost my virginity with Boyfriend 2 (i.e. unwillingly). He acted furious with Boyfriend 2, but he also blamed me. He couldn't understand that I hadn't wanted it. He shamed me and made me cry for days. I guess I just subconsciously hoped that by telling D* about everything upfront, it would be all out in the open, and he could decide to run or stay before I became too emotionally attached.

What actually happened was massive amounts of awkwardness and bad judgment on my part. Things got a little out of control in my mind: I told him about what happened, but I also slipped into a state of numbness and detachment. I slid into a tough-girl mode that hid my actual uncertainty about my feelings regarding sex, nudity, and my fraternity. I basically adopted the facade of a shameless and sexually unreserved girl-- the profile I used to present to my fraternity before the event of my senior spring, when I was still repressing what had happened at Simon's Rock. It was as if I wanted to see how much D* could take, or what would make him run. I don't know why I did it. I don't know if I was just testing him, or if I was trying to prove something to myself, like the fact that no nice guy could ever want me or deal with me. I just don't know. But I basically dug such a hole for myself that I did almost push him away, and probably would have if one of my close friends hadn't stepped in and fixed things for me.

It was an unconventional beginning, to say the least. Mars and Venus on a Date says you shouldn't present anything negative about your real self until Stage 4 of the whole process. For perspective, the 5 stages of dating are attraction, uncertainty, exclusivity, intimacy, and engagement; the Book basically says that you need to wait until you have your partner completely hooked and trusting before you even hint at a negative side. For goodness's sake, the first stage in which that is permissible is the one right before getting engaged! You're supposed to present only your good side until then, and repress all urges to be natural and honest. Let's see the multitude of ways in which the author tells the reader this (all quotes taken from the beginning of Chapter 3, which is about stage 1, attraction):

Although feelings of attraction are automatic, in order to sustain attraction in a personal relationship we must also be skillful in presenting ourselves in ways that are not just appealing to the other sex but supportive as well. It is not enough to say, "Here I am; take me as I am."

My reaction to that was "why not?" What's wrong with presenting myself as I am? It just seems disingenuous to act like something I am not. Isn't the romantic ideal finding someone who accepts you exactly for who you are?

Then he says some things that make sense:

On Venus, when two friends get together they enjoy the opportunity to share freely the mishaps, frustrations, disappointments, and complaints of the week. A woman's willingness to "share all" is actually a compliment to the other woman. It is a sign of trust, goodwill, and friendship.

While this gesture on Venus may be "putting your best foot forward," on Mars it is not. A man can easily get the wrong impression. When a woman dwells on negative feelings or problems in her life, instead of valuing her willingness to share openly, a man mistakenly assumes that she is difficult to please. Just as a woman is attracted to a man who shows interest in her, a man is attracted to a woman who can clearly be pleased. When she appears to be difficult to please, he may easily become turned off.

I made the mistake of doing that early on in my conversations with D*. One night, I was getting upset because of a series of frustrating email exchanges. D* was already starting to become more to me than just a friend, and so I felt the urge to tell him I was upset. I wasn't expecting, or even wanting, him to solve my problems, because he couldn't. He didn't know enough about the situation to even have a chance. I just wanted some kind of commiseration or support. But after I told him I was upset, he did try and solve my problems, and it just succeeded in frustrating us both. So I learned that talking about problems was not a good bonding experience.

And then the author goes on to say:

To create the ideal opportunity to experience the best a man has to offer and for a man to experience her best, a woman needs to be careful to share the positive side of her life and avoid dwelling on negative experiences. Conversation should be light, not heavy, focused on current events in the world and in their lives, but discussed in a positive manner.

My response to reading this the first time: PG version- "Oops." (Actual response- more like "oh sh*t.") I basically did the exact opposite of what it was telling me I needed to do.

This does not imply in any way that she should be fake. Authenticity is what makes anyone most attractive. Everyone has a positive side and a negative side, everyone has ups and downs, and everyone has a needy side and an autonomous side. Putting her best foot forward means sharing her most positive side, her up side, and her autonomous side. Later on she can share the other part. It is just a matter of timing.

To make the best impression and to get to know someone most effectively, it is important that we first get a chance to know the positive side. In the first three stages of dating-- attraction, uncertainty, and exclusivity-- it is best to focus on putting forth our best self. After getting to know our best sides, then in stage four, intimacy, we are ready to deal with the less positive sides of who we are.

The first time I read this, I was oscillating between feeling awful because I had messed everything up with D* and then feeling indignant because it all seemed so misogynistic and fake. Even if I had read this before talking to D* for the first time, I'm not sure I could have stuck to those rules. It would have seemed way too fake after a few conversations. For someone who considers her experiences to be such an important part of her life when they happened and who still sees them as significant in her drive and motivation in life now, for me not to mention anything about them would have required conscious planning and thought, which seems so forced and fake.

Could I have found some other way to tell him? Probably. I approached it a different way with the guy I considered dating before I met D*. The first time I mentioned anything was probably the second time we met, when he asked me what my ideal job would be. Without thinking much, I answered "rape crisis counselor." He was pretty shocked and taken aback at the specificity and promptness of my response, and then he recovered. I explained briefly that sexual assault was an important issue to me, and that was that. It didn't stick in his mind too much, because he made a rape joke to me a few weeks later on our first "date," but when I actually told him about what had happened my senior spring, he said he'd already guessed. Then we decided not to date, for various reasons, so I just never bothered to reflect on how that went.

When I talked to D* a while later about what the Book had said and how I felt awful for messing up, he told me that the book was written for "normal people," and that I had a perfectly good reason or explanation for going about things the way I did. Did I? I guess I had an explanation for it, albeit a subconscious one, but is it justifiable? I don't know. Unlike the Book, I have no moral or conclusion to this post, no dating advice for trauma survivors. I can't really say what's best because my relationship with D* is the only one I've had in which I've had to find some way to share my experience. The only advice I can give is to do what feels comfortable, and if he's a good guy, he'll understand.

Old emails

2010-01-19T17:25:00.000-05:00

I have been reading and organizing loads of old emails in the process of transferring them from my undergraduate account to my gmail. Chronologically I just reached emails from early April 2008-- i.e. those exchanged among friends and my fraternity after the event. As I reread them, my mind started to think back to the aftermath and all that was said and done.

I'm feeling pretty numb right now. There are a couple of things that made me cringe mentally, but otherwise I am feeling pretty emotionless. The numbness is heavy, though. The combination of my mood and the fact that outside was gray and gross today makes me just want to curl up and clutch a stuffed animal and hope the world goes away from a little while if I close my eyes.

In other news, I finally deleted some old emails that I had hidden away for several years. I still became (become?) angry when I think about them, but at least they are gone. I had so much trouble deleting them because I kept wondering if I would ever want them again, as evidence of how much of a liar and a jerk he was, but I know that I should just delete them all and try to move on.

Sigh.

Preaching from a pedestal is easy, isn't it?

2010-01-18T23:01:00.003-05:00

I've started not wearing a watch unless I have to. It's very interesting to not be so caught up in the urgency of time anymore, instead just drifting along during the day, judging time by how light it is outside, and then realizing it doesn't actually really matter what time it is. Because of that, I just realized it's January 18. Happy half-birthday to me?

I've had a lot on my mind since graduation has given me boatloads of free time. However, I seem to be less good at regularly writing about it. There have been a few developments on the relationship front and the advocacy front (i.e. volunteer work with a crisis center), which I think I will talk about in future separate posts.

I was feeling ambitious tonight and planned on writing at least one post about trauma and relationships, but a few minutes ago I just ran into a post on a friend's journal that left me feeling emotionally overwhelmed and a bit triggered. My friend is strongly pro-life, with the view that abortion is murder and therefore unacceptable in all cases. That I can respect-- I talked a little about my views on that in this previous post. What irks me is specifically the "it's for your own good" argument. There are several studies that present findings that many women who experience an abortion develop depression and anxiety and other mental conditions. When I am in a calmer and less triggered mood, I will read those studies and return to this blog with my analysis. However, just for right now, I am going to approach this issue from an entirely personal perspective, academic impartial analysis be damned.

If I had become pregnant from either of the rapes I experienced, particularly the second one, it would have killed me to carry the baby to term. I mean that not only figuratively but also quite possibly literally. I would have spent all nine months hating the baby growing inside me. I had enough problems with harmful and self-destructive behavior without having part of my body act as a constant reminder of what happened. If just the memory of the event and later the aftermath with people's ignorance and apathy was enough to drive me to physically hurt myself, what do you think having his baby inside me would have done? I think it very well could have led to me killing myself, and thus the baby as well.

It is appallingly arrogant and presumptuous of anyone to badger, coerce, guilt-trip, or force a rape victim to carry the baby to term if she believes it is not in her own best interests to do so. Only misguided arrogance could make someone believe he or she knows better than the victim what she should do with her own body. In other words, the "for your own good" argument makes me want to slug someone. It's quite easy to wave around "scientific studies" and preach that the victim will regret it if she chooses to have an abortion. However, I wonder how many of those people would actually have the guts to say that directly to a traumatized rape victim.

It makes me wonder what would have happened had I become pregnant after the rape. I want to know how many people would have tried to guilt-trip me into carrying the baby to term. I want to know which of my friends would have dared tell me to my face that it was for my own good. With the way things actually went, already most of the people I knew wanted nothing to do with me and my trauma and my struggle to heal. How many people would have tried to coerce me into making a decision that would directly contradict my understanding of how I could best heal and then left me to my own struggles? The apathy I faced from "friends" was bad enough. No one would have wanted to deal with the extreme self-loathing that would have ensued had I been forced to carry his baby for nine months. I had enough problems with starving myself for days, standing into the cold (yes, New Hampshire winter, snow and all) with no protection, and physically marking and scarring myself. [Self-destructive behavior: another post for another day.]

I felt so dirty after both times I was raped. Think of the shower scenes you see in movies after someone has been so irrevocably violated (e.g. in The Lives of Others). I felt like I could never be clean again. What genius could think that having my rapist's baby inside my body for nine whole months is going to help me heal? How much more of a constant physical reminder of the trauma that already plays itself over and over in my head do I need? How can you possibly tell me that you know better than me what will help me heal-- and better yet, use that as justification to try to prevent me from making any kind of choice whatsoever?

Dear pro-lifers:

Feel free to try to educate rape victims about the potential mental health risks of aborting their rapist's baby. I support the concept of fair and impartial education. However, you have absolutely no right whatsoever to take away the woman's choice by shutting down abortion clinics or making them unaffordable. Furthermore, if you ever intimidate, coerce, or guilt-trip a woman into carrying the baby against her will, you are no better than her rapist.

No love,
Me

Shaken.

2010-01-12T12:02:00.000-05:00

Bad dream bad dream bad dream bad dream

*shudder*

It's not often I wake up screaming. I had this dream after I went back to sleep at 10am (intending to wake up at 11:30) so it's all very vivid still. The feeling of utter helplessness during an assault-- this time I did try to fight, but I was overpowered. That feeling is still sitting in my chest, a huge, heavy, stifling weight. There were two assaults, and then somehow it switched to a scene of physical torture involving knives or razors or scalpels, I don't remember exactly. I had enough consciousness at the last moment before I woke up to turn my head into my pillow so my screaming wouldn't echo through my whole house.

This is totally not an appropriate post for this blog, but I didn't know where else to write about it and I needed to get it all out so I could try to start functioning for the day.

Change

2010-01-11T13:46:00.003-05:00

My nerves are having a really tough time today. First, a really frustrating conversation; second, major fraternity-induced anxiety; and third, almost getting hit by a car that didn't feel like stopping while I was in a crosswalk on the way home. I'm jittery as hell and having a tough time calming down.

So, to elaborate on the second point mentioned above, I seem to have lost my only social space on campus. Friday night at the frat was an absolute disaster. Tau can get pretty ragey and sketchy, but that "party" just felt completely out of control. There were just too many drunk people and half-naked people-- and then there was the frighteningly loud, high-pitched, piercing screaming that would happen every few minutes, induced by some girls' inebriated ecstasy. My nerves were already fraying and the constant screaming just made them snap. I was in the chapter room with some friends while the chaos was happening in the kitchen and dining room. When I started to visibly get anxious, one of my friends--without my asking or prompting--went to go shut the sliding doors between us and them. It was a very kind gesture on his part and one that helped a lot. But then the doors opened right back up and one of the house officers glared at us indignantly for daring to impede upon their fun. Because clearly, anyone in their right mind who wasn't joining in on the fun would at least want to watch. "What are you closing the door for? It's just another normal day at Tau," was what she said. Closing a door for some peace of mind-- when they weren't even coming into the room we were in-- is apparently far too insulting. The dismissive attitude of another officer of the house, one I used to like or at least respect, was the last straw. I started to panic and had to leave, so I went to the math building next door and sobbed hysterically until I could calm down and breathe normally again.

It was one of the more awful instances at Tau, the kind that make me wonder why I go back there. I stayed at home and refused to go over during the weekend. I had no immediate plans to go back but then last night I made plans with some friends to go get breakfast (because one of them was just visiting and was about to leave). After breakfast I decided to come back to Tau and give it a shot. I stayed in the chapter room for a while, but I just couldn't do it.

I don't feel safe there anymore. I am constantly on edge again whenever I am there. When I see certain people, I freeze up, half-resentful and half-afraid. I am tense and uncomfortable in the house that is supposed to be warm and welcoming, a house that is supposed to make its brothers feel safe. Too much has changed, and I am too dissociated when I am there. At its best, everything just feels fake and unreal; at its worst, everything feels laughably inane, trivial, and ridiculous.

It's unfortunate. I really started to believe that Tau was improving with the addition of new people. I really like the new brothers, but even their lovely selves cannot make up for the presence of certain older members and attitudes.

Moving on

2010-01-05T20:59:00.002-05:00

So when I said that I was back in my last post, I might have been a bit premature. Whoops. December was busy for me, with graduating, meeting D*, and going home to visit my parents, so I ended up not being able to return to and commit to a regular schedule of posting. I will be overseas next month, but I will try my best to make the most of January.

I'd like to start writing a new series of posts, not directly about sexual assault or PTSD, but about what it's like to move on, specifically in the context of a relationship. I was originally going to try to keep my blog more academic and less personal, but as I started writing in these last few months, I began to see that too much of my life was still revolving around these issues and unable to let go. Because I have not completely moved on yet, I am perhaps most equipped to write about myself and my own healing process, as opposed to detached academic treatises or abstract philosophical musings.

Sooo... I am currently in a new and blooming long-distance relationship with D*, who is an incredibly wonderful and supportive guy. Predictably, I started to run into mental blocks and triggers as he and I started to become involved. However, this time around I have a true ally in my boyfriend, and he is helping me work through these issues as they arise. I have begun to see and identify the extent of my insecurities, anxieties, and fears. I have started to realize that I can, and should, communicate with him about them. And I have started to address my relationship with sex-- a much more complicated venture than I'd realized.

I have a great many issues with physical intimacy that come from not only the rape but also the various relationships I've been in. For one, I had no concept of boundaries. When I first tried to voice them in my first seriously physical relationship, they were blatantly ignored, like a bulldozer just rolling right over my efforts to resist. I don't remember how much I protested when something unwanted was done to me or I was forced to do something I had said I didn't want to do. All I remember is that at some point my mind detached and it felt like it was no longer me so it was okay, or at least as okay as it could be. And then after it all I simply repressed the memory-- it was like forgetting.

But then it became too easy to detach, and so I dissociated constantly whenever anything related to sex arose, preemptively, before anything unwanted occurred. It simply became habit, and there was no reason for me to fight it. Being detached helped when what I wanted was ignored or never asked about, or when there was pain and tears dripped down my cheeks while I closed my eyes and bit my lip. There was no reason for me to not become detached, because it wasn't like my partner would have focused on my feeling pleasure anyhow.

But then I met D*. I have no idea how to express this without being sappy or cliche or trite, but he is so very different. He is a gentle, patient, and caring partner who has never once made physical intimacy all about him. He has tried to impress upon me that it is perfectly all right for me to say no to something and that it won't make him upset or resentful. He maintains his expression of affection for me both during intimate moments and not, so that it doesn't feel like sexual activity --> affection. All of that makes a difference-- I have been working so hard on keeping myself in the moment and not dissociating. I have tried to identify and communicate the events of my past and the anxieties they created, and he has understood. And most importantly of all for me, for the first time in my life I was able to say no. I cannot find the words to express how incredulous I was when I mustered up the courage to say that I was exhausted and not feeling well and he simply cuddled me and said we could go to sleep. I get kind of choked up still when I think about that. What some people might take for granted actually means so much to me.

Things have the potential to be so special with D*. I so badly want them to be, and I think they can.

Happy things!

2009-12-11T18:32:00.000-05:00

I'm back! I figured I would end my hiatus with something a little off-topic but nice. Another personal update, I suppose, while I'm still in my happy pink fuzzy slippers before I exchange them for my blog-writing black femmenazi boots.

