Writing...

I am really struggling lately with flashbacks and I have been instructed to try and simply WRITE what is going through my head. So much easier said than done.

I am in 5th or 6th grade... I am in my bedroom... scared... watching my bedroom door. The door is on the opposite wall from my bed... i can see it clearly. I am not sure how long I watch it before I know he is coming... see the door start to open. Maybe i close my eyes at this point.. or simply dissociate... because that is where I no longer "see" anything. Actually everything in the memory changes at this point... my sense of everything changes... it all gets foggy. I can feel the terror that was inside me and i can feel him... but everything I remember starts to overlap and it feels like everything is happening at once - even though it isn't possible. He is too heavy and I feel like he is smothering me. His hands are deliberate and strong and i can't move. I don't want this to happen... but I also am very aware that what I want doesn't matter. *I* don't matter. The memories overlap and blur into one another. I can feel his hands separate my legs. Him on top of me... he is too heavy. I feel so trapped... and confined. I can feel him penetrating me... there is so much pain. I can feel him in my mouth... I can't breathe. Gagging. And when it is all over I just curl up in my bed. I tell myself over and over that "it doesn't matter" until I finally fall asleep.

My last "rape"...

Sometimes I feel like a complete fraud in that I define what happened to me a few years back as "rape". In therapy I won't speak the words and yet online I openly say that is what happened. I am being much more truthful to my therapist... I struggle immensely with intense feelings of guilt and shame surrounding the event.

I never said "no"... how do I reconcile with that? In the back of my head I constantly tell myself that because of that simple fact that it had to have been considered consensual. What if he didn't know how much he was hurting me? And even if he did how would he have known I wanted him to stop if I didn't tell him? And then there is the fact he did something to my drink... but how do I know if it had any effect on me? So many questions and in the end I just hate myself for that night.

I had finally been at a place in my life where I wanted to be happy. All that I had ever wanted was to have a family. Have a baby. I just didn't know if I could emotionally handle a sexual relationship. I was terrified of that. I equate sex with violence and I was afraid that anyone I slept with, even if they were kind and loving towards me, I would resent afterwards. So in my own twisted logic sort of way I thought that I would try and sleep with someone I didn't have any attachment towards so that I could see if I could simply make it through the sex part and, if not, I would never have to face them again. But I didn't plan on what ended up happening that night...

I met him online. We had dinner at an Asian restaurant and he INSISTED I try an assortment of things I knew I wouldn't like. I see myself as someone who typically does try new things... but there certainly are things I *know* aren't for me. He was quick to put me down and guilted me into doing what he wanted. He was arrogant and controlling right from the start. This should have been a red flag but instead I saw that it would be easier to break off ties with him afterwards.

He invited me back to his apartment for hot chocolate (I had told him I didn't drink). When he gave me my drink I knew right away something was in it... it was absolutely horrible tasting. Nothing like hot chocolate. I didn't say anything and just pretended to drink it, holding it in my hands. The thought of him trying to drug me scared me to no ends - the situation was starting to change and I was feeling less in control. When his roommate made an appearance I got more panicked - the 2-1 ratio was intimidating. He kept telling me to drink my hot chocolate and he and the roommate would laugh about something (I couldn't hear what they were talking about). I took sips to appease him. I was scared and didn't know what to do. At one point I excused myseld and went into the bathroom. I sat on the floor, curled up in a ball, and tried to calm myself. I even checked out the window to see if I could climb out. I felt so trapped. I didn't know what to do...

The roommate eventually excused himself and he got me onto the couch. He had us watch Sex and the City for what seemed like an eternity. I will always associate that show now with that night. I shiver every time anyone mentions it. I thought it odd at this point why he was taking so long... I knew what was going to happen and I didn't understand what he was waiting for. I have since read that there is a time frame for drugs to take effect (some longer than others) so it makes me wonder if that is why he waited...

I did get incredibly dizzy and I couldn't think clearly. I don't know if that was because of my drink or if it was from my nerves. I dissociate when I get scared and I just don't know exactly what was happening to me. I knew I didn't want him to touch me. I knew I wanted to go home. But I was terrified. I learned from a young age that you don't say "no". You shut up and wait for them to be done.

He brought me upstairs to his bedroom. I NEVER said "no". I didn't fight him. He hurt me more than I can ever put into words. He was thrusting himself inside me and I just wanted to scream. I felt like I was being ripped to pieces. I don't know how long it took him to finish... it felt like it went on forever. In my head I pleaded with him to stop. I yelled "no" over and over and over again. But I couldn't get the words out. I was so dizzy and I felt like I was going to pass out several times. Each time I got close though he would yank me into a different position and it would force me back into the nightmare. I WANTED to pass out. I wanted to be as far away from there as I possibly could be. At one point I even tried to work with him... move my body in a way to help him get off. I have tons of guilt about this too. I so badly wanted it to be over with that I thought if I helped him it would make it end.

