I love an online publication called The Angry Black Lady Chronicles. Today, after several days of watching a firestorm of discussion about a political pundit whose choice of words in his effort to deliver a scathing analogy had collateral damage attached to them and the fact that the ABL chose to stand up and against the cavalier use of an act to demonstrate an unfounded and fact-free point. Today a voice stood up and was heard with clarity, without once mentioning the political nonsense that fades into the background as she courageously shared her story. Perhaps her voice will be your voice and together we will all be heard. She goes by Thunderkitteh on Twitter. And perhaps that's all we need to know. She had given me permission to share her story. Listen closely.
When I was 19, I was engaged to a monster who drugged and raped me on multiple occasions. Since I had blocked out whatever I remembered from it, the relationship continued and got worse, to where physical abuse started. I also miscarried twins. By the time I left, I was 20, scared, depressed, and still trying to process what had happened to me. Since I couldn’t process it all, I decided to marry my schoolwork instead. I graduated with a 3.6 GPA (3.8 in my field (Ancient Greek), it would have been a 4.0 were it not for that bastard Plato), got accepted to Tulane University, packed, moved, and tried to carry on from there. I swore I was fine.
Then it happened. I remembered.
It was as if a trapdoor had opened and I fell to rock bottom. Then another trapdoor opened, to a place I didn’t know existed. I now call it Rock Bottom’s Basement. It is the scariest place in this world to find yourself. It is so dark, so bleak, so utterly hopeless. I had to get out of there as quickly as possible. I had no idea how to do this. But I knew that if I didn’t, I would die.
The next day, after getting no sleep because I was too scared of what my brain would produce, I went to a professor of mine, briefly told him what happened, and told him I needed time off. He told me to go home and he would cover for me. I doubt he’d be reading this, but if he is: Thank you, Dr. N.
I do not remember much of the next week, other than I didn’t leave my apartment. I couldn’t eat, I would pass out from exhaustion due to constantly bawling, wake up in full fight-or-flight mode. The skin under my eyes turned raw and red. All I did was drink coffee and smoke. If I tried to walk across a room, I’d literally collapse on the ground and cry. I didn’t want to exist. But I didn’t want to die. I had no clue what I wanted. I call this the “un-being” phase.
I spent time dreaming up ways to abuse myself so that I could somehow divert all the attention I was giving in to the memories. But these memories were real. I could feel them, smell them, day in and day out, no matter what I did, it was there. He was there. And I couldn’t find my way out of this.
The frightened and prideful fool that I am, I convinced myself that I could solve this on my own, just like everything else my life. I would talk myself out of getting actual help, and find all the answers I need watching Law & Order: SVU. Funny enough, that was back when USA played nearly daily marathons, and I watched every single one, absolutely glued to every particle of the show, hoping for some line of dialogue to save my life. I found some answers, but not all. I kept watching anyway.
Eventually, I had assimilated myself back into university life, although I knew I had changed. People noticed, at first. I would lie and tell them it was some weird virus, and I hadn’t been getting much sleep, and so on. They accepted this, and I kept on going.
When I would get home, I would cry. Everyday. This lasted for months. I started doing this weird thing that lasted for a while, I have no idea why I did it, but I would take my shoes and socks off, leave my clothes on and get in the bathtub and turn the water on. I’d sit there, slowly and quietly pruning. I guess it was my way of detoxing, because at this point, I felt poisoned. I felt the need to get whatever this darkness that was consuming me out.
When that didn’t work, I started drinking. I don’t advise doing that. Especially if you’re like me and have alcoholism in your family. I’ve been sober since February 11, 2005, but damn did that aspect of recovery suck. I made it much more difficult for myself, you see, because I had to recover from being an alcoholic and then get back to recovering from being raped. *hindsight headdesk*
I graduated from Tulane in 2004, my grades had slipped (due to drinking and my being about ready to just flunk out anyway (I graduated with a 3.1, so it wasn’t terrible)). Then I moved back to Indiana. After I had quit drinking, I realized I was still not in good shape. I still had trouble sleeping, I couldn’t focus on whatever was in front of me. If you honked a horn around me, I was the idiot shaking and about to hit the floor. Was this PTSD?
Time for therapy. Now, this woman was nice and all, but we didn’t click. She did teach me a great way to ward off panic attacks (I’ll list the method below), but we didn’t work. So I gave up, and tried, once again, to do all the recovery on my own. At this point, Katrina hit so I ignored my needs and focused on watching the city that I love more than most people on this planet, get nearly destroyed. It was a surreal bond.
I quit smoking (cold turkey) on December 1, 2005, and thought that may help. Kinda. I was still avoiding dealing with the core issue, and my PTSD was getting worse. So I tried therapy again. By that, I mean I called a rape crisis center and decided not to go in. The woman I spoke with on the phone was chiding. She was.