So, things that make me happy:

I had a fantastic (albeit odd and completely non-traditional) first date this week with a wonderful guy I shall call D* until I come up with a better nickname. He's a gentleman and a sweetheart, and things are looking good. I might be off in cloud 9 for a little while. :)

It's also just starting to sink in that I'm completely graduated. I even made it official on Facebook by changing my status to "alum." :P Now to figure out plans for the next year or so...

Over the next two weeks I will be packing and moving into my new place. I'm sharing a house close by with two post-docs and a grad student, which will be a nice change from my frat house. It's within walking distance, so I'll still be able to visit, but I'm excited to live elsewhere.

So now the next stage of my life is really beginning...

Also also also

2009-12-07T18:10:00.001-05:00

I'm done! Like completely, totally, finally done with my studies as an undergrad!

I'm all grown up now. :D

Book: The Name of the Wind

2009-12-07T18:09:00.000-05:00

The Name of the Wind is a fantastic fantasy (hur hur, pun intended) novel by Patrick Rothfuss. It is the first of a trilogy, and I am *so* excited for the second book, whenever it manages to make its way out. Rothfuss has such a way with words, and manages to evoke the most powerful, wonderful descriptions of everything from music to PTSD.

I just wanted to type up a section that I found particularly profound:

Perhaps the greatest faculty our minds possess is the ability to cope with pain. Classic thinking teaches us of the four doors of the mind, which everyone moves through according to their need.

First is the door of sleep. Sleep offers us a retreat from the world and all its pain. Sleep marks passing time, giving us distance from the things that have hurt us. When a person is wounded they will often fall unconscious. Similarly, someone who hears traumatic news will often swoon or faint. This is the mind's way of protecting itself from pain by stepping through the first door.

Second is the door of forgetting. Some wounds are too deep to heal, or too deep to heal quickly. In addition, many memories are simply painful, and there is no healing to be done. The saying "time heals all wounds" is false. Time heals most wounds. The rest are hidden behind this door.

Third is the door of madness. There are times when the mind is dealt such a blow it hides itself in insanity. While this may not seem beneficial, it is. There are times when reality is nothing but pain, and to escape that pain the mind must leave reality behind.

Last is the door of death. The final resort. Nothing can hurt us after we are dead, or so we have been told.

In the interest of not spoiling this book for anyone who is interested in reading it in its fabulous entirety (you should!), I'm going to quote more of the book, but heavily ellipsed.

[After a trauma occured] I wandered deep into the forest and slept. My body demanded it, and my mind used the first door to dull the pain. The wound was covered until the proper time for healing could come. In self-defense, a good portion of my mind simply stopped working--went to sleep, if you will.

While my mind slept, many of the painful parts of the previous day were ushered through the second door. Not completely. I did not forget what had happened, but the memory was dulled, as if seen through thick gauze. If I wanted to, I could have brought to memory [details about the trauma]. But I did not want to remember. I pushed those thoughts away and let them gather dust in a seldom-used corner of my mind.

I dreamed, not of [bad things associated with the trauma], but of gentler things. And slowly the wound began to grow numb....

But enough of quotes-- I'm afraid of giving too much away of a story that should not be spoiled. But so much of this story spoke out to me, with the portrayal of numbness, the repulsion that happens when one tries--whether consciously or subconsciously--to remember things that are not ready to be thought about, triggers, and the general mental and physical changes that occur after one survives a trauma.

It's a beautiful book, and definitely worth reading. It's not entirely trauma-centric, but the portrayal of PTSD is one of the better ones I have encountered in fiction.

The Infamous Twilight Series

2009-12-02T00:09:00.000-05:00

Sigh. Triggered. By a freaking parody of the Twilight series, no less. The parody claims there is "mouth rape" and "date rape" and pedophilia in it. I've only read Book 1, which was all right, but now I kind of want to see if the rest of them are really as awful as this "review" claims they are. I am slightly disturbed that these books are capturing the attention of pre-teen girls.

Also-- giant meh to dissociation.

Dealing with Privileged People

2009-11-25T16:29:00.000-05:00

http://www.derailingfordummies.com/

This link was shared with me by a wonderful friend of mine in response to my last post. It educates the Privileged Person on how to derail any conversation with a Marginalised Person in the most arrogant, ignorant way possible. It includes tactical gems like:

You're Taking Things Too Personally

Similar to You’re Being Overemotional and yet with particular uses of its own. You see, when you say “you’re taking things too personally” you demonstrate your ignorance that these issues ARE personal for them!

That’s highly insulting and is sure to rub anyone up the wrong way. That you're already refusing to consider their reality is giving them a pretty good indication of how the conversation is going to degress, yet the natural human need for understanding will probably compel them to try and reason with you, or at least to point you in the direction of some educational resources that will help you gain insight into their experiences.

By denying the conversation is personal for them, you also reveal your own detachment: there’s really nothing at stake for you in getting into this argument, you’re just doing it for kicks. They will be all too aware of this, and it will begin to work on their emotions, preparing them nicely for the next steps you will take them through.

You're Arguing With Opinions Not Fact

If you really want to excel as a Privileged Person® you need to learn to value data, statistics, research studies and empirical evidence above all things, but especially above Lived Experience©. You can pretend you are oblivious to the fact most studies have been carried out by Privileged People® and therefore carry inherent biases, and insist that the Marginalised Person™ produce “Evidence” of what they‘re claiming.

Their Lived Experience© does not count as evidence, for it is subjective and therefore worthless.

This is very important because it works in two ways: 1) it communicates to the Marginalised Person™ that their personal testament is disbelieved and of no value, causing them great hurt; and 2) it once again reinforces your privilege.

You see, the very capacity to conduct studies, collect data and write detached “fact-based” reports on it, is an inherently privileged activity. The ability to widely access this material and research it exhaustively is also inherently privileged. Privileged People® find it easier to pursue these avenues than Marginalised People™ and so once again you are reminding them you possess this privilege and reinforcing that the world at large values a system of analysis that excludes them, and values it over what their actual personal experience has been.

The process of valuing “fact” over “opinion” is one very much rooted in preserving privilege. Through this methodology, the continued pain and othering of millions of people can be ignored because it’s supported by “opinion” (emotion) and not “fact” (rationality).

It is also important because it calls on the Marginalised Person™ to do something that is simply impossible, and that is summate the entirety of their group’s experiences into a definitive example. It is important that you establish this precedent for the next couple of steps.

Believe it or not, people--my peers, no less--actually do use these kinds of tactics whenever I bring up topics related to sexual assault and PTSD (that is, if they even deign to listen to me in the first place).

Way to go, Privileged People!

Ugh.

2009-11-25T15:28:00.001-05:00

I just want to escape from everything right now. I'm dissociated, uncomfortable, exasperated, and stressed. I've been sleeping far too much in my effort to hide from the world. I don't know how to break out of this and find the motivation and happiness that lies just outside my grasp. I know it's there; I just don't know how to find it.

My fraternity is triggering me again. Last term we tried to run our own Crossing the Line-type of event. I thought it was poorly done, but in particular for me, it was a disaster. It brought back the acute frustration and pain of the aftermath last year. I thought the topics of sexual assault were poorly covered, and then when I tried to bring that up in the discussion afterwards, I was at first ignored, and then quite literally talked over by people joking around about other things. Is there any better way to tell someone you don't want to listen to that topic again and that you don't care? I left crying and triggered and was very much not okay for a good chunk of that night. I left because I could not stay.

They want to run Crossing the Line again this term, and this time they want to force people to not leave before the event is over. Needless to say, I will not be attending. I don't think we should be running our own event; as much as we don't like the College's, we do not have the necessary degree of separation or maturity to run this powerful an event ourselves. Sure, it works for most other people who don't have so much at stake, but that doesn't make it a good event. But now that I am being told that I cannot leave, no matter how triggered and desperately upset I am-- it's clear that no one understands what PTSD is like. I brought this up to everyone over email, and all the responses I got basically said "you can deal; you need to stay because it's disrespectful to us if you leave."

*insert all kinds of disbelieving laughter here* Just that exchange of email was enough to send me spiraling down into a horrible episode. I'm currently sitting here tensed up and trying not to dig my fingernails into my palms or explode into full-blown anxiety or rage. My mind has shut down so this is the only thing I can think about. I want to scream or cry but I can't. It's freaking Thanksgiving break, which I should be spending doing work or at the very least relaxing, and instead I'm trying to keep myself from sliding into a full-blown PTSD episode.

God, I hate this place and some of the people in it. I can't wait to leave.

Hiatus

2009-11-19T13:06:00.000-05:00

I've been feeling the old depression creeping back up on me lately. Last night was pretty awful. It's a combination of academic stress, anxiety about post-graduation stuff, memories regarding the aftermath and their associated intense emotions (as one of my friends and brothers is trying to bring it back up to the forefront in my fraternity again), extremely frustrating people-problems, and the jarring absence of daylight before 5pm. Not a good combination at all.

I may have to take a brief hiatus to sort out as much of the above as I can. (Not much I can do about the darkness, unfortunately.) I will probably write some short posts here and there, but I just don't have the emotional energy to tackle a major post right now. My immediate goal is to not burn out or have a mental breakdown before the end of the term.

December 7: the magic date when my last final is due. Between now and then, I have an exam, a major presentation, a problem set, and a paper, along with routine work for each day's class. *takes a deep breath*

See you in December!

Mentors Against Violence: Quick Post

2009-11-16T21:41:00.000-05:00

Quick blog post to say that I attended a Mentors Against Violence facilitation this evening with some of our lovely pledges and pledges from three other coed houses. On the whole I thought it went well. There were several good activities and good discussion from those activities. At the end, though, we separated by house and had a more open-ended discussion, and we talked a little bit about my experience. All the pain from the aftermath came back to me, and I cried.

However, I have hope that things will get better. The new members of my house seem to care, even if the old ones don't. While I don't know how much action now can help heal the wounds of the past, the fact that some people are taking this seriously instead of rolling their eyes really warms my heart. We'll see.

More thoughts on the facilitation later-- I have a lot of homework to do tonight.

A Personal Update

2009-11-13T21:44:00.001-05:00

This is the 50th post of my blog, about a week short of two months since I started it one sleepless night. Somehow it feels proper and fitting for me to update it with the fact that I cried. No, not just any mundane leaking of tears, but a veritable flood of highly emotional, bittersweet ones, because one of my dearest friends, the friend who was there for me last year, the friend who went to the ER and the police station with me, the friend to whom I owe so much of my sanity, wrote a piece about her own feelings about the event and what it means to the fraternity that could have supported me but didn't. I've known that she feels this way, but it was so powerful to see it written down in her own words; this is the kind of support that I needed then, but I am grateful to have it now.

I long ago stopped hoping that my fraternity would help me heal. The pressure to keep quiet, the pretending it never happened, the eye-rolling at my insistence that this not be brushed under the carpet-- there was only so much that I could take. While I have pledged to myself to move on and look elsewhere for support, I will always hold some bitterness in my heart that people who called themselves my brothers would not and did not care. Sometimes, some days, the old sadness and anger reemerges, wells up, and overflows, and I need some time to cry for myself, for the girl who I was, who felt so very alone for such a long time.

This weekend is my fraternity's Sink Night, an event that is supposed to not only welcome in new members but also to strengthen brotherhood bonding. This term I have chosen not to attend. I explained my decision to the pledges (whom I do like very much) as follows: Sink Night is about affirming brotherhood through fun and games. While I think that is certainly important, I think my fraternity has lost sight of how to handle anything but fun and games. Many of the serious matters that I have seen brought up are either dismissed, mocked, or handled brusquely and disrespectfully. Until I see that this brotherhood that I used to believe in and love can treat people and situations maturely and respectfully, I will not participate in the 'fun and games' and perpetuate the idea that we are above handling things with appropriate gravitas. There is more to a family and brotherhood than superficial niceties and parties-- or at least, there should be. I hope that one day things will change.

I really look forward to moving on beyond this juvenile atmosphere into a world that recognizes it's not all about fun and games and doesn't try to keep up the illusion that it is-- and guess what? I am!

Dear world,

I started my application to grad school this afternoon.
I have confirmed housing in a wonderful place for at least the next six months.
I reached the halfway point assignments-wise in my classes.
Things are going well and finally settling down into place.

The world looks so much brighter when I stop looking through the windows of my undergraduate college fraternity.
Maybe I should invest in a regular window-washer*.
Perhaps chocolate?

Much love,
Me

* metaphorical, of course-- chocolate would make an awful window-washer. The smears would drive me crazy.

Inspiration and Empowerment in the Movies!

2009-11-11T00:09:00.004-05:00

40 Inspirational Speeches in Two Minutes

It's exactly what the title says-- safe-for-work, non-triggering, empowering, and just plain awesome. I give total props to the creator for including Newsies, my 8th/9th grade obsession. <3

This feels like a fantastic way to start my homework for the night!

The embedded video doesn't quite fit in the space allotted by my blog design, so here's a direct link to the clip on YouTube if you want to see the whole screen, including the little part missing from the right side of the clip.

My Belated Obligatory Polanski Post

2009-11-10T23:56:00.003-05:00

A couple of little posts tonight to make up for the lack of a real big one. I have a major assignment due Friday, so I may not seriously blog until then, unless I get riled up about something and need to.

So, Post One of Tonight's Review of Sayrina's Many Open Google Chrome Tabs That She Meant To Blog About A While Ago:

When the Polanski crapball hit the internet, I didn't blog about it extensively, because I figured that there were so many other bloggers who were doing a better and more comprehensive job than I could. Sure, I had tons of snark and fury about the topic that I unleashed upon unsuspecting people around me, but it just never seemed to make it to my blog.

But I did want to post something I found, one little poem:

What Whoopi Goldberg ('Not a Rape-Rape'), Harvey Weinstein ('So-Called Crime'), et al. Are Saying in Their Outrage Over the Arrest of Roman Polanski

A youthful error? Yes, perhaps.
But he's been punished for this lapse--
For decades exiled from LA
He knows, as he wakes up each day,
He'll miss the movers and the shakers.
He'll never get to see the Lakers.
For just one old and small mischance,
He has to live in Paris, France.
He's suffered slurs and other stuff.
Has he not suffered quite enough?
How can these people get so riled?
He only raped a single child.

Why make him into some Darth Vader
For sodomizing one eighth grader?
This man is brilliant, that's for sure--
Authentically, a film auteur.
He gets awards that are his due.
He knows important people, too--
Important people just like us.
And we know how to make a fuss.
Celebrities would just be fools
To play by little people's rules.
So Roman's banner we unfurl.
He only raped one little girl.

By Calvin Trillin

The Nation

I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that one of next term's film series is Roman Polanski films. On the one hand, I understand that a certain separation must be made between the man and his art, but on the other hand, I think we all should play the Don't Support Rapists game.

Site: David Baldwin's Trauma Information Pages

2009-11-09T13:36:00.000-05:00

http://www.trauma-pages.com/

I just found this site today, so I am still in the process of reading through it, but it looks fantastic. It is a well-written, informative resource about PTSD that tends towards the academic side. I think the strength of this site is the multitude of links to journal articles and scientific resources. Goodness knows that a lot of my healing and coping has come through being able to distance myself from my own experience a little bit and focus on academic treatment of sexual assault and PTSD, so this site may be helpful for a survivor looking to find validation through research or a productive distraction from his/her own trauma. Definitely worth a look.

Strong emotions as a trigger for PTSD

2009-11-09T12:58:00.000-05:00

I think I've discovered another trigger for myself. I've read about it in fact sheets and the like, but haven't actually had it affect me until this morning.

The trigger? Strong or extreme emotion. In this case, fury. Over breakfast, I had a suspicion confirmed and became overwhelmingly angry at someone for being a coward and a liar and taking my friendship and completely sh*tting on it. I was furious. Then I had to go to class, and found that I couldn't concentrate during lecture. No biggie, right? Sometimes I have days like that, when I just space out and can't focus. I was listening most of the time, but not 100% focusing. Then I got really cold suddenly, and had to put on a jacket. I felt kind of sick to my stomach, dizzy, disoriented. It wasn't until after I left class and was walking home that I realized that I was completely dissociated. I was looking at the world through the same eyes as I did a year and a half ago, where everything was there but somehow not real. I'm not sure how to explain it. It was warm and balmy outside, but I was huddled in two jackets and detached from everything. Everything around me seemed to have an extra echo or shadow to it, because it felt like I wasn't really there and observing it first-hand. Pretty classic detachment the way I used to experience it.

The funny thing is that my fury at this dipshit has absolutely nothing to do with my rape or any previous abuse. For all his cowardice and dishonesty, I do believe that he wasn't being an asshole just because I was raped. (He's just a jerk, plain and simple.) My overwhelming, seething rage has nothing to do with the cause of my PTSD, but somehow it still triggers me. Interesting.

I remember reading that extreme emotion, whether related to the trauma or not, can be a trigger for survivors. I'll have to try to find a reference for this. When I find it, I'll edit this post or make a new one.

On a more optimistic note, I've been better overall at controlling my responses to triggers. Lately there have been a lot because I've been around people who remind me of my rapist in little ways, but I've been able to take note of the resemblance, take a deep breath, and control any panic before it spirals out of control. I'm doing better with that.

NOM: Cute!

