Shaken.

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

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

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!

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

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

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

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.