So, once again, I let things get worse, I put on weight, gave up on my self image altogether, basically went into the “un-being” phase again but without all the crying. The outbursts of rage were new, though. I eventually got to the point where I could no longer take it (again). And then I found the most awesome counselor on the planet. For me, at least. She used a technique called EMDR which is basically proactive hypnosis. It worked. In only nine sessions.
While I am better, I still have my bad moments. I say moments because I used to have bad months. Then those months tapered into weeks which whittled down to days which shrunk into hours which fizzled into minutes. My run-on point is (as cliche as it is to say this now): It gets better. It really does, you have to not give up on yourself and realize that you will be dealing with the aftermath of being a survivor of rape for the rest of your life. Read that again if you have to.
What I’ve come to realize is that there is very little information out there for anyone on what to do to recover. All you’re told is to get help, even from other survivors. It’s very cloak-and-dagger, really. I understand that this is because everyone’s recovery is different, but come on, world, really? Why the silence?
In all likelihood, and I’m sorry to say this, but your rapist will probably never see jail time, even if caught and identified in a lineup. The conviction rate in the United States is between three to six percent. If you’re not enraged by that statistic, you should be. Does that mean that given the chance to press charges and go to trial you shouldn’t? ABSOLUTELY NOT. Holy hell, what I wouldn’t give for a chance at a trial! If you have the chance to do that, do it! That is what you need to know after knowing that you should seek counseling. I hate to have jumped on that bandwagon, too, but it is true. Get help from a professional who deals specifically with rape victims and survivors. And if you get a crappy therapist, keep looking, there are awesome ones out there.
You also need to know that the general public doesn’t give a s**t that you were raped. They don’t. It’s still a taboo. It’s unpleasant. People don’t like to think that these kinds of terrible things actually happen, let alone to someone they know. But Jersey Shore isn’t a taboo? We are doomed. Doomed, I tell you! I digress. Here’s the thing, one in three women in the United States will suffer some sort of sexual violence in her lifetime, usually around the ages of 19-24. That’s just women. And that’s just in the United States. Gentlemen, you need to start being more open about rape, too. It happens. We don’t know the stats because men are just as stifled as women are, if not more so. I’d say it’s a cultural thing in this country, but it isn’t. Rape is like death in that sense, it can happen to anyone on Earth, it doesn’t matter your age, your gender, your race, your social status, etc. We need to stop being silent, we need to stop letting others silence us once we speak up.
If you have broken your silence, you know exactly what I’m talking about when it comes to other people trying to get you to shut up. I’m not talking about walking into to a room of strangers and announcing with gusto that you’ve been raped. Don’t do that, actually. I’m referring to when you are around people you trust enough (close friends and family). I’ve opened up and been shut down. It’s a terrible feeling. I’ve been told everything from “Oh, get over it” to “Well, you were sleeping with him anyway, so that’s not really rape” to “You are such a drama queen!”. Swear. To. God. Choose who you open up to carefully, my dears, and be prepared to deal with idiocy like that.
You are allowed a certain amount of time to be a victim, but you do need to realize that you have to get out of that state as soon as you can. Nobody likes someone who plays victim all the time, me least of all. I’ve been known to be rather harsh on the perpetual victims. The amount of self-hatred that rape victims experience is insane and intense, but is not everlasting. As I’m sure you’ve heard five billion fuffillion times, it’s not your fault. I’d like to point out that if you don’t get off your ass and start to actively make yourself better, then the state you’re in is your fault. Do NOT expect a knight in shining armor to pull you out of Rock Bottom’s Basement. Why would you want that? Think about it…you’re placing your entire well-being and healing process on someone else. First off, that keeps you in a state of helplessness and codependency (meaning you’re still in a state of victimhood), which is not going to help you in the long run and it’s not fair to the other person to carry a burden like that. You are the one who can truly better yourself. Think Wonder Woman and not Disney Princess. Trust me, it’s so much more gratifying that way. Plus, you get a lasso, go-go boots, and a plane.
You will experience emotions that you didn’t think were possible. They will be extreme and intense, but they will level out over time. Sometimes, you’ll experience what feels like all of them at once. I used to think I’d be able to shoot lasers out of my eyes. As handy as that would be during holiday shopping season it never happened. In seriousness, you need to learn how to deal with each of those emotions and keep them in check. As stupid as it sounds, I kept a checklist of what worked to snap me out of things and what didn’t. Recovery is an ongoing process and it takes patience. I’d recommend humor in helping with your recovery, but you have to do what works for you, as long as it’s not destructive behavior.
Which sorta leads me into explaining how to ward off a panic attack with no medication:
- Put your tongue on the roof of your mouth and breathe. See how it’s difficult and forces you to regulate your breathing? Neat huh? We’re not done.
- Close your eyes and count backwards from 10, slowly. Notice how your calming down?
- Now, pick a neutral or cool color and imagine it washing over everything that’s bothering you. You should be even calmer now.