2009-11-06T01:52:00.000-05:00

As an apology for being too tired to write a substantial post, I bring you oodles and noodles of cuteness.

Yay!

PS- I very much like "Non-sequitur of the Moment" = NOM. That's the prefix from now on. :D

Legal question?

2009-11-06T01:26:00.002-05:00

If anyone has an answer to this, please leave a comment or email me-- I would be much obliged!

Are there liability issues surrounding telling your story? When I was told by an officer of my fraternity not to speak about my rape outside of the house, he later claimed he was doing so in the interest of the house not being sued. (Never mind that that's a load of crap, because after telling me to keep quiet, he continued on to say that if I talked to other people and word got out, our reputation would be ruined and people wouldn't want to come by the house any more and that would be my fault. Anyway.)

What are the legal issues surrounding this? I imagine that verbally telling your story to a friend is fairly safe, but what about writing it down? I am planning to work on spreading this blog, especially on campus*, and so I would like to know if any issues may arise. I will not name specific names, but I do make allusions to real people, places, and events. I chose not to pursue my case through criminal court, so I don't have anything to back up what I say as fact. I spoke to a friend on Wednesday, and he advised me to put a disclaimer on my blog that says that everything here is my opinion or an account of my experiences as I understand them, which clarifies that this is speech and nothing claiming to be fact, which therefore protects me from accusations of libel.

* I love my campus, but people really need to stop turning away and pretending that rape only happens somewhere else to other people. It does happen here, and I will publicly identify myself as a survivor to try to get people to stop denying the problems we have on campus.

Have I covered my bases?

PTSD and Sleep

2009-11-04T03:54:00.003-05:00

(Lately here on my blog I've kind of veered off into personal musings about stuff, and I want to try to bring it back a little to posts about PTSD that might be helpful for other survivors (or people who want to try to understand what a survivor experiences). I remember being so relieved when I first read personal accounts of PTSD because it meant that I wasn't crazy or making things up and that what I was experiencing was legitimate. In this post I talk about the weird relationship I had with sleep (which was a part of my more complicated relationship with time, in general) during the aftermath of my trauma.)

Sleep is complicated. PTSD can affect sleep habits in several different ways; most often, survivors of a traumatic event have problems falling asleep. A fact sheet by the National Center for PTSD lists several reasons for this, including hyperalertness, physical medical problems (e.g. chronic pain, stomach problems), intrusive worries and thoughts, drug or alcohol abuse, and nightmares.

For the first few months after my trauma, I became nocturnal because I was unable or afraid to sleep. Then I had an abrupt reversal and started to seek sleep to comfort myself, pass the time, and hide from the rest of the world. It has taken me over a year to reach a happy medium without the use of sleep-inducing medication.

(That was the short version of this post. The elaborated version is below.)

I've had a love-hate relationship with sleep since middle school, when I first got internet access at my house. I slept six hours a night in high school and the first two years of college. Then I transferred to my current college, met more people, met more people who stayed up later, and began to stay up much later myself. I had terms where three to four hours a night was normal and five was excellent. Then I had a term with weekly all-nighters, which happened to be when I was first starting to un-repress memories of an abusive relationship, and everything started to spiral downhill. When the incident happened in March of 2009, that was it-- sleep and I were officially at odds with each other.

It happened in the wee hours of the morning, around 5 AM. I stayed up until 8 AM talking about it to a friend, and I was finally so exhausted and worn out that I changed clothes, crawled into bed, and fell asleep for a few hours. It wasn't until the next night that the shock and exhaustion began to wear off and the PTSD symptoms started to set in. I was jumping at the slightest sound, coming to full alertness bordering on wild panic at every little movement or noise. When I tried to sleep that night, the plant on my windowsill rustled and I froze; after that, I couldn't calm down, so I had to leave my room and go downstairs to be in the light with people I knew and felt safe with.

My relationship with sleep became erratic. In the months before the incident, when I was already wading through murky and sometimes severe depression, I had begun to use sleeping as a method of fighting off severe depressive episodes-- my rationale was that if I couldn't be happy, I might as well be comfortable. I would huddle in my bed with my stuffed dog and stare at the wall or cry until I fell asleep. Things were usually better when I woke up two hours later.

However, after I was raped, nighttime terrified me. As my friends began to drift off in search of their beds around midnight or so, I busied myself making sure I had plenty of diversions for the night-- usually novels and movies to pass the time and keep myself entertained or at the very least occupied. Around 1 AM, I would turn on all the lights in my room and settle in for the quiet hours, as I called them. If I was well-prepared for the night, I actually enjoyed it-- there was something about the peacefulness of the seemingly endless night that soothed me. I felt like I could somehow stay this way forever and ward off the coming of the next day. When the sun finally came up around 7 AM, the vague notion of sleep would make its first pass through my mind, and I would finally allow myself to drift off between 7-9 AM. I would then wake up around 4-5 PM and pass the time playing spider solitaire on my laptop until a friend of mine (who was absolutely instrumental in taking care of me and to whom I absolutely owe my sanity) left work and came to find me.

I think my problems with sleep were inextricably linked to my disorientation and lost sense of time. For about three months after my rape, it felt like time had stopped completely for me. I'm not sure how to explain it-- I felt frozen, stuck in the moment, unable to move on with my life. After the first week, it became clear to me that everyone else's lives were still moving forward, and it was extremely disorienting to watch that while I myself was incapable of basic things like eating and sleeping. I honestly don't remember most of those three months. I remember certain specific events, like going to the police station and the hospital and meeting with my dean, and I remember one night when I watched Sense and Sensibility and read Crown Duel/Court Duel by Sherwood Smith, and actually felt completely content. Otherwise, I have no idea how I spent those three months. This would have been my senior spring, my last term as an undergraduate, and I don't remember how I spent most of it. I don't know where those three months of my life went.

My sleep schedule started to fix itself when I became closer to the friend I mentioned previously. We began to sleep together (platonically, just sleep) in the TV room downstairs. Since he had a job with normal hours, he had some semblance of a sleep schedule, and I kind of went along with it. It became a ritual to watch Star Trek then fall asleep. I think not sleeping alone helped a lot, because I could be comforted when I had nightmares or woke up tensed in fear of some unknown thing.

In May we started officially dating. I got a small part-time job for the summer in the afternoons everyday. I would wake up around 9:30 when he left for work, then go back to sleep until 1 PM, wake up, eat lunch, go to work, then meet back up with him at 5 PM. Sleep became less frightening and anxiety-ridden, and I soon grew to see it as comforting.

After a few especially severe depressive/suicidal episodes at the beginning of the summer, my therapist recommended that I see a psychiatrist about medication. She put me on Zoloft, and I suddenly started wanting to sleep 12+ hours a day. I'd come home from work and want to fall asleep right after dinner. Sometimes I would go to sleep at 8 PM or 9PM -- absolutely unheard of since early elementary school. In the fall I got a part-time job with more hours. I became obsessed with sleep, anxious that I wouldn't get enough, afraid that I would be tired the next day. I was convinced that sleep was The Most Important Thing In The World, the be-all-end-all of, well, everything.

Suddenly I started having a hard time falling asleep. Panicked, I got a prescription for Ambien from my psychiatrist. I took one pill religiously every night, my anxiety abated, and I was finally able to sleep. On hindsight, I see now that my trouble falling asleep was probably because I was so anxious about not being able to fall asleep. (Productive cycle, no?) I've always been pretty good about drifting off within a few minutes of my head hitting the pillow, so it wasn't actual biological insomnia; it was the fear of being tired the next day that caused me so much anxiety that I was unable to fall asleep. And so I turned to the idea of the little pill-- importantly, not necessarily the pill itself, just the idea of it-- to soothe myself and allow myself to fall asleep. I couldn't-- or wouldn't?-- sleep without taking the pill.

I took Ambien every night for almost a year. I had some notably terrifying nightmares, but oddly enough, none of the actual rape itself. I had one horrifically violent dream that I could not get out of my head for days, another that played like a movie with an acquaintance-rape scenario starring yours truly, but most of my nightmares were about the aftermath and people's harsh, hurtful reactions. Those I woke up sobbing to, countless times over the course of the year.

Finally, the moment I'd been waiting for came-- I was going to return to classes to finish what was left of my degree. Oddly enough, it was my parents who convinced me to try sleeping without Ambien, and through the most unexpected way: my mom told me about her college years and convinced me that college was more flexible than work, so I could sleep when I needed to. She told me that if I couldn't fall asleep at night, I could wake up and read or play games or amuse myself somehow, and sleep later during the day when I was tired. She finally impressed upon me that sleep was not the be-all-end-all of college, and so one night I tried sleeping without taking Ambien. Lo and behold-- it was exactly the same as sleeping with it. I had absolutely no problem falling asleep once I convinced myself that it was okay if I couldn't.

Since then sleep and I have reached a truce of sorts. I now try to sleep nine hours a night if I can (I usually end up getting six to seven and napping once during the day). I have been off Ambien since the beginning of the summer. I'm actually working on lowering the dosage of my SSRI too, so eventually I will be able to stand on my own two feet again without medication. Despite the complicated relationship I've had with sleep (yes, reference to Facebook silliness fully intended), we seem to be doing okay now.

And we plan to live happily ever after.

The End!

"Hey, er, sweetie? I have something I want to tell you..."

2009-11-02T20:02:00.001-05:00

The topic of this post was suggested to me by a friend. (Thank you!) It's a follow-up to my How To Tell A Friend post.

How Do You Tell A [Potential] Significant Other?

When do you tell him/her? What do you say? What reactions should you look for? How much can you expect?

The worries are endless. This is trickier than telling a friend, because on the one hand, you want to make this all work out and you hope your [potential] significant other will be fine with it, but on the other, you want to figure out right then and there if s/he is actually comfortable with it-- no self-delusion here. As sad as I would be if someone I was interested in decided he wasn't comfortable with me because of my passion for survivor advocacy, I would rather know now than be more hurt later on, because that's a part of who I am and I won't give it up. If someone rejects my friendship because of it, I would probably judge them for it, but I do try to understand and accept that not every guy is going to be the right kind of caring, interest, and support for me, and so he and I might just be better off as friends. The bar is higher for a relationship, and this is one test for you to see if s/he passes.

So, I'll be honest here-- I've only ever had to do this once, and I was so nervous about it that I wrote out a little script for myself. Let's start with that:

There's something about me that I want to share with you. Some of this you might have deduced from earlier conversations with me. You know that I took a year and half off, right? Part of the reason was that I needed to figure out what I wanted to do with my life, and so I went out to work and explore different fields. I was also really burnt out from classes. But the main reason I went on leave my senior spring was for post-traumatic stress disorder-- for several instances of rape and coercion in my earlier college years, and the one final time my senior spring that set it all off.

I don't want to burden you with more information than you want to hear, but I am willing to share some of the details if you want to know. I am not ashamed of what happened to me, and I am willing to talk about it. I understand that this makes some people uncomfortable, though. This is why I wanted to tell you now, so you know, and so you can decide if you're still comfortable with me. I won't judge you or be upset with you if you're not. It's all right.

(Why would anyone be uncomfortable with me because of this, you ask? For some people, it's because they still believe myths about rape. Some people would feel like I wanted it, or enjoyed it, or deserved it. For others, it's because now I'm somehow sullied or tainted. But for many, it's just a general sense of discomfort, that somehow I remind them that anyone could be a victim of assault. I certainly talk about the issues of rape and sexual assault a great deal; it's become a passion of mine, and I am not ashamed of what happened to me. This makes some people uncomfortable.)

So I guess this is what I want to say: if this affects our friendship, I will be a little hurt. But I would understand if you would rather just be friends and not something more, because this is an important issue in my life. For what it's worth, I like you, and I'd like to see where this goes, but I wanted to tell you this now, so you can make a decision about whether or not you're still comfortable with me, now that you know this. If you have any doubts, better you acknowledge them now rather than later.

If you need some time to think about this, that's fine. I'll give you space until you decide you'd like to discuss it.

That general script worked out fine for me, I think, because he had already guessed to some degree. I talk about the issue of sexual assault and rape culture and PTSD a lot. To my friends, definitely, but in particular to anyone I'm interested in being more than friends with. I'm not sure if I do this on purpose or if I do it just because my passion about this spills over into everything (and sometimes I talk a lot), but it kind of primes them for The Talk, I guess? It's like testing the waters. If they seem okay with it from brief mentions and allusions, then I'll step it up a little more, then finally actually sit down with them and talk.

(Side note: It makes having this blog a little awkward, actually. It's my major project right now, so I like to talk to my friends about how things are going with it, but I try to make sure people know my story before they find this so they can hear it first from me and not just get overwhelmed by me doing nothing but talking about it here. While I do try to find the right time to tell friends, it's not something I stress about as much as trying to figure out the Opportune Moment to tell someone I'm interested in.)

So, yes, I don't really have great answers to all the questions at the beginning, because I've only ever had to do this once (and things with him didn't work out soon afterward for various reasons, so I don't even really have long-term feedback and success evaluation). I think the only tidbit I picked up from my one experience is that it's a good idea to try to test the waters little by little to see how your [potential] significant other responds, and then if things look good, talk to him/her towards the beginning of the relationship. You don't have to spill your guts, but at least put the notion in his/her head that a) this is a major part of your life and who you are; b) you are not ashamed of it because you shouldn't be; and c) it's up to him/her to adapt and respond appropriately. The ball's in their court now.

Thoughts?

Non-sequitur of the moment (NOM?)

2009-11-02T03:28:00.002-05:00

~~I am going to beat the next person who~~

Ahem.

Pet peeve as a sociolinguist: propagation of the "the Eskimo language has 50/200/1000/etc. words for snow" myth.

1) There is no such language as "Eskimo." There are a number of Eskimo-Aleut languages.
2a) Franz Boaz, the linguist/anthropologist who started this all, said that there were four distinct roots for snow. Roots, not words. Also four-- where do all these other numbers come from?
2b) Eskimo languages, like many native North American languages, are polysynthetic. Therefore, by the popular definition of "word" (i.e. freestanding set of letters/sounds that is unique), the number of Eskimo words for snow is basically as large as the number of English sentences that can contain "snow."

Bill Bryson, you disappoint me. I will be returning The Mother Tongue to the library tomorrow after having read only the first chapter because you didn't bother to do your research. I will also most likely never read any of your other books because I lost my respect for you as an author. Fail.

Some scattered ponderings on revenge and justification for taking a life

2009-11-01T20:55:00.003-05:00

This past week, I had several assignments due (hence the total absence of updates). One of them was film notes for the movie Dead Man Walking. It's a 1995 award-winning US film, with Susan Sarandon and Sean Penn. Brief summary taken from IMdb:

A caring nun receives a desperate letter from a death row inmate trying to find help to avoid execution for murder. Over the course of the time to the convict's death, the nun begins to show empathy, not only with the pathetic man, but also with the victims and their families. In the end, that nun must decide how she will deal with the paradox of caring for that condemned man while understanding the heinousness of his crimes.

The man was on death row for rape and murder. I decided to write my film notes on the history of capital punishment, to give the readers a little social context for the movie. However, I have not actually seen the film; I borrowed the DVD from the library, and I could have seen the showing here on campus tonight, but I wasn't sure I was ready to see it, not just because of the brutal rape scene(s) in the film, but more because I wasn't sure I could contain my emotions if I felt there was sympathy for the rapist.

I have been thinking a lot about healing, revenge, and the taking of a life lately. It started a while ago with the debate I had about abortion of a pregnancy resulting from rape. Surprisingly, the debate was fairly civil, and it actually got me thinking. I personally believe that women have the right to choose, and that life does not begin immediately at conception. However, I talked to several people who do believe that life begins at conception, and that all life is sacred, and therefore do not support abortion even after rape or incest. At first I was fuming, with smoke coming out of my ears and all that jazz, but after I calmed down and talked to a (for what it's worth, pro-choice) friend online, I began to understand a little more. I have developed a respectful agree-to-disagree stance with the people I debated with, and I emphasize "respectful," because I respect that their views are at least consistent. If they do not support abortion because it is murder, then it's still murder no matter how the pregnancy happened. I disagree with them because of our differing views on when life begins. Fair enough-- agreeing to disagree here works.

That makes me wonder about people who condemn abortion except in the case of rape/incest. They can't be condemning abortion because it's murder, so what are their reasons? The only thing I can think of is that it's a moral judgment against women who choose to have sex when they do not want children. Because rape and incest victims did not have that choice, they are protected from that moral judgment and so abortion is an acceptable option. While of course I agree strongly with that sentiment, I'm frowning at the original moral judgment bit. I don't think laws should be passed to regulate lifestyle choices, and I say this as someone who herself has a hard time not frowning at women who are irresponsible about protection during sex and therefore need to have multiple abortions (does that make me not completely pro-choice? I don't know). While I'm glad that there are people who understand the terrible situation rape and incest victims are in, I'm not sure how I feel about this middle-ground moral judgment situation in general. I admit that I have not had the time to do much reading about this stance, so I apologize in advance if I have made some egregious errors in my reasoning, and I welcome all kinds of explanations and insights if you have any to offer.