Eventually he got off... he pulled himself out and he ejaculated on my stomach. He looked down at me and said "You are bleeding". It was so matter-of-fact. He did get up and get a cloth... he came back, spread my legs, and wiped me off. It was all over the bed too. I just layed there. He brought me up to the top of the bed and wanted to lay there with me. I don't know how much time went by. I was so afraid that he was going to start all over again. And I kept watching the door in fear that the roommate was going to come and join in. That didn't happen. I did finally muster the nerve to ask to go home. He got angry. I ended up saying that I had someone at home who would be looking for me. He relented and agreed to take me home.

I just remember going into the bathroom at home and seeing all the blood. I put on a pad and curled up in bed with my roommate. I just wanted to put it all behind me. I bled for about a week. It was fairly heavy for several days. I was too scared to seek medical attention. I didn't say "no"... they would just tell me it was my fault...

Trauma and Motherhood

Through all my years of depression and suicidality the only thing that kept me pushing through all the pain was dreaming of being a mother one day. This dream probably started when I entered my teen years. I would think of being a mom sometimes on a daily basis.

Initially I am sure it was for all the wrong reasons... selfish reasons. We all have basic, primary needs. Of simply wanting someone to love us unconditionally. To feel needed and wanted. To me, having a baby fulfilled these basic desires.

I didn't actually get pregnant until my late twenties. But prior to becoming pregnant I did start planning for the event. I have always been incredibly self destructive. I guess hurting myself was my only outlet for all the pain I kept buried inside. It manifested itself through my anorexia, bouts of bulimia, self mutilation, etc. I realized at one point that I didn't know what the anorexia was doing to my body. I had already been diagnosed with osteoporosis... who knew what other irreversible damage had been done. Because of a baby that hadn't even been created yet I was able to pull myself out of the depths of my eating disorder. I couldn't bare to think I was ruining my only chance of fulfilling my dream.

When I actually did get pregnant, I took all this even further. Prior to my daughter, I refused to see how hurting myself (i.e. cutting) could be negative in any way. I typically cut to stop my flashbacks, to gain some semblance of control of my life back, to lessen the pain, to simply make it through the moment. It, at times, literally saved my life. It wasn't until I was carrying my daughter inside me that I was able to see this from a different perspective. From the perspective of a mom watching her daughter go down this road. That was unbearable to me... to think of my daughter ever hurting herself in this way. That is when I realized my own responsibilities in becoming a mom. I was going to be a role model. There were so many aspects of my life that I wanted to change... to make better for my child. It was certainly the beginning of a long healing process.

Sometimes it is through our children that we see who we want to be and it is them who give us the strength to push through all the pain and hurt and become the people we want to be. I know that it is because of my daughter that I am conquering my eating issues and am on my way to conquering my self injury issues. I struggle at times with my own guilt for bringing a child into this world that is filled with so much hate. For giving her a mother who is struggling and still trying to get her life in order. But I have to keep telling myself that no one is perfect and giving my daughter unconditional love and acceptance goes a long ways. I firmly believe that showing our children how to be a survivor is an amazing tool in life. It is so easy to only see the negative but we have so much to offer our children. It is easy when we are struggling to think that our children might be better off without us but we underestimate ourselves and our struggles and forget to see the strength and courage we display in making it through our lives - THAT certainly isn't something that damages people but instead inspires them and shows them how to make it through their own difficult times.

I am slowly coming to terms with my own limitations and expectations and realizing that I don't have to be a "perfect mother". Being flawed is what make us human and how we handle our flaws is what can make us exceptional. And there is such strength in surviving.

My story of CSA, Sexual Assault, and Rape (the condensed version of course)

I only remember bits and pieces from my childhood. It leaves me incredibly confused and guilt-ridden for the conclusions I have made.

I do remember being abused by a neighborhood boy. I was about 4 and he was a couple years older. The time that I remember it happening the clearest was when he had me pinned under my bed. Neither of us had clothes on and he would just kind of drag his penis over the top of me. I remember at one point him holding my wrists and at another point having his hand over my mouth. I don't ever remember trying to get away. I was scared. When I think back I hear the words "I will be a good girl" going over and over in my head. I feel like I already knew that I was suppose to "let it happen".

This is where my memories get more confusing (all these memories I am going to list took place between the ages of probably 4 until whatever age I was in 2nd grade). I remember getting scared in the night and coming downstairs and curling up in in the small pantry. Tight spaces were always a source of comfort. I couldn't wear underwear because I couldn't handle anything "touching me down there". My mom has told me that I went through a phase in early childhood where I wouldn't leave her side for literally about a year. My mom also found a detailed drawing of a man's penis - she later told me that she was very disturbed by this