- Now pick two words that you want to feel. Like “Happy” and “Safe”. Me being all snarky, picked “F**k this”. It makes me laugh, which snaps me out of anything.
- Repeat if necessary.
See how simple that is? Notice it’s drug-free, too (I’m all for no meds, if possible).
You are not the same person you were before you were raped, nor will you ever be again. Sorry, I know it’s another harsh one. You’ve won the lottery if you do not have PTSD. PTSD is still being researched, mostly on soldiers, but the latest studies are indicating that your brain physically and chemically changes after suffering trauma (the severity of which depends on the level of trauma and the individual’s ability to cope with said trauma). You are different. There are things about you that will never be the same. Having sex is one of those things. You will have to fight to regain what you can of yourself, but realize that everything will be different because you are, and that is absolutely normal and it will be okay. It is an adjustment, you have to get used to your new self. It seems scary, but it really isn’t as bad as you think it is. You are still here and you have a chance to start over. Accept yourself for who you’ve become, and if you don’t like what you’ve become, find a way to change it. If people from your past simply can’t bring themselves to “deal” with you, that’s their problem, not yours. Move on. Trust me, while the world has its monsters, they are few and far between. The problem is that their actions impact us deeply. But there are some truly wonderful and supportive people out there. Try to let them in and let their actions impact you just as deeply.
You will screw things up. I became so petrified of making any kind of mistake, no matter how minute, that I would remain paralyzed. Don’t do that to yourself. You’re human, all of us fall, all of us get back up. I’d actually advise you to go out and make some goofy, minor, harmless mistakes and find the humor in them. But please don’t go on the destructive path. This happens to so many rape victims. I don’t want you to be one of them. Don’t be consumed by drugs and alcohol, as I was. Don’t think that having sex will “fix” you. It won’t. Especially if you aren’t picky about your partner, you will feel so much worse. Focus on finding a suitable partner versus hooking up with someone just for sex. Sex is actually not as big of a deal in a relationship as Hollywood and relationship “experts” would have you believe. Don’t put too much emphasis on it. While I understand that I can’t tell you what to do, I know I’m trying, but I just don’t want you to make mistakes that can be damaging to your recovery. But, more times than not, we have to make mistakes firsthand to understand. Then we try to pass the knowledge on and, well, I’m sure you get it. I want you to be happy and well-adjusted. I don’t want you to stay a perpetual victim who is hell-bent on self destruction.
I am fully aware that people do not understand what it means to be a rape survivor. I’ve tried to explain it in plain English with little to no midwestern accent, and it turns out to be disastrous. It’s like explaining astrophysics to a toddler. The best way I can state it is that it is the worst thing that can happen to you aside from dying. It is a form of torture. It is an extreme form of bullying. It is an act committed by power-hungry cowards. It is not something, for the most part, that is a preventable crime. It is a crime that is easy to get away with, as the laws tend to favor the rapist. It is an underreported crime that is not taken as seriously as it should be, and is particularly underreported by men, nonwhites, and the LGBT community. In other countries, the situation is worse, especially war/conflict-torn countries. There are countries where rape has no definition, and therefore is not a crime. There are people on this planet (everywhere, mind you) who believe 100% that if you are raped, you are to marry your rapist. These are usually religious fanatics, and my question to them is (after mentally setting their hair on fire with my laser eyes), what about same sex rape? As most of them don’t believe in gay marriage, you see, this question should get their last semi-functional brain cell to burst. Mission accomplished. Feel free to fight back to stupidity. That’s another important thing to learn. One of the most kick-ass things to do is stand up for yourself. It feels terrific. It doesn’t have to be anything grand, like laser eyes or perfectly timed quips to morons, just try it. It is an incredible feeling, but don’t get caught in a bickering match. Those tend to be draining and as useless as the jerk(s) you’re arguing with. And remember, there are soulless people out there who think it’s cool to mock rape victims. Don’t let it get to you, but don’t put up with it either, remember that you’ve survived much worse.
So…I don’t know if I’ve helped any of you out there. I really hope so, ultimately that’s my goal in writing this. I hope that I made you giggle a bit, too. I want to end this with a story I read recently, and I want you to try to keep it in mind when you feel lost:
One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, “My son, the battle is between two wolves. One is Evil. It is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith.” The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, “Which wolf wins?”
The old man simply replied, “The one you feed.”
I applaud @ThundarKitteh for having the courage to share her story. Rape is abuse. If you, no matter your genger, have been raped, know that it's not your fault and you are not responsible for someone else's actions. Find someone you trust, who really listens and talk to them, talking is critical to the healing. If you're a parent, listen when your child tells you that something happened to them -- no matter who the accused predator may be. Don't dismiss it or them, if you do, you become as much a part of the rapist you've enabled. Please feel free to comment below, even share your story. It's time.
*EMDR is just one type of treatment and your counselor will help you determine if it's right for you.
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