Anyway, back to the original topic-- Dead Man Walking. As I was researching the death penalty for my film notes, I of course stumbled upon arguments both for and against capital punishment, in both abstract/moral and pragmatic realms. One thing that struck me and embedded itself in my memory was someone's statement that the death penalty isn't justice-- it's revenge. It's taking someone else's life out of anger for what happened to you or a loved one. So there's abortion--taking the life of a child to try to salvage your own life*-- and then there's the death penalty, taking the life of the perpetrator him/herself. It made me ponder things like revenge and forgiveness.

*assuming you believe that life begins at conception and that you would heal better without carrying the child to term

Lex talionis: "an eye for an eye." This sentiment is often condemned as barbaric, but is it so wrong? Let's say we apply it not one hundred percent literally, and it more or less means revenge of some sort. I'm going to go out on a limb (i.e. my intuition) here and say that most people would not be in support of vigilante justice, the whole taking-matters-into-your-own-hands kind of thing, so the only vehicle of revenge is the state and its judicial system. Is it so wrong to want revenge against someone who has ruined your life or the life of someone you love? If someone steals something, they are fined and/or jailed. If someone commits rape or murder, which I think we would all agree is a more serious crime than theft, why shouldn't they be punished accordingly? I feel like a lot of the anti-capital punishment sentiment is that victims' families are acting selfishly by wanting to take the perpetrator's life in revenge for the life of their lost loved one. Speaking of selfishness, I've been told that I was being selfish by asking someone I used to consider a friend to not make rape jokes to or around me. If that's selfish, I'm not sure that's so bad.

On the flip side of revenge, I began to think about forgiveness. Personally, I guess I've been more inclined to forgive than to continue to hate and condemn. In the first case, in one of my relationships, I realized that his intent was never malicious. While being pressured and coerced and forced into non-consensual acts was damaging to my mental health, time has helped me see that we were both young and terrible at communication, and so I was able to work through my feelings, forgive him, and become friends with him again. In the second case, I will never see the man again. He's not stupid, and I think he knows to keep far away from me or my family. I know it was pre-meditated. He is a terrible person, and I sincerely, fervently hope that the threat of being prosecuted and jailed has scared him into never attempting to rape anyone ever again. However, the combination of time, distance, and therapy has lessened/dulled my anger at him, almost to the point where I don't waste the energy to hate him anymore. He means nothing to me, and therefore is not worth my time or thought.

Which leads me back to two previous posts I've made, where I tried to vent my anger and frustration at former friends/acquaintances of mine whom I do genuinely hate. The man who raped me is far, far away, and does not directly affect me anymore. However, people around me, people who knew me before it happened and still know me and still see me-- it does make me angry that they have so arrogantly dismissed requests for sensitivity. I cannot help but hate them. What does it mean that I have let go of my hate for the rapist but not for these people? I feel like their actions are just as awful. It is precisely because of them that rape culture flourishes and rapists feel free to do as they please. While the public can generally be convinced to condemn a proven rapist, it is almost impossible to ask anyone to hold these other people accountable for their rape-supporting attitudes. Because they are free to express their virulent, harmful views and rarely will anyone confront them about it, these people are just as terrible as the rapists themselves. I am by no means minimizing my utter condemnation of rapists-- I am saying that I think more people should be held accountable for the frightening rape culture that exists in America and so many other parts of the world today.

I wish I had a profound conclusion to put here that would tie everything together, but I don't. :-( All I have to offer is my set of scattered thoughts. I do apologize for not having structured my post terribly well. I think I touched upon a couple issues that I'd like to elaborate on in future posts.

I should also put a disclaimer here that my views on abortion and capital punishment should be taken with a grain of salt, because I am writing as a woman who thankfully has never had to request an abortion, as a survivor who chose not to pursue charges through criminal court, and especially as a college student who has not had the time to thoroughly research any of these issues. *sheepish look*

Directness or Indirectness When Approaching a Friend in an Abusive Relationship?

2009-10-21T18:10:00.001-04:00

I just came out of a discussion group on relationship abuse and domestic violence. I'm mulling over some of the different things we talked about, like subtle signs of abuse and how to approach a friend, especially if s/he is still not quite at the stage to be able to recognize the warning signs him/herself. A lot of what I heard from the other students in the group is that it's really important to be careful when talking to your friend, because they may not want to hear it, or they may need to come to the conclusion that what they're in is unhealthy by themselves. Most people suggested bringing things up casually, and not actually saying what you're noticing or worried about outright. The name of the game seemed to be casual indirectness.

I'm not sure I agree with this. I think my own personal experience with two different abusive relationships has significantly clouded my views, though. In my first unhealthy relationship, the main element was isolation. Even when I discovered for myself that things were not okay, I didn't have anyone to talk to. I fell into severe depression, and I repressed every instance of sexual coercion until I could even begin to think about it a year later. I desperately wanted someone to notice and to talk to me, to reach out to me first and confirm my growing suspicions and dread, but I was so isolated that I figured no one approached me because no one knew. However, in the second abusive relationship I was in, I know people knew. The walls in my fraternity house are very thin, and there was enough screaming and crying and door slamming that there was no way the people around me could not know. But still, no one ever approached me, no one ever asked me if I was okay. There were people I had superficial "Hi, how are you?"/"Great, thanks!" relationships with who had to have known but never ever showed signs that they noticed or cared. That, I think, was what kept me in that painful relationship for so long-- the conviction that I had no one to turn to even if I left.

The rampant, wrenching self-doubt that pervades a victim of relationship violence is most enabled by other people's indifference. In both of my situations, I needed someone to approach me and say that they noticed, they cared, and most importantly, that the situation I was in was unhealthy, abusive, and not okay. It's not because I didn't know that I was in a bad situation; I'm a smart person who has read the literature and gotten the same talk as you did in middle school health class. Many people who end up in abusive situations are smart people who know, deep-down, that something is wrong. It might actually be their intelligence that binds them, because it suppresses their gut instinct, that little voice that tells them something is wrong, and causes them to rely on external validation. (Think scientific method, think burden of proof, think of all those things you learn in school. Education taught you to doubt what you think instinctively or what you're told until you receive absolute proof.)

Reading those lists of warning signs is usually not enough. Receiving general information about relationship abuse doesn't prepare you to diagnose yourself or find the strength to help yourself. Making that jump from a theoretical abusive situation to the one right in front of your eyes is one of the hardest things for an emotionally exhausted person to do. Even in what seems like the most clear-cut case to me now-- like the night when I was raped-- I needed someone to tell me it was rape for me to even try to begin feeling okay with believing it. I wanted so desperately to be able to call it rape, to put a name on it and to begin to distance myself from something I could identify as not my fault, but I needed someone else's input. I needed someone to agree with what the little voice in my mind was telling me. I just needed to hear it from someone, to have that particular combination of "I care enough to approach you" and "I notice too; you're not just making it all up."

Is that weird? Is wanting someone to come in and echo your thoughts, to be your mirror and your support, the exception instead of the norm? As I listened to these other students discuss ways to beat around the bush with a friend who is involved in something clearly unhealthy, I couldn't help but wonder why no one advocated being straightforward and calling it what it was. It definitely depends on the person-- I can see how some people might react with defensiveness-- but there are people who need to hear it from someone else to have the strength to take action for themselves. Please remember that these people do exist.

I wish I could describe how to tell if someone is like that. It breaks my heart to think there might be someone out there who is stuck and feeling helpless and wondering if people really can't see. I guess the best I can do is to say that if you're trying to decide whether to approach someone and ask if they're okay, do it. Maybe you're afraid that your friend might lash out defensively and stop talking to you; that's a legitimate concern, and sure, some people might do that, but please don't let that stop you from trying, because there are people out there who hope someone will take that first step and talk to them. It can be intimidating to try to talk to someone, and you might feel like you don't know the right thing to say, but as long as you're supportive and nonjudgmental, it's always helpful to know that someone notices and cares.

Suicide Prevention Training Workshop Post, Part 2

2009-10-19T22:36:00.002-04:00

I was thinking about this downstairs as I tried to clear my mind while separating pumpkin seeds from pumpkin innards. I guess this is what I wanted to say in the last post, in case it wasn't clear:

If you feel suicidal, I'm sorry.
I hope you get the help you deserve;
I do care.
I want to try to do as much as I can to help, but I'm not perfect,
Just well-intentioned.

If I don't notice,
I'm sorry.
Sometimes I notice that you're depressed but I don't know what to do;
I'm sorry.
Sometimes I notice you're depressed when I'm also depressed, and I don't have the emotional energy to do much more than just keep myself functioning;
I'm sorry.

Sometimes I can relate to you and your pain;

I'm sorry that you're going through this.

Sometimes I can't relate to your pain;

I'm just as sorry that you're going through this.

Sometimes I say the wrong thing;
I'm sorry.
Sometimes I can only look on helplessly, giving you the half-smile-half-grimace of sympathy like this :-/ ;
I'm sorry.
When you're feeling sad, or hopeless, or lost,
I really am sorry.

I do want to try to help,
But I don't always know;
I don't always know the perfect thing to do;
I don't always know what will make you better.
But please know that I care.
I appreciate you, and
My life would be emptier without you.

Brushes with suicide and how to try to help someone

2009-10-19T20:05:00.003-04:00

Earlier this afternoon, some friends and I went to a one-hour-long Suicide Prevention Training Workshop by the QPR Institute. I went for a number of reasons, even though I knew I might be triggered. I went because I wanted to learn something new, something I couldn't just pick up from reading a webpage or a pamphlet. I also went because I wanted to see what they would try to teach the participants about noticing warning signs and helping someone who is contemplating ending their life. I wanted to see what people are being told about suicide prevention, these people that I, or you, or someone else, may one day turn to in a time of need.

I was disappointed. The presentation was boring, dry, and all typed up on a powerpoint, and I felt like it served to perpetuate the feeling that suicide is still just a theoretical problem. The model was Question, Persuade, Refer (QPR): ask someone if they are suicidal, persuade them to hang on, and refer them to someone better trained to handle these situations, e.g. a counselor. Sounds great, right? It's the perfect model to use to teach well-intentioned but clueless people because it sounds so neat and effective.

I went through a period of my life where I contemplated suicide somewhat regularly. It was always impulsive, in a situation of extreme emotional pain when I simply didn't know how to continue and just wanted to stop existing. Only once did I ever go so far as to plan out and begin to write a suicide note and seriously consider taking pills; that was the day my previous therapist told me I was using my rape as an excuse to not follow her strict treatment regiment for Borderline Personality Disorder (which is what she had diagnosed me with). Let's take a trip down memory lane...

This was one month after I was raped my senior spring. I kept wanting to talk about it with my therapist at the time, but she kept pushing the discussion back to breathing exercises and meditation (a Zen-based treatment for BPD, I guess?). When I tried to explain that I didn't think these exercises were working, she told me it was because I wasn't trying hard enough. She chastised me and voiced her disapproval at what she saw as stubbornness or laziness. I left her office both angry and depressed, oscillating between feeling outraged that my therapist would turn such a deaf ear to what I needed to say and feeling like a complete failure.

I returned to my fraternity house crying; no one noticed. I went up to my room and just sat there. I don't remember how I passed the next few hours-- sleeping, crying, staring at the wall, curled up under the covers, I honestly don't remember. Then a close friend of mine, someone I trusted and cared about and liked as more than a friend, came home from work, and came up to see me. He was exhausted because he'd been staying up late with me a lot but he had a regular job so the lack of sleep was getting to him. I remember being quieter than usual. I had stopped crying and raging because I had reached the absolute limit and was writing out a suicide note in my head. It calmed me, and I felt myself being lifted out of my depression a little; it was almost like there was hope, after all, because it would be all over soon. This friend of mine, we'll call him Z*, was hanging out with me in my room, clearly exhausted, and I was telling him he could just sleep in my room, that I would be fine. Somehow, though, he realized that something was terribly, terribly wrong, without me saying much at all, and he basically kidnapped me on my way back from the bathroom, rushed me out the door to put me in his car, and took me for a drive. Later during what ended up being a meandering several-hours-long drive, I opened up to him a little about what had happened with my therapist earlier that day. It felt timeless, somehow, like he had all the time in the world to spend with me and hear me and help me, so I trusted him. He saved my life.

That experience will always stay with me. I was depressed a lot during that spring and summer, but somehow, the one day when I needed it most, he knew pretty much exactly what to do. However, I cannot count on someone always recognizing the signs in me, and I cannot count on instinctively knowing how to help someone else. I only feel confident in my ability to help someone when I can relate to them, when they seem to be a mirror image of my past self somehow. When I see someone crying, or seriously depressed in the silent, somber, detached kind of way, I reach back into the depths of my own experience and try to do for them what I wish someone had done for me. When I read posts on the Pandora's Aquarium message board by survivors reaching out for help, I try to be as supportive as I can, and I write what I wish someone had said to me. While still shaky and not quite 100% healed myself, sometimes I can use what I have gone through to try to help others.

However, I am completely at a loss when someone doesn't react to sadness and hopelessness like I do. I don't know how to handle bitter anger. I don't know how to handle intellectually depressed people, i.e. people who lead you on philosophical or psychological debates when you try to help them. I don't know how to handle people in strong denial. I don't know how to talk to someone who intimidates me because they've helped me before so I feel like I'm their subordinate so who am I to try to help them? I am afraid to talk to people because my emotional capacity to empathize shrank so abruptly when I got hit by a truck, also known as PTSD, and I haven't quite regained it all yet. I remember being terrified one day last spring when someone was sitting in the chapter room, obviously sad, and I went to talk to them, not because I could really empathize and feel their pain and really want to help, but because I knew I used to be able to empathize and I knew what I would have done in the past and I knew what as a friend I was supposed to do. My ability to take on other people's pain had disappeared, and I felt awful, like I was somehow fake or cold or not quite a person anymore.

I think I've wandered off the track in this post, and I'm trying to figure out where this was all supposed to lead. I guess I wanted to reflect on how the QPR training session I went to brought back all these memories and how the prescribed method in the training session felt so contrived and unhelpful to me today. Personally, the resource I have found most helpful has been this page. I've linked to it before, in the post I wrote to try to help anyone thinking about suicide. I don't know if it will work for everyone, but that is the model I will try to follow if I ever have to help someone who is contemplating suicide.

I'm kind of emotionally drained right now. When I was planning this blog post on the walk home, I had so many ideas about what to say and where to go with it, but I've lost them. I didn't have enough time after the workshop to think about it and debrief with myself and my blog before I had to go to another meeting, where the tone was completely different and I had to put aside all those feelings because everything was lighthearted and not at all about depression and suicide.

I'm feeling really lost right now. I might have to just post this now and return to this topic later.

(To be continued...?)

"Hey-- I have something I want to tell you..."

2009-10-15T22:12:00.005-04:00

Dear Readers,

I have a dilemma. When I become closer to new friends I make, I want to tell them about this part of my life. I want to share my story with them and help them see why this is an issue I am so passionate about.

I, however, am awkward. :(

I don't really know the best way to tell people. I feel like this isn't something I should just blurt out, so I try to preface it with "I have something I want to share with you." Isn't that an awkward phrase, in all its incarnations? I certainly think so. It's even worse if it's a set-up meeting, like if I email someone to say "I'd like to sit down and talk with you at some point." And then we meet up, and maybe they follow me somewhere, and they sit down awkwardly, wondering why kind of bad news this might be. To make matters worse, I'm usually never upset when I tell people-- I'm usually in a very calm, normal, even cheerful kind of mood. How's that for cognitive dissonance?

So what I've been doing lately is starting by asking if they remember how I took a year and a half off during my senior year. They pretty much all do, since I'm, y'know, a member of the class of 2008. The reason I've always given to people at first is that I was burnt out and having a change of heart with what I wanted to do after I graduated so I took some time off to work and get re-energized and re-organized. And so now I tell them that I also took the time off for medical leave, for post-traumatic stress disorder. This is usually when I start to see a look of increasing cognition in their eyes, the knowledge that I'm about to reveal something awful that happened to me at some point. And that's when I say I was raped. I usually only mention the occurrence my senior spring; I used to tell people it wasn't the first time, that I've been sexually assaulted in the context of a relationship before, but I've stopped doing so for several reasons: I've forgiven him, because I understand that it wasn't malicious, and because it doesn't usually help with the inherent uncomfortableness of telling someone to add an "And by the way, that wasn't the first time..."

So yeah. Now there's an awkward silence. There's always an awkward silence. This is when I add that it happened at my fraternity house, by a brother of my own fraternity. Aaaaand then I run out of things to say, so I fidget, and feel bad that I'm saying this all so matter-of-factly, and I muse about how it would probably have been easier had I been crying or somehow visibly upset because then they can give me a hug and not feel so awkward and useless as they stand there and try to figure out how to react.

For me, it's like telling someone about some events that happened at some point to someone-- not even really a story, because when I tell stories, I usually try to project and inflect and use my tone and body language to convey nuances of the story that my words overlook. But I don't know what nuances there are in this story, in my story. There is an event. There are some additional details. And there is awkward silence. What else is there? What more can I add? What else can I say?

I feel like I'm going about and doing this all wrong. Maybe I shouldn't make it so scripted, so set apart from the happenings of daily life. Maybe I shouldn't make a distinct decision to tell them at all, and just say it when it feels right. But I don't think there will ever be an appropriate moment to just suddenly inform someone that I was raped, at least not in any way that isn't antagonistic-- e.g. if someone makes a particularly tasteless rape joke and I feel like smashing the mood and grinding it to pieces beneath my heavy black femmenazi steel-toed boots. I just don't know. This is something I want to share with people. This is something I want them to know so they can be conscious of not just what I'm dealing with but really more of the issue in general. I want them to realize that rape is not something that happens somewhere out there to other people, not something that befalls women who may or may not have deserved it, not something that is wielded about gratuitously by angry butch feminists who burn bras and threaten to topple male society. Rape is real, and it does happen to people you know. That is part of what I want to say.

But they, these people I am telling, they are my friends. Most of them will be as sensitive and caring as they know how to be; they don't deserve to be the full target of my anger at other people who insist on denying and disbelieving. I feel like there has to be a way for me to drop the weight of this revelation on them without crushing them unduly. How can I make this a dialogue? How can I tell my story but also invite them to share their thoughts and impressions with me?

One thing I learned recently is that a reason TMI ("too much information") makes conversations so awkward is that the receiver of the information feels compelled to reciprocate. It puts the listener on the spot, and that's not my intention at all. To address this, what I've been doing is wringing my hands awkwardly and trying, haltingly, to reassure them that they don't need to reveal something of equal magnitude to me, that they don't have to reveal anything at all. And then they look like they feel bad because they're listening but they don't know what to say, and I feel helpless because I don't know how to fix this situation.

I always wonder what they're thinking when I tell them. I'm sure many factors come into play, such as how out of the blue this conversation was, how well they know me, how much they've already guessed. I always wonder how odd it is for them to hear this from someone who is so calm and detached from their words, from someone who doesn't herself understand why telling people has become an emotionless recitation of short sentences and a puzzling array of silences around which to navigate. I don't know where my emotions are. I don't know if they are buried or simply not there. Maybe last year I cleaned the store all out and it hasn't restocked. Sometimes I think about crying, but I can't, because it's not thinking about the event anymore that makes me sad or angry or any kind of emotional (other than panicky, sometimes). It's thinking about the aftermath, and that's a can of worms I try not to open up on the first date with someone who didn't realize what they were getting into when they agreed to listen to me. Whenever I talk about the aftermath, the emotions bubble up and out and overflow everywhere, into my words, my voice, my tears, but it's like a floodgate opening, all at once and sudden and intensely drowning. But not the telling of the events of March 25-26. I don't have the emotions for those; I lost the tape for the audio book and can only show you the pictures and sentences on the page.

How can I make this better? Believe it or not, this is not a rhetorical question-- I do want your input. If I told you about this in person, do you remember how I did it? Is there anything I could have said or done to make it less awkward? Could I have made it more of a dialogue between us somehow? If I never had the chance to tell you in person and you found out through some online means, can you imagine a conversation we might have that would work out well?

Now that it's been a year and a half later, I'm not just telling people because I need an outlet to share my pain. I want to tell people so they understand my intense drive to try to fix the world for rape survivors. I want to tell people so I can show them this blog and ask them to show others to spread the word. I want to tell people because this is part of who I am and I am not ashamed of it. There's so much I want that I don't know how to achieve. Please share some insight with me-- I'd appreciate it!

Sincerely,
Awkward in Amsterdam
(...except I'm not really in Amsterdam.)

Once Upon A Time, There Was A Bully.

2009-10-15T04:29:00.002-04:00

There's someone I hate more than the man who raped me. This person has done his very best to insult and degrade me each time I've had to tell him about the traumas I've been through. He was in a position of power over me each time-- once as a significant other, once as an officer of the fraternity to which we both belonged. He has spouted every kind of vitriol ranging from accusing me of liking it to asking me if it was "really rape, not like the last time" which was also rape, just one he didn't believe, to telling me to keep quiet because if word that a rape occurred in our fraternity, it would ruin our reputation on campus and no one would want to come to our house anymore.

I remember that conversation well. It was a conversation I was forced to have, as he wielded his officership over me and demanded to know what had happened. His words bit deep into my memory, reminding me of the traumatic few days that followed the rape. I vividly remember the tears of anger and frustration that stung my eyes as he lounged so nonchalantly, so arrogantly in the chair across from me. I remember telling myself that he and I have a rocky history, that he despises me-- a fact that he declares publicly to anyone who cares to listen-- which means that I shouldn't take his words to heart, but I can't help it, and the words sink in anyway.

Over the course of the next few months, my fraternity does nothing to prove him wrong or hold him accountable as an officer for trying to silence a rape victim. When I'm not crying my heart out in pain or lost and dissociated for hours on end, I seethe and I rage at the apathy that has alienated me so. In many respects he represents all that was wrong with how my fraternity handled the situation, and even much of what is wrong in the world. Victim-blaming, victim-shaming, ignorance, and the arrogance to believe he is always right-- these are the very seeds that sow rape-culture.

I cannot think of him without the strongest mental repulsion, stronger than that against thoughts about my rape or my rapist himself. I still see him because he is still here. We tend to ignore each other as much as possible. However, today he said something so dismissive and minimizing of my story that the dam broke and my pent up rage abruptly came back. So I did the unthinkable: I informed him that I wanted to speak to him.

I confronted him tonight. I told him how it was absolutely not okay to tell a rape victim to not share her story because it would ruin the reputation of the house. The same faint sneer I am so used to seeing appeared on his face, his expression of total indifference. His claim was that he was thinking solely of legal liability and being sued by the rapist. Yeah, right-- that's total bullshit, because his words to me a year and a half ago were that if news of this got out on campus, people would no longer come by our house and we as a fraternity would be ruined.

He claims he was acting as a high-ranking officer in the house and doing what he thought was appropriate. But I confronted him about his well-publicized dislike (or rather, "completely lack of respect," as I have the honor of being one of the few people he says he has ever lost respect for in his life) of me, and if he would have acted differently had the survivor not been me. His answer? Yes. So first he claims to be acting as an officer of the house, but then admits that it was really about his personal feelings about me. Fantastic! So I informed him that I was glad he would not be so misogynistic against other women and he stalked out of the room.

I was intensely riled up after that fail of a conversation. I raged and I cried and I dug my nails so hard into my palm that I left angry red crescents in my skin. I don't know exactly what it is that bothers me-- the immaturity, the arrogance, the refusal to believe any part of his belief is wrong, the injustice of it all. He actively despises me, a fact I have been informed of repeatedly by his royal highness himself, and has pretty much done everything he can to bully me, guilt me, and hurt me. I absolutely hate him more than I hate the man who raped me. Somehow, though, he remains a welcome member in the house with whom my friends interact on a regular basis. He saves his vitriol only for me, in such a way that no one really believes me or cares enough to intervene. When I vent to them, one moment people are nodding sympathetically, and the next they are conversing friendlily with him.

I feel alienated, even more so than when I was struggling through my intense PTSD last year. People were genuinely sympathetic then, and they shared my anger and hatred of my rapist. It was too easy to hate the man who raped me, as he was someone people were prone to disliking anyway for his personality and prior behavior, someone who lived in another state and would never come back. People united behind hating my rapist; that was the extent of the effort they were willing to put into supporting me. But asking them to judge a current brother of the house for his behavior was too much for me to ask, apparently.

And so I try to deal with my frustration on my own. I don't understand how to handle this; I don't understand how to let this go.

Abortion Of A Pregnancy Resulting From Rape

2009-10-14T02:36:00.000-04:00

This video was posted on Facebook by someone I knew growing up. (For what it's worth, she is devoutly Christian, married, and pregnant.)

This video made me sputter and flail angrily.

Great. So after that fantastically guilt-trippy wank about "not making the child a victim," a woman in that audience is totally going to go talk to the pastor about how her life was just ruined by a man. Rape is a crime of power, and clearly being guilt-tripped by someone you trust into keeping a child you never wanted from a man you didn't want to be involved with as a reminder of something you never asked for is a GOOD IDEA.

*slow clap* Wow. Giant massive idiot wankery. I like how he framed his entire answer in lots of fluffy "but I really actually care about your feelings!"

It's late, I have an exam tomorrow morning, and so I should go to bed, but this is the first of probably several posts that will express my HULK SMASHY RAGE over this. I will try to be more coherent and less sputteringly angry in the future.

Song: "Remember The Tinman" -- Tracy Chapman

2009-10-13T13:23:00.000-04:00

A little bittersweet, touching, ultimately empowering? Not triggering.

There are locks on the doors
And chains stretched across all the entries to the inside
There's a gate and a fence
And bars to protect from only God knows what lurks outside
Who stole your heart left you with a space
That no one and nothing can fill
Who stole your heart
Who took it away
Knowing that without it you can't live
Who took away the part so essential to the whole
Left you a hollow body
Skin and bone
What robber what thief who stole your heart and the key
Who stole your heart
The smile from your face
The innocence
The light from your eyes
...
But still all sentiment is gone
But still you have no trust in no one
If you can tear down the walls
Throw your armor away remove all roadblocks barricades
If you can forget there are bandits and dragons to slay
And don't forget that you defend an empty space
And remember the tinman
Found he had what he thought he lacked
Remember the tinman
Go find your heart and take it back
Who stole your heart
Maybe no one can say
One day you will find it I pray

Song: "Stronger" -- Sugababes

2009-10-12T20:07:00.004-04:00

Empowering song about strength and moving on; not triggering.

Sometimes I feel so down and out
Like emotion that's been captured in a maze
I had my ups and downs
Trials and tribulations,
I overcome it day by day,
Feeling good and almost powerful
A new me, that's what I'm looking for...

Rape Jokes, Part 2 -- aka Women Are Not Always Right

2009-10-12T15:11:00.005-04:00

Here's something that's been bugging me lately: people's responses to being asked to not make rape jokes.

Rape Jokes, Part 2: What To Do When Someone Thinks They Made A Funny

aka Women Are Not Always Right

Fugitivus has a brilliant post on this here. First, let's take a look at some of the options of the listener when someone else makes a rape joke (edited version of original post):

Say Nothing. Hope the conversation does not continue extolling the virtues of rape, making saying nothing harder. Hate yourself for saying nothing...Have minor flashbacks of what was done to you... Stop enjoying the day. Stop enjoying the company of your friend. Make a mental note to withdraw from others before they can casually, “jokingly” remind you of your rape. Feel bad...Feel angry...Feel alone and angry. Assume bitterly that you will feel this way forever.
Be Edgy! Jump in with some even MORE offensive humor! Run with the rape joke! Make it even more rape-y!...Settle in with the smug knowledge that you are not like those other broken, damaged, traumatized victims. Withdraw from “those” kinds of victims, who might try and drag you down into their hysteria with them. Throw them to the goddamn wolves. Throw your flashbacks to the goddamn wolves. Toast to rape!
Initiate a Very Serious Conversation, out of nowhere, like. Tell your friend that joke was not funny. Tell him rape is never funny. Keep talking after his face has pinched up in resentment and disgust, because you are RUINING his day and his BEER and his FUNNY. You know you are actually ruining his sense of himself as a good and decent person, but you cannot communicate that to him, because he is smug and disengaged, and you are shaking and stuttering and trying to explain the experience of women to a man who has grown up among women, known women, loved women, and somehow doesn’t know this already, which means he doesn’t want to know, doesn’t care. Feel vulnerable. Feel angry that you feel vulnerable. Consider stopping mid-sentence, getting up, and walking away. Promise yourself that after this you will never speak to this friend again. Immediately break the promise, because you know if you don’t, he will tell everybody that you stopped being friends because you are Andrea Dworkin all of a sudden.
Initiate A Very Serious Conversation Version II: Follow version one, except also disclose to your friend (who thinks rape is funny and exciting) that you have been raped. Be surprised, all over again, that this does not immediately change his perspective, the way it changed yours. Realize that to him, rape is conceptual, even when it has really happened, even when it is real. Wonder if he has raped, without knowing it, because it was just a concept. Realize you now wonder this about every man. Are you Andrea Dworkin? Do you have any right to ruin this lovely summer day by dumping your rape on everybody? Did he? After this, will he now tell everybody that you FREAKED OUT just because you were apparently “RAPED” and you can’t GET OVER IT when it was just a JOKE, SERiously? Will everybody know you have been raped? Will everybody think you are a humorless rape-bot from now on? Feel like shit afterwards. Be reminded that you cannot trust anybody, now. Because you were raped. Because you are Andrea Dworkin. Because you didn’t prosecute. The reasons don’t matter anymore; the result is the same. You are Angry About Being Raped, which just compounds the stain of Being Raped. Add in Unable To Take a Joke, and you are officially Female.
Find Some Other Way. Can’t count on this one; sometimes an alternative pops into your head, sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes you manage to say “Rape is funny!” and laugh away in such a sarcastic, biting voice that it communicates everything you wanted to say, and you all move on. Or you do what I did, which was threaten to break my beer bottle on the railing and stab my friend in the fucking neck with it if he didn’t shut his fucking maw. Ha ha! I said. A joke! Not really, man. Ha! Am I kidding? Am I? Fun-nay. The simmering rage remains, the distrust, the wondering if you should speak to this person ever again, the flashbacks. But the day moves forward rather than grinding to a screeching halt.

Yeah. So. In the year and a half following my more overt and openly-acknowledged rape, I have been around several people who have made rape jokes. At first, I was so often shocked that I didn't say anything-- I did option #1, where I sat in silence and fought through my panic and depression and unwanted thoughts and memories and feelings on my own. However, I've started to realize that there's no reason why I can't point out their comments and call them out-- I can damn well tell them that they are being hurtful and I can request that they stop. So I've started doing that.

Some of them apologize for being idiots afterward, and while the apology doesn't stop the flashbacks or unfreeze me from my tense, dissociated state, it at least helps. But. BUT! On to the exciting part-- the people who get all defensive and start attacking me for requesting that they stop! I love these people. </sarcasm>

One day, I was walking back from dinner with a friend who has a habit of making off-color jokes because he likes to make people laugh. Of course, we got on to the topic of rape jokes, and of course, we reached the house before we finished and so the discussion continued on in the chapter room, where several other people were sitting. Keep in mind that everyone involved here knows that I was raped. They have seen me cry, and panic, and write livejournal posts about how f*cked up my life was in the months directly following it when I couldn't put my life back together. They know. So guess what some of their responses are?

Some reactions from people I used to consider my friends after I requested that they not make rape jokes, especially not directed at me (because it's happened! don't you love how sensitive people can be?):

"My high school friends and I made this joke [specifically, "It's not rape if you yell surprise!"] all the time. I think it's funny, and I'm still going to say it if I want to."
Shrug. Look bored and faintly amused at this silly girl who has been raped who thought it would be reasonable to ask you to not make rape jokes because they HURT.
"It's so selfish of you to expect the world to revolve around you."
"What, would you stop making a joke just because it bothers someone?"

To the last one-- yes! In fact, I would! If someone came up to me and politely asked me not to make x kind of joke because it hurt or offended them in some way, I would apologize and do my best to not do so, at the very least not in their presence. And if I slipped up, I would apologize. I would not get defensive and snippy or superciliously dismissive of their request. Because that's just plain rude and ignorant.

I still think about that conversation, and it infuriates me. And you know what? It wasn't even like those comments were made by ignorant, misogynistic men. They were made by women, women I know who claim to be feminists. Women who sneer outright at the possibility that a rape-culture exists, women who make the problem worse. Most of my male friends were supportive, sensitive, and caring to me during the aftermath of my own experience. Not so with many of my female friends.

Needless to say, they are no longer my friends. I found their reactions to be exceedingly repulsive and contemptible-- and I would have felt that way even if it had not been me who had been hurt by their comments, if it had been someone else whose feelings and polite request were so carelessly dismissed and trodden upon. These comments are steeped in undeserved privilege and refusal to acknowledge other people's experiences and feelings. And that makes me angry.

So I guess what I wanted to say in this post was that rape/sexual assault advocates and feminists often seem tied to man-hating and blaming male privilege and male culture, but men are not always the problem. The reason I had such a hard time healing from my own assault was the women in my life who minimized the trauma I lived through and made me feel like shit when I still thought they were my friends.

So, please, if you hear someone make a comment like that, stand up to them, even if the speaker of the comment is female. Being female doesn't automatically provide "get out of jail free" cards for hurtful, ignorant remarks. Call them out on it. And if they try to use their gender as a defense, tell them that's bullshit, because that's what it is.

My Story: Another Post

2009-10-10T04:04:00.003-04:00

This is a post I wrote to help me cope with the PTSD episode I'm fighting right now. It tells more of my story, albeit in a rather disjointed fashion. I wish I could say I came up with a profound conclusion at the end, but no, it's just a long entry with a jumble of thoughts and excerpts from some of my writing.

Sometimes I can't explain it-- I just shut down, sliding away inside myself, feeling dissociated and disoriented and somehow just not here. I feel myself staring blankly into space; I curl up and am silent, lost, sad. Sometimes I'm actually actively thinking about what happened; sometimes it's just a fleeting thought that thrusts me into this haze, this daze. Sometimes it happens, and I withdraw from the world around me.

It's been happening a bunch lately; I've just been...off. Yesterday I was feeling depressed and irritated and suddenly the word "rape" was there, hanging in the air, and that was it-- the doors behind my eyes shut and I had to leave, to go up to my room, where I sat and stared at the wall and couldn't feel anything. Today it was a combination of things, too. So much happened earlier that night, that Friday night last March; it seems so separate from The Event. I started to tell a story tonight-- and people tell this story fairly often-- and then I realized it was That Night, the Same Night, and he was there. Funny how I forget these things. I freeze up when someone else starts to talk about how we were so awesome that time when we went to other houses and stole their pong paddles because our pledges had taken ours hostage in exchange for who-knows-what, I don't remember anymore. But then I start to tell the story, and then midway through I realize where it's going and the words freeze in my mouth and I'm not sure how to continue.

And then there's the shirt. (I seem to focus on items of clothing, don't I?) This summer I found out that my fraternity still has his shirt. There is a social collection of our official shirts, which we call "blues," and I picked one up one day and saw the name "Anvil" in block letters on its back. I dropped the shirt. Later, I told the president about it, and she shrugged at me and pretty much couldn't care less. We still have his official blues. Wtf.

I am disillusioned with my fraternity (point of clarification: it is co-ed, and he and I were both members of this house). I'm not sure I consider it my house anymore. I don't know if I feel safe here. I don't trust half of my brothers. I remember how I had such ideals about being part of a real family-- and then I remembered how shattered I was to find out that their camaraderie and love only extended to mundane superficial everyday things, that people turn away when the proverbial shit hits the fan and you need them.

Maybe I expected too much, but I don't think I did. I don't think it was unreasonable to expect that no one would tell me to keep it a secret to protect the reputation of the house-- but one of my brothers did say that. He told me it would be my fault if word of my rape got out and the reputation of the house was ruined. I don't think it was unreasonable to expect that everyone would tell the truth during the police investigation, even if they were embarrassed by their own actions-- but one of my brothers didn't. The morning after, my rapist confessed to him, and then proceeded on a long ramble about how I was just a drunk and crazy bitch who actually wanted it but then freaked out afterward. My friend, my brother, listened, said nothing, didn't even tell me about it until a few days after I opened up to him about what had happened to me. He said he was embarrassed by his failure to stand up for me; I told him that it was all right, that I just wanted him to tell the truth about what happened that morning to my fraternity and to the police. He didn't. He had the most important testimony because my rapist confessed to him, and he lied to the police and didn't tell them what he told me.

I still feel guilty about not going through with criminal court. I was not the first girl he hurt; I wanted to be the last. I asked myself why I felt unable to go through with pressing charges, and part of the answer was the lack of support and validation I received from my fraternity. For a long time I struggled with my anger at myself and at people I considered my friends. In February, I wrote a piece for the Speak Out event held on campus. This is an excerpt:

Apathy is just as hurtful as direct antagonism, even more so. I wanted so badly to put him behind bars so he wouldn't hurt anyone else. I went to the police. The criminal court system is not exactly gentle and supportive of rape survivors, and I was terrified but determined. I was willing to come forward to testify if it meant he would stop. But if people who were supposed to be my brothers couldn't rouse themselves to care, how would I convince a jury? How could I find the strength to stand up and finally put a serial rapist behind bars?

When I began to read Susan Brison's account of her trauma, one of her sentences rang raw and true to me: “One of the most difficult aspects of my recovery from the assault was the seeming inability of others to remember what had happened.” I have since distanced myself from that frat, but I am still hurt by their equivocation and non-response. I struggled with my pain and self-doubt, recovery always seeming just out of my reach, every time I realized I could no longer count on my friends. I felt alone, alienated, and betrayed, like my friends had abandoned ship at the first sight of stormy clouds.

Perhaps this is an excessively bitter account of the aftermath of my assault. After months of waiting for support, I finally chose to embark along the path to recovery on my own. I could not go through with criminal charges then, but maybe one day I will find the strength and support to do so. I write this to emphasize that support is crucial for a rape survivor, and that looking away isn't just “trying to not rock the boat.” Not only is it hurtful, but it supports the rapist by default. Equivocation and non-response aid and abet him to continue his predatory behavior. Your support and acknowledgment of the crime really does make all the difference. When it happens, please don't turn away.

A few months later, I did end up returning to that fraternity when I returned to student life on campus. A part of me yearned for the illusion that everything was fine, that the most I had to worry in life was homework, that my life just centered around classes and parties and friends. I came back here partly to try to convince myself that I was over it and everything was fine.

The other reason I came back was that I wanted to make a difference. One of the turning points for me was the Take Back the Night march on campus in April. Here is an excerpt from a journal entry I wrote after it:

At the end of the march, a woman I really respect talked about how allies need to take action to deserve that title. Saying you are an ally against rape means nothing if you do nothing. Her words inspired me to think again, to bring back those year-old feelings of bitterness and examine them. I waited for [my fraternity] to come out strong against rape and do everything within its power to make it clear that victims are supported and rapists condemned. I waited. As time went by, I shrank away and began to hide, watching from the sidelines, because when nothing happened, I felt alone. And then I became bitter because everything stopped and life went on as normal for everyone else while I still struggled. I became bitter, and angry, and frustrated. And I have spent a year in this state, speaking to few of my old friends and wielding my anger blindly, flailing, almost.

It hasn't really done anything, though. Maybe that year away was just for me. But it has done nothing to effect change in anyone or anything else, and this is why I feel compelled to come back.

Sure, I have my grievances against [my fraternity], but when I'm not feeling angry at them, I miss them. I miss having a social space and friends. I want to be back there to help kick-start the change I expected from them. Maybe apathy or the desire to forget won't be so overwhelming when rape is no longer just an abstract idea to be denounced, but rather there is a living, breathing reminder of it in their midst. My anger from afar does nothing to help other victims of rape. I'm not sure it even helps me.

It's time for me to look beyond myself and my bitterness. I want to *do* something. Last night's march was a real turning point for me. I am back-- back with a vengeance. *dramatic music plays*

...No, not really, but I am back, at least. I don't expect this to be easy, but I do expect it to be productive. I really want to use my experiences to make a change. And I can't do it alone.

I want to believe that I can make a difference, which is one of the reasons I started this blog. I'm still struggling with my feelings about my fraternity. Tonight we had a Rush event, which is when we try to convince people to join us. I felt so out of place, because I wasn't sure I could honestly tell someone about how cool we are, about how we're a family that takes care of each other. I still attribute much of the intensity and duration of my PTSD to the lack of support and validation I received from said "family." I still wonder if I might have been able to go through with pressing charges if I hadn't felt so alienated and dismissed by people I considered my friends. So many "what if"s, so many "I wonder"s.

I'm not exactly sure what I'm doing here. I really do want to make a difference. I am considering going to grad school to pursue this passion academically, to study post-traumatic stress disorder and the awful epidemic of sexual assault and what people can do to make the world better. But first I need to sort out my own life, my own feelings of guilt and anger and resentment. And I guess here I am, one blog post closer to that goal.

If You Have Just Been Sexually Assaulted

2009-10-09T20:23:00.001-04:00

This post is for anyone who needs help now. (This is one of several posts for crisis support that I will link to on the sidebar for easy reference.)

First, I am so sorry for what you have just endured. You are courageous and strong for having survived it.

Please get to a safe place, away from the person or people who hurt you. Go somewhere you feel safe, whether that is your home, a friend's house, a hospital, or a police station.

Reach out to someone and get help. Contact a trusted friend or family member, or call your local rape crisis center or RAINN (1-800-656-HOPE) to see if a victim's advocate can come help you.

If you can, go to a hospital to be checked for injuries and have evidence gathered. Try not to shower, wash your hands, urinate, change your clothes, etc. I know it's hard to do all that immediately, but it's easiest to have it done early.

You are by no means required to talk to the police. However, if you think you can, it is best to do so as soon as possible because the events are still fresh in your mind. It is your choice whether you want to press charges or not; you can also leave this decision until later. Remember-- you have control again. Do whatever makes you feel most comfortable.

And finally, relax. You've been through a harrowing, traumatic experience, but you are safe now. You've gotten through it. You deserve to feel safe, comfortable, and cared for. Talk to friends, if you want to; watch a happy movie or read a book; curl up in a warm fuzzy blanket; do whatever it is that helps you when you are stressed. When you are ready to take the next step, look into finding a counselor. It will take time, but you can, and will, heal.

Important Things to Remember

It was not your fault. You are not responsible for the actions of others, and it is not your fault that someone decided to hurt you, even if it was someone you knew, even if you didn't scream or fight, even if your rapist told you that you liked it or deserved it, even if you feel like you made bad choices that led up to it, even if you aren't sure what happened to you was "real rape." If you did not consent to it, it was rape, and it is not your fault.

There are people who care. Find a support group or talk to your local rape crisis center. Unfortunately, as you are healing, you may run into people who will not understand or know how to deal with your emotions. Even if they mean well, they may seem cold or hostile. Remember that they do not speak for everyone, and there are people who understand and care.

You can heal. It will take time, but you can heal. You can get through this. Sometimes it will feel like you're getting nowhere or things are getting worse; that is normal. You have lived through a traumatic experience, and what you are feeling is a normal response to an abnormal event. Learn about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder; look into supportive online communities like Pandora's Aquarium (I cannot recommend them enough). Slowly but surely, things will get better.

The next few posts

2009-10-09T19:37:00.000-04:00

This is a placeholder post, just to give you a heads up of what's going on.

I'm starting a series of posts for crisis support (I just posted the first one, re: suicide). I'd like to have one for what to do if you have just been assaulted, what to do if someone you love has just been assaulted, and what to do if you are currently feeling unsafe/anxious/depressed/etc. If you have any ideas for other helpful posts, let me know.

These posts will get linked to on the sidebar of the blog for easy reference.

If You Are Thinking About Suicide

2009-10-09T19:27:00.002-04:00

This post is for anyone who needs help now. (This is one of several posts for crisis support that I will link to on the sidebar for easy reference.)

First, please be safe. You deserve it. I know there are times when everything is overwhelming or you feel so much anger or self-hatred or despair that the easiest thing to do is to think about ending it all. I've been there, and it is a painful, isolating place to be. I am sorry you are experiencing this, and I'd like to do what I can to help. This post is for things that have helped me; please feel free to add more resources or even words of support in the comments.

One time when I couldn't stop thinking about suicide, I came across this page here, and it actually reached through to me. Here is one passage I reread over and over again when I needed it:

"Suicide is not chosen; it happens when pain exceeds resources for coping with pain."

That's all it's about. You are not a bad person, or crazy, or weak, or flawed, because you feel suicidal. It doesn't even mean that you really want to die - it only means that you have more pain than you can cope with right now. If I start piling weights on your shoulders, you will eventually collapse if I add enough weights... no matter how much you want to remain standing. Willpower has nothing to do with it. Of course you would cheer yourself up, if you could.

Don't accept it if someone tells you, "that's not enough to be suicidal about." There are many kinds of pain that may lead to suicide. Whether or not the pain is bearable may differ from person to person. What might be bearable to someone else, may not be bearable to you. The point at which the pain becomes unbearable depends on what kinds of coping resources you have. Individuals vary greatly in their capacity to withstand pain.

When pain exceeds pain-coping resources, suicidal feelings are the result. Suicide is neither wrong nor right; it is not a defect of character; it is morally neutral. It is simply an imbalance of pain versus coping resources.

It is all right to feel how you are feeling. You are not weak or terrible. It takes a lot of courage to live through what you are living through, and you do have that strength, even though sometimes it's hard to find it.

If you need someone to talk to, please know that there are people out there who care. Try these:

Send an anonymous email to The Samaritans.
Call one of the free, 24/7 crisis lines listed here.
Carefully choose a friend, family member, or trusted adult to talk to.
If you are a survivor of assault, look at the Pandora's Project's page for crisis support and reach out to Pandora's Aquarium. It is a forum of amazing, supportive people that has personally helped me many times.

Please reach out to someone and let them help you. You deserve it.

Movies that could trigger

2009-10-06T20:16:00.001-04:00

I'm excited-- I have a goal. It's a goal I think I can easily reach, too. But before I announce my much-emphasized goal (did I mention that I have a goal?), I'm going to take a short detour.

This summer, I watched a fantastic movie called Das Leben der Anderen (The Lives of Others). Very intense, with a tight plot and good acting. However, halfway through the movie, I started to panic, and then I went numb. It was the implied rape scene in the car and the following shower scene that triggered me. The shower scene, where she is huddled in the bath tub under scalding water and shivering, hit too close to home. The feeling of shock and disbelief, the feeling that you'll never be clean again-- the actress did such an amazing job of capturing that that I flashed back to my own feelings and memories.

It took me about an hour to unclench my fists and uncurl from my tense, hunched over position. I remember being so frustrated that I couldn't watch the movie without my own experiences tainting it.

And so here is a post about movies that have triggered me:

Das Leben der Anderen (The Lives of Others):

See above.

Borat:

Kind of self-explanatory? I couldn't watch more than half an hour of it. I went from staring at the screen in shock to feeling horribly dissociated to staring blankly into space and thinking about what had happened to me and how it wasn't funny. Terrible experience. As much as people seem to love this movie, I won't be attempting to watch it again.

Serenity:

That's the kicker. Yeah, I know, right? Let me preface this by emphasizing how much I love Firefly. I absolutely adore Firefly. But I got triggered during Serenity, and I went numb and had to stop watching it. I was *so* frustrated.

And now, my goal: to watch Serenity. I'm going to rewatch the Firefly episodes when I have the time, and then I'm damn well going to watch Serenity. Because I can, and because I want to. Because I think I am strong enough to, now. And because I think River Tam is the shit. :-D

Dealing with PTSD while being a student

2009-10-04T13:36:00.003-04:00

I'm having a rough time with anxiety this morning. Not sure why. Yesterday was an emotional roller-coaster for me, and this morning I am fidgeting with these intense feelings of unrest and anxiety and my stomach is nervous and my whole body is tensed and I don't know what to do. I can't calm down enough to do my homework, and that's probably making this worse. Which reminds me of a topic I've wanted to write about for a while-- PTSD, and specifically how it affects students.

A little overview of PTSD:

After experiencing a traumatic event, most people will go through a variety of behaviors and responses. However, depending on the person--e.g. his/her past and personality--and the trauma itself, these physical and emotional responses may continue for months or even years. This is a normal response to an abnormal event.

Here are some common characteristics of PTSD:

Flashbacks (reliving the traumatic event)
Upsetting dreams about the traumatic event
Attempts to avoid anything associated with the trauma
Worrying or ruminating -- intrusive thoughts of the trauma
Hyper-alertness/hyper-vigilance: being easily startled or frightened
Memory problems
Trouble concentrating, often caused by intrusive thoughts
Irritability, restlessness, outbursts of anger or rage
Feelings of helplessness, panic, feeling out of control
Overwhelming guilt or shame
Feeling emotionally numb
Difficulty trusting and/or feelings of betrayal
Feelings of detachment and disorientation
Difficulty maintaining close relationships
Tendency to isolate oneself
Concern over burdening others with problems
Avoiding activities you once enjoyed
Hopelessness about the future
Self-destructive behavior
Irregular sleeping patterns-- i.e. sleeping too much or too little

I have personally experienced most of those reactions. There are some I would like to expand on and discuss in more detail in future posts. However, for this particular entry, I want to talk about what it's like to be a student with these physical and emotional feelings.

My first experiences with coercion, pressure, and non-consensual sex occurred while in a relationship. I was stressed with schoolwork and extracurricular activities and lonely and isolated from my friends, so I repressed most of my feelings and continued on with trying to get through each day. It wasn't until a year or two later that I began to remember bits and pieces of what happened and started to talk about them. The final opening of the floodgates happened when I was raped by someone I considered a friend during the first weekend of my senior spring.

I tried desperately to continue my schoolwork. I loved both of my classes, and I really wanted everything to be okay. However, I could tell that something was really wrong starting the day after the event. I have always been easily startled, but suddenly every little noise and movement made me tense and anxious. I couldn't sleep at night, and so I became completely nocturnal, sleeping from about 8am - 5pm everyday. But most frightening to me was the fact that I couldn't read a textbook for more than two minutes at a time without intrusive thoughts about the rape and feelings of intense panic or depression, and the fact that my memory was gone.

I have always prided myself on my memory. I did dorky things in high school like memorizing 150 digits of pi. I often didn't need to study because I remembered details from class lectures. While I wouldn't say I had an amazing memory, it was pretty good. However, everything changed in the blink of an eye, and it terrified me. I would be speaking to someone and suddenly my mind would go blank, and I wouldn't remember what we had just been talking about two seconds ago. I would read a sentence from a book and have no memory or comprehension of it when I reached the period. Oh, I remembered most of the details of the event itself just fine--I certainly thought about the damn thing often enough--but I couldn't use my memory in day-to-day life.

As you can imagine, that really sucked as a student. I tried for three or four weeks to continue my coursework, but it just wasn't going to happen. I couldn't go to class because being in a room full of people I didn't know for two hours made me panic, and I couldn't do any of my reading. It destroyed me to have to go on medical leave, but I didn't really have a choice, and part of me knew it was for the best.

This summer, a year and a half later, I returned to college to complete my last four courses. I decided to divide them into two terms of two classes each (here the norm is 3 classes per 10-week term), and I am currently taking the last two courses of my undergraduate career (finally!). While my PTSD has certainly gotten much better, traces of it still remain. There are some evenings when I am pre-occupied--obsessed, even-- with thoughts about rape/sexual assault and I cannot do my work. Some days I am anxious, tense, really easily startled, and unable to give or receive any kind of physical contact. I still have terrible dreams where I wake up screaming sometimes. Some days I feel emotionally numb and detached, like a shell of my usually cheerful self. But things are getting better, and I have been able to return to a pretty normal life as a college student.

Most importantly, my memory and concentration are starting to return. They are still not as good as they used to be, but they are better. Being able to handle schoolwork again has been one of the most empowering things for me. Losing that was devastating, because I had built my life around academics. But now I'm back, and with an added vengeance-- I am starting to apply my love of learning and researching and writing to the issues of rape/sexual assault, with the hopes that I can make a difference somehow. Take that, trauma.

My Story

2009-10-03T18:13:00.002-04:00

I wrote this piece for myself two and a half weeks ago, when I began to free-write about the incident for the first time. After reading Nic's story (posted here), it reminded me so much of one particular aspect of my own story that I wanted to share my own writing as well.

*All names have been changed to protect the innocent. I've added a star after each reference to a person to denote this.

Untitled

I think about the skirt. I liked it. It was plaid and school-girly and short and pleated and had three large buttons on the front. I wore it over jeans and I liked it. I never got it back.

I think about the aftermath. I talked to M*. I went to my room and changed my clothes and crawled into bed. I emailed T*. I didn't cry. I might have slept. I think I did. But I didn't cry.

I think about when I told A*. She said she knew. She said she could see when she tried to hug me and I jumped back and I couldn't be touched and she said that M* was angry and she could see and she could see when I saw him and I ran away and I hid and I cried and I was frozen and terrified. Later than night, when I told her, I finally cried.

Then I told people. More people. People here, people at Tau. K* cried, for me, for her, for all of us who hurt. I loved her. A* held me. B* hurt me. W* lost my trust forever. He told him. He confessed. W* lied. I can't forgive him. But somehow I understand.

B* hurt me. I am angry. It shouldn't matter and I shouldn't care because who is he to decide, who is he to say, why do I listen to him anyway, I don't, but still, he spoke and it hurt me and his words are still with me and I hate him and I have nothing more to say.

Everyone else, they blend together. Kind words, good words, at first, then fading, fading, nothing more, nothing more, oh wait, something happened? I guess I'm sorry. I don't know. Someone held my hand, someone hugged me, they listened, they tried. I don't know. I don't remember. But I know that later, when I needed them, they weren't there.

They were gone when I needed them, when the words I said came back to haunt me, when I curled on the bathroom floor and rocked and cried and couldn't say anything more than “I didn't want it, I didn't want it.” Where were they when I heard voices and saw scenes and couldn't watch things without seeing and feeling and it was there and it was all there in my head and I couldn't make it stop. It played again and again over and over in my head like a movie, a reel that never ends. They weren't there. When I reached out, they were gone.

I hear their voices. Hollow.

No meaning, no feeling, no promises that were kept.

Bodies in the Chapter Room, convening.

But empty,

nothing real, nothing done, no one cared.

I think about how he tried to put his hands on me afterward. When I was curled up in a ball on the tavern bench and I couldn't be small enough and I was against a wall and I tried but I wasn't disappearing or comprehending just shaking and trying and not knowing what now, what next. My thoughts were about getting away, out that door, up and away, far far away. I was sane, and calm, and I convinced him to leave. I said what he wanted me to say. Then finally, I was free, and out the door like a bird, climbing up the bright wooden stairs, up, up, found the door I was looking for, lights still on, knocked, “come in.”

“That might even be called rape,” M* says, at the end, an afterthought.

I am in my room. I don't remember much. I changed my clothes and crawled into bed. I emailed T* about lunch. I stared at the computer, I stared at the ceiling, I think I slept. It might even be rape. I think it is, but I am afraid to think. What if it isn't. What if. What if.

The next day, morning dawns, I go to lunch but I am afraid. But still, nothing has set in. The day is still bright. Maybe too bright. The movie, M* talks about a movie during lunch, and I hear him but not really. E*'s car, house sitting, that's where A* is. And there's T*, he's there, and he cares. What now, what do I do, who do I tell, where do I go.

I am reliving it now. I feel it in my body. I can't stop thinking about it. I see fragments of images, and jabs of feeling, and pain that I can almost feel and remember but is too far away. Everything is far away, but I feel it. I remember his face, but not in detail, in hazy images and clouds and fog and through layers of thick waxed paper. My heart is pounding and I am still. I sit on my bed and try to feel safe.

I think about it when I am brushing my teeth. It hits me one day that I will never have my skirt back. Those buttons, the plaid. I can't think about the event, but I think about the skirt.

And I am angry at the aftermath. It is what makes me scream and cry in the middle of the night. No more thoughts or dreams about the rape. It is about afterwards. About being told I am wrong, about being told to keep quiet, about being told to shut up and die. It's all there, in my head, and I can never forgive them, not really. Never really. It'll always be there.

I think about that bench. It's there. I see it. It's okay. I don't run when I see it, or freeze when I'm in the tavern. It's there, sitting, standing, a relic of what happened, unchanging, uncaring, like this House. It's what this House is to me.

And now, now I am done. White walls are in front of me, and I stare, and I am empty. I have written what I can write. There is more, there, swirling, uncurling, but it is for another time. At peace now. Frozen, immobile, but safe, and at peace. I am done.

September 17, 2009

Survivor Story: "Drugged" -- Nic

2009-10-03T17:45:00.001-04:00

I would like to share a poem with you that was written by another brave survivor. One thing many survivors will say is that even though everyone's story is different, we all have the ability to empathize, to reach back into our own memories and feelings. Even if what happened to me wasn't quite like that, I can really easily imagine how it would feel, because I know how something exactly like that felt.

“Drugged”

by Nic

I remember what I wore.
I still have the denim jacket.
I didn’t want the med examiner to put it with the rape kit and the rest of my clothes as evidence.
It’s designer.
I remember he was a friend of a friend.
A friend of a friend I once trusted.
I remember eating pizza at Mellow Mushroom.
I remember talking about friends we both knew from back home.
I remember enjoying myself.
*****
I remember getting in the bar underage because he worked there.
I remember sitting at a table against a dark wall.
I remember feeling “cool.”
I remember him ordering drinks. Not from a waitress but at the bar himself.
I remember waiting for the drinks.
I remember how many I drank.
I remember talking about my boyfriend (now my husband) and how they would get along well.
I remember saying, “I have to pee.”
I remember going to the bathroom, flushing, washing my hands, and then walking out of the restroom.
My legs went numb.
*****
I remember telling him, “I can’t feel my legs.”
I remember he said he would take me home.
I remember him lifting my arm over his shoulder to help me to his car.
I remember him opening the car door for me.
I remember getting in the car.
I remember buckling my seat belt.
That’s where I stop remembering… I think…
What’s in my mind after clicking the seat belt could be true or false… reality or imagination.
*****
I don’t know. I will never know. Truly. I cannot turn back the clock.
I remember wanting to turn back the clock.
*****
I remember saying “no.”
I think I remember saying “no” as he pinned my wrists and spread my legs.
It was a whisper.
My voice was hoarse.
I remember pain… physical and emotional.
But did I say, “no”?
*****
I remember waking up in his bed. He was on the floor. Naked.
I remember seeing the condom wrapper on the alarm clock.
I remember what time it was.
I remember searching his apartment for a bathroom and being violently ill.
I remember finding articles of my clothing scattered.
I remember not knowing where I was.
I remember getting dressed while he was still sleeping.
*****
I remember seeing that he had gone through my purse because my wallet was out, opened, invaded.
*****
Nothing had been stolen.
Everything had been stolen.
*****
I remember him waking up as I zipped my jeans.
I remember him asking why I was crying.
I remember him driving me to my dorm.
I remember the silence.
Deafening.
*****
I remember him putting his hand on my knee when I opened the car door to get out.
I remember wanting to vomit on his hand.
I remember him asking me if I wanted to go to church with him tomorrow.
I remember wanting to vomit on his hand.
I remember thinking “what the fuck?!”
I remember him asking me if I was ok.
I remember saying, “I don’t think so.”
I remember wanting to vomit on his hand that was on my knee.
*****
I remember showering in scalding water.
I remember burning my skin.
I remember using an entire bar of soap until it disintegrated.
I remember using a new, fresh towel when I got out of the shower.
I remember vomiting more and more and more…
Til there was nothing left inside of me.
*****
But it was all already gone.
Nothing was left.
*****
I remember driving myself to the ER.
I remember telling the triage nurse, “I think I was raped.”
I remember her glaring at me and asking, “you think?”
I remember having vials of blood drawn.
I remember the med examiner looking for evidence from my body.
Hairs, finger prints, scratches, skin under my finger nails.
They took what was left of me.
*****
I remember she was frustrated with me because I had already showered and peed.
“Very little evidence here,” she said while I laid with my legs spread open.
I remember being alone.
Entirely alone.
*****
I remember the exam, the doctor, the cop who sat in the corner.
The rape kit.
I remember the doctor saying, “the abundance of tearing of the tissue is sign of trauma to the area.”
I remember thinking “what the fuck does that mean?”
I remember crying while some stranger combed my pubic hair… for his strays.
I remember pictures were taken of bruises on my inner thighs, my breasts, my arms.
I remember a bruise under my right arm pit from him carrying me over his shoulder.
A bruise on my collar bone.
I remember someone saying, “it’ll be he said/she said…”
*****
I remember asking someone to call my mom.
I remember they left her a voicemail.
Who leaves a fucking voicemail?
I remember leaving the ER and going back to my dorm.
I had to be given clothes to wear home.
They were tossed in the garbage that same day.
I remember hating those clothes.
*****
I remember curling up in a ball on my twin-sized bed and bear-hugging myself until it hurt.
I remember wanting it to hurt.
I remember emailing my boyfriend (now husband) to “CALL ME.”
*****
I remember my dad having to get off a plane he had just boarded after receiving a phone call from my mom, saying what had happened to me.
I remember not speaking for an entire 24 hour period, once my parents arrived.
I remember sitting with my knees curled up to my chest for those 24 hours in the hotel room I stayed in with my parents.
I remember my mom on the phone with my brother.
I remember hearing him ask, “how is she?” and mom answering, “she’s quiet, very quiet.”
*****
I remember being questioned incessantly by the police…
I remember the district attorney was female.
I remember being grateful for that.
*****
But I didn’t know. I didn’t know everything they wanted me to know, to answer.
I remember the police finding the drug in his apartment.
I remember being told by the police officer “he and his roommate are in the next room,” as I gave my written statement… signed my written statement.
I remember wondering if his roommate was there that night.
Involved…
*****
I remember not remembering.

From http://violenceunsilenced.com/nic/

Comment Box / Guest Book

2009-10-03T03:17:00.000-04:00

Do you have any topic suggestions for posts?
Have a resource or piece of emotional media to share?
Just want to tell me something?

Comment here! Think of this post as an extended guest book. I'd love to know that you visited, even. Drop me a note and say hi.

I will continue to link to this post from the sidebar, so please keep adding comments as you think of them!

Song: "I Didn't Know My Own Strength" -- Whitney Houston

2009-10-02T23:59:00.001-04:00

Powerful, uplifting song.

I didn’t know my own strength
And I crashed down, and I tumbled
But I did not crumble
I got through all the pain
I didn’t know my own strength
Survived my darkest hour
My faith kept me alive
I picked myself back up
Hold my head up high
I was not built to break
I didn’t know my own strength

Found hope in my heart,
I found the light to life
My way out the dark
Found all that I need
Here inside of me
I thought I’d never find my way
I thought I’d never lift that weight
I thought I would break

In the last two years, there were so many times when I was ready to give up. But I didn't, and here I am. I didn't know my own strength either. Whitney, I couldn't have put it better.

Book: "Trust After Trauma" -- Aphrodite Matsakis

2009-10-02T21:50:00.002-04:00

This book was recommended to me by my therapist, and I found it extremely helpful. The copy I have is full of sticky notes. It gives a clear, comprehensive, but still gentle, nonjudgmental, and empathic treatment of post-traumatic stress disorder. This is a good book for both relationship and non-relationship issues, and has many sections that would also be relevant to a secondary survivor-- i.e. a friend or loved one of a trauma survivor.

Some of the topics covered are trust, guilt, revictimization/reenactment, the physiology of trauma, and coping techniques. Each chapter also has writing exercises and questions to guide your thought and healing process.

I definitely recommend this book to survivors and anyone who loves a survivor and wants to understand and help.

Triggers and Responses

2009-10-02T16:36:00.006-04:00

*trigger warning*

I saw someone on campus today who looks like the man who raped me my senior spring. FML.

Let's talk about triggers.

A trigger is something that reminds a trauma survivor of the ordeal(s) he or she has endured. Triggers can be external or internal, consciously recognized or unconsciously internalized.

External: A place, person, object, time of the day/month/year, story, etc. that is somehow related to the ordeal.
Internal: A feeling, thought, physical memory, etc. that is somehow related to what happened.
Consciously recognized: The trigger can be identified. You know what it is that is causing your reactions.
Unconsciously internalized: When you don't know the cause of your physical and/or emotional response, when it seems to be happening for no reason.

All of these are legitimate kinds of triggers. Here are some of my own personal triggers (in no particular order):

Seeing someone who looks like him: short dark hair, slightly balding, large widow's peak, long oval-shaped face
Being around someone who is tall, heavyset, and physically intimidating (think football player)
Friday nights
Any anniversary of March 25-26
Being in the room where it happened, especially seeing the bench
Hearing his name, or even just part of his name
Mentions of rape/sexual assault in books, online, the news, or by people
One particular sexual position
Sharp pain during vaginal or anal intercourse
Intrusive thoughts and memories of the event, of his face/body/voice

My responses to these triggers tend to be pretty universal. They have gotten better over time, thankfully. In the months following the assault, I had very sudden, intense physical and mental responses. I would abruptly go numb; my heart would start to pound; I would tense up and usually dig my nails into my palm or clutch a part of my shirt; and I would try to find somewhere in the room where I could curl up as small as possible with my back to something and still be able to see most of the room. Sometimes I would have hot flashes or cold flashes. I would be both disoriented and hyper-focused; disoriented because I felt detached, like somehow I wasn't in my own body, and hyper-focused because I was taking in every sound and every movement near me, and every stimulus was amplified, as if all my filters and protections were down.

Sometimes it would be a little different; I would become numb, detached, silent, and depressed. This type of response happened more when I was triggered by a solitary activity where I was already alone and quiet, such as reading. I found myself triggered by everything from academic treatments of sexual assault to fiction about trauma to normal novels that just had to put in references to rape and assault. I could feel myself sliding into that somber glass case, the walls closing in; I would start to shut down, feeling a heavy weight, a darkness, descend on me; I would be compelled to keep reading, thinking, feeling, remembering.

Time does help heal things a little bit. My responses are not quite so extreme anymore. They certainly still occur, but they no longer seize control of my life and force me to stop whatever I was doing to suffer for a surreal time.

I saw someone who looked like him yesterday, too. When my mind made note of him and started to flail, I pursed my lips with grim determination and settled for being a bit detached and depressed for a while. This morning, when I left the house to go to class, I saw someone else who looked like him. No idea if it was the same person or not. I started to panic, and walked a full block while thinking about him and the assault, but then I calmed down and everything got better.

Triggers-- I will probably always have them, but the best thing I can do is to learn to live with them.

Only rapists can prevent rape

2009-09-23T21:57:00.001-04:00

You've all heard it before: "10 Ways to Be More Careful and Not Attract Rapists" and all other similar incarnations. Don't walk alone at night. Don't wear earphones while jogging. Don't leave your drink unattended. Don't wear a short skirt. Don't grow your hair out long. Don't don't don't. The burden falls on us, the potential victims, to keep ourselves safe. Why? Because no one is teaching potential perpetrators how NOT to be rapists. Because no one is plastering this all over men's magazines and sports shows and bars the same way that women's magazines overflow with warnings and tips and tricks to help us survive each night unharmed. But they should be.

From lickystickypickyme:

Only rapists can prevent rape:

A lot has been said about how to prevent rape. Women should learn self-defense. Women should lock themselves in their houses after dark. Women shouldn’t have long hair and women shouldn’t wear short skirts. Women shouldn’t leave drinks unattended. Fuck, they shouldn’t dare to get drunk at all. Instead of that bullshit, how about:

If a woman is drunk, don’t rape her.
If a woman is walking alone at night, don’t rape her.
If a women is drugged and unconscious, don’t rape her.
If a woman is wearing a short skirt, don’t rape her.
If a woman is jogging in a park at 5 am, don’t rape her.
If a woman looks like your ex-girlfriend you’re still hung up on, don’t rape her.
If a woman is asleep in her bed, don’t rape her.
If a woman is asleep in your bed, don’t rape her.
If a woman is doing her laundry, don’t rape her.
If a woman is in a coma, don’t rape her.
If a woman changes her mind in the middle of or about a particular activity, don’t rape her.
If a woman has repeatedly refused a certain activity, don’t rape her.
If a woman is not yet a woman, but a child, don’t rape her.
If your girlfriend or wife is not in the mood, don’t rape her.
If your step-daughter is watching TV, don’t rape her.
If you break into a house and find a woman there, don’t rape her.
If your friend thinks it’s okay to rape someone, tell him it’s not, and that he’s not your friend.
If your “friend” tells you he raped someone, report him to the police.
If your frat-brother or another guy at the party tells you there’s an unconscious woman upstairs and it’s your turn, don’t rape her, call the police, and tell the guy he’s a rapist.
Tell your sons, god-sons, nephews, grandsons, sons of friends it’s not okay to rape someone.
Don’t tell your women friends how to be safe and avoid rape.
Don’t imply that she could have avoided it if she’d only done/not done x.
Don’t imply that it’s in any way her fault.
Don’t let silence imply agreement when someone tells you he “got some” with the drunk girl.

Note:
This goes for any gendered rape, male on female or female on male or female on female or FTM on MTF or non gendered to dual gendered and so on and so forth….

Why "Defying Gravity"?

2009-09-23T21:21:00.000-04:00

So a friend of mine asked me today why I named my blog Defying Gravity. I would like to share a piece of music that I've found to be incredibly empowering and profound. I listened to it all the time during the last year and a half of my life, both when I needed some somber thinking-music and when I needed an encouraging boost. To me, it represents a dark part of my life, but one I survived and surpassed, with dignity and with pride.

The song is called "Defying Gravity," sung by Idina Menzel and Kristin Chenoweth in the musical Wicked. I was first introduced to it in middle school, by my dear friend Mogwit, and I loved it. It stuck and stayed with me through my awkward blooming in high school, through my sophomore year depression and destructive relationship, through my senior year when a traumatic event the first weekend of the term changed everything. I spent my senior spring, when I should have been finishing my undergraduate career and preparing to graduate, in a haze of confusion, anxiety, depression, and pain. I honestly don't remember much from those three months. I remember a few specific events, like going to speak with the campus health offices, the emergency room, safety & security, the dean's office, and the police. I remember living nocturnally because I couldn't sleep at night. I remember playing spider solitaire in my room to pass the time. And I remember this song.

It means so much to me. I associate it with some of the darkest moments of my life. As difficult as it was at times, I resolved to keep going, and finally I emerged to a higher place, where I could be safe, strong, and confident.

Something has changed within me
Something is not the same
I'm through with playing by the rules
Of someone else's game
Too late for second-guessing
Too late to go back to sleep
It's time to trust my instincts
Close my eyes, and leap!

It's time to try
Defying gravity
I think I'll try
Defying gravity
And you can't pull me down!

I'm through accepting limits,
'Cuz someone says they're so!
Some things I cannot change,
but 'till I try, I'll never know!

To all those in my life who have hurt me--

You can't pull me down.

Book: "Aftermath: Violence and the Remaking of a Self" -- Susan Brison

2009-09-21T18:58:00.002-04:00

Susan Brison, a professor of philosophy at Dartmouth College, weaves an intellectually stimulating but honest and unpretentious narrative about sudden violence and trauma. Brutally attacked, raped, and left for dead while taking a walk in the French countryside, Brison speaks from the mind and heart about the pain of picking up the pieces of one's life.

I found her observations about the reactions of her friends, family, and community to be particularly poignant. She examines the oft-heard encouragement to forget and move on, and how isolating that can be for survivors of sexual violence. She also addresses issues such as deterioration of memory and concentration, change of personality, and distorted views of time and place.

This was the first memoir by a survivor that I read. While it can be a bit dense and academic sometimes, it is overall a very touching and worthwhile read from a clear and expressive author.

Book: "Story of a Girl" -- Sara Zarr

2009-09-21T18:32:00.000-04:00

This story provides an honest, compelling look at coercion and pressure in teenage relationships. I found it triggering but also validating because of particular events in my own past.

The protagonist, 13-year-old Deanna, is caught in a confusing whirlwind of hormones, attraction, and pressure and ends up having sex with 17-year-old Tommy, whom she's not even sure she actually likes. Her family is awkward, struggling, and fractured, and her peers in school have branded her a "slut." Here is a frank examination of stigma and society's double standards with regards to sexual exploration. Deanna's story is an emotionally wrenching portrayal of how one mistake can leave a huge impact on a teenager's identity and sense of self-worth.

Beautifully-written realistic fiction. Delves more into coercion and social pressure than clear sexual assault.

Site: Pandora's Aquarium

2009-09-21T11:28:00.000-04:00

http://www.pandys.org/forums/

I owe so much to the unfailingly supportive community at Pandora's Aquarium. I would say that this is the best place to read posts if you're feeling alone or write posts if you want words of support and encouragement. The community is gigantic and infinitely loving. Feel free to use the forums as little or as much as you want; it was often just helpful for me to know it was there whenever I needed a boost.

Site: DartHeart

2009-09-21T11:06:00.000-04:00

http://www.dartheart.org/

DartHeart, a nonprofit organization, is a peer support network for students with post traumatic stress. We provide the resources and opportunities for student survivors to unite and offer mentorship to each other and their communities about the realities of life after trauma. Our organization is run by student and alumni survivors of trauma with guidance from health care professionals and supportive members of the community.

DartHeart is a budding organization that is well on its way to being an important resource for college students. It provides what college health offices and informational resources cannot-- support and understanding from fellow survivors.

Introduction to My Resources Posts

2009-09-21T09:28:00.000-04:00

I will also begin posting links and reviews of websites I have found informative and helpful during my healing process. I will tend to focus on personal sites more than national organization sites like RAINN.

These posts will be tagged "sa resources" (sa = sexual assault). Please feel free to comment on this post with suggestions. Thanks!

Book: "Safe" -- Susan Shaw

2009-09-21T09:13:00.002-04:00

I read this book about a year ago. It still remains in my mind today as one of the most realistic portrayals of rape-induced PTSD that I have found in fictional literature. I will never forget the shock of reading the scene where Tracy (the protagonist) first experiences sudden dissociation and a cold flash; I could not contain the rush of relief and validation that I was not alone. Some of the other symptoms that are very well-described are her social anxiety, increased isolation, and distrust of those she knew before her trauma.

Fantastic book, but very triggering.

Belated Introduction to My Media Posts

2009-09-21T09:00:00.000-04:00

The other day, I came across this post in one of the blogs I follow. It is a request for songs, movies, YouTube clips, etc. that relate to sexual assault or sexual harassment. I read all the comments and contributed my own.

I'd like to start my own version here: if you can think of songs, movies, YouTube clips, books, articles, etc. that relate to rape/sexual assault, please post them here. I will then make separate posts tagged "emotional media" with an embedded version of the material if possible/applicable and any thoughts I have on it. This is a collection for myself, survivors, secondary survivors, and anyone else who can empathize or wants to try.

Song: "Concrete Angel" -- Martina McBride

2009-09-21T08:50:00.001-04:00

This is a powerful, emotionally wrenching song about child abuse.

My heart breaks when I think of young children in these kinds of situations.

Song: "Gratitude" -- Ani DiFranco

2009-09-21T08:33:00.001-04:00

Continuing to reflect on this February's Speak Out:

The event opened with an a cappella rendition of Ani DiFranco's song "Gratitude." It was beautiful, haunting, and powerful. I remembered it the other day and listened to it on repeat.

Uncertainty, Doubt, and the Search for Validation

2009-09-21T08:26:00.004-04:00

I wrote two short pieces for the Speak Out event this past February. Here is one about guilt, uncertainty, and "was it really rape":

“Hand over the money.” You're being mugged. Maybe you see a weapon, maybe you don't. You freeze. You hand over the money, maybe even a watch or necklace. If you're lucky, you get away safely. When you get home, everyone is relieved you're okay, and no one questions your cooperation with the mugger. If you choose to go to the police, they'll probably support your decision to not fight back, too. It's all pretty clear-cut. You were the victim of a crime. You didn't ask for it. Nobody doubts your story, and you don't spend the next few years blaming yourself for having a wallet.

The instinctive act of freezing is called tonic immobility. It is a common, normal, even adaptive, response to threat. It's okay to freeze during a mugging, and it's okay to freeze when confronted by a rapist. It’s still a mugging and it's still rape. You are a survivor, and the mugger and the rapist are entirely to blame. Not fighting back or screaming during an assault does not mean you wanted or deserved it in any way.

I was raped almost a year ago, and I still struggle to believe this on bad days. Sometimes it feels like all the stories I hear are about women who fought tooth and nail against their attacker. I think about how I just froze, and I feel so small and unsure about myself. Once he started getting too close to me, I went numb. He knew I didn't want it, I knew I didn't want it, but my mind shut down and I couldn't speak up. I honestly cannot say if I had any conscious sense of fear; I just couldn't feel anything. It was only when I felt pain that I could free myself from that debilitating numbness and say no. To this day, I still wonder what would have happened if he hadn't been careless and hurt me suddenly. I don't know if I would have broken out of my dissociated state and said no at all. That uncertainty has been unwanted company through endless days and long, painful nights.

Having struggled with that kind of guilt, this is something I need to say. Not putting up an epic struggle does not make you any less a victim and survivor. It's still rape even if he didn't hold you down and muffle your screams. Contrary to what textbook-definitions of trauma seem to require, not everyone's terror has to come from immediate, conscious recognition of threat to their life. It certainly didn't go through my mind; I don't think he would have physically harmed or killed me had I struggled, but the aftermath of my assault still hurt. Coercion has many faces, and threat has many forms.

I wrote this for all the survivors who ask themselves if it was really rape. When I was raped, I wish someone had told me this, loud and clear, because I needed to hear it. Your pain is legitimate, and hard enough to bear already without having to struggle with self-doubt. Sometimes it feels like every story but yours is clear-cut; sometimes it feels like there's no definition of rape to cover what happened to you. But it is rape, it is real, and you are not alone.

This was one of the first pieces I ever wrote about my experience.

Let's talk about consent

2009-09-21T07:47:00.004-04:00

I haven't figured out the balance between personal and educational with this blog yet-- e.g. I was thinking about whether or not I wanted to write a post called "Let's talk about PTSD" in order to explain the definition of PTSD, common misconceptions, my personal experience with it, etc. While I was thinking about that, I decided to write a post about something both personal and educational: consent.

Sounds simple, right? No. If everyone held identical conceptions of what equals consent, then rape victims wouldn't feel so lost in their search for validation. Guilt and self-blame are two of the many horrible feelings that plague rape victims. I struggled for months trying to find something that felt concrete that would tell me for sure that it was really rape; I felt so alone, thinking that my experiences "didn't really count."

Finally, one day, I found it. I was practically blubbering with joy and relief when I came across this page.

What is not consent:
If your partner has sex with you under any of the following circumstances, it is rape/sexual assault:

Physical violence (e.g. hitting, choking)
Threats with weapons
Continuing sexual activity after you have indicated you wish to stop. (It doesn't matter if you initially consented; people change their minds for a number of reasons all the time. Your wishes should be respected.)
Overpowering you with physical strength, pinning you down
Threats to harm you or a third person
Threats to your property/pets
Threats to rape you if you don't give in -- that basically says "let me rape you or I'll rape you" - sex gained under such a threat is rape.
Depriving you of liberty until you acquiesce to a sexual demand-- e.g. "you don't leave this room until I get what I want."
Having sexual intercourse with you while you are sleeping or incapacitated by drugs/alcohol to the extent that you cannot give or withdraw consent
Refusal to allow you to sleep until you give in to sexual demands (note: sleep deprivation is a recognized form of torture)
Sexual activity after continuous pressure on you to have sex before you are ready, to perform acts you have stated you don't like, or just going ahead and doing it.
Putting you in a position where you must engage in one form of sexual activity to prevent something "worse" from happening i.e. you have to engage in oral sex in order to avoid anal rape.
It is important that you realize you do not have to have physically fought or even said "no" for an act to be regarded as sexual assault. Tears or other expression of discomfort are more than reasonable indicators that you do not want the sexual activity. Often, sexually violent partners do not actually seek consent, or if you do say no, it is not taken any notice of. Remember that submission is not the same as consent.

Some of these seem obvious, but others not so much. All of the above manifestations of rape can lead to PTSD.

Rape jokes aren't funny.

2009-09-21T07:10:00.002-04:00

So, why am I still up at stupid o'clock in the morning? Because a friend of mine made a rape joke last night. Har har, non-consensual sex. That's a riot.

</sarcasm>

Okay. I get that some jokes are funny because they address taboo subjects and make people uncomfortable. Do I still make off-color jokes sometimes? Yes. Did I used to make rape jokes? Yes, I am ashamed to say I did. This is why I am not trying to take a moral high ground here. All I am asking is for sensitivity. Other strong, brilliant feminists who possess a far sharper wit and snappier way with words than I have written many posts about rape jokes and rape culture. In my currently triggered and sleep-deprived state, I have nothing to add to the academic side of the argument. However, I can make this personal.

From Fugitivus's post:

Let me tell you a thing you might not know: the inability to hear rape “jokes” without flashbacks, Hulk rage, and “air quotes” is one of the enduring parting gifts of a rapist.

and

For those of you who wonder why rape victims get all super sensitive about rape jokes ‘n shit, well, this is why. Before you’re raped, rape jokes might be uncomfortable, or they might be funny, or they might be any given thing. But after you’re raped, they are a trigger. They make you remember what was done to you. And if the joke was about something that wasn’t done to you, not in quite that way, you can really easily imagine how it would feel, because you know how something exactly like that felt. Rape jokes stop being about a thing that happens out there, somewhere, to people who don’t really exist, and if they do they probably deserved it, and they start being about you. Rape jokes are about you. Jokes about women liking it or deserving it are about how much you liked it and deserved it. And they are also jokes about how, in all likelihood, it’s going to happen to you again.

Do you know why I'm not asleep in my warm, cozy bed right now? Why instead I'm sitting with my laptop, surrounded by stuffed animals and feeling sick to my stomach? Because someone made a rape joke at 10:30pm and it triggered me. Eight-and-a-half hours later, the effects are still here. It made me think of what happened last March, and of what I lived through my sophomore year. It made me tense, anxious, and nauseated. I can't sleep, and y'know what? I'm angry.

Why?

Because rape jokes aren't f***ing funny. Because I shouldn't have to explain to a "friend" multiple times why off-handed rape remarks are hurtful and insulting. Because I am sick of seeing how prevalent rape jokes are in everyday life and media. So, please, do your part and don't make rape jokes. This isn't just about "being a politically correct person" or trying not to offend some rape victim out there. If you need it to be less abstract, here it is:

I am a rape survivor. I am a real person sitting on a couch at 7 in the morning because a rape joke brought back an overwhelming onslaught of feelings and memories of traumatic events. Every time you make an off-handed remark about rape, someone who hears it might be triggered. Someone who hears it might have a friend or family member who lived through sexual violence, who remembers what it's like to try to console a distraught person suffering from flashbacks and crippling depression.

Rape is not an abstract concept that just "happens to other people." It happens to people you know. So think about that next time you're about to make a rape joke or you hear someone else make one.

Introduction

2009-09-21T06:21:00.005-04:00

Who am I? / Why am I writing this?
I am a survivor of rape and domestic abuse. I took a medical leave from college in spring 2008, my senior spring, for post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). A year and a half later, I returned to classes, and now I am finally starting to move on with my life. Part of the healing process for me involves researching and writing about sexual assault, so this blog will focus on issues related to sexual violence and PTSD.

What will you find here?
There will be several types of posts, and I have tried to tag them accordingly:

Resources I have found helpful in my healing-- mainly websites and books. These will be tagged "sa resources."
Emotional art that has touched me, including but certainly not limited to songs, stories, and movies. (Some are uplifting and empowering; others are heartstring-tugging and sad. I will try to describe them so you know what you're getting into.) These posts will be tagged "emotional media."
Issues and thoughts related to rape/sexual assault, PTSD, and abusive relationships/domestic violence.
My story, and the stories of other survivors who have given me permission to post them.
Questions to you, the readers. I would love to hear your opinions, suggestions, and thoughts.

I will try to keep my blog as sensitive as possible to the needs of survivors. However, I cannot promise that nothing here will trigger you. I am truly sorry if something does, and I hope you take gentle care of yourself.

While I am writing this blog partly for myself, I also want this to be a helpful resource for other survivors, even if just to know they are not alone. Many of my posts will be personal; this is not meant to make you compare stories or somehow feel alienated or invalidated. During my healing process, I found it useful to read personal accounts of other survivors, to see the similarities between our stories, and to know that I was not alone.

Thank you for reading. I would love to hear comments from you to know you are out there. :)

(Edited 10/2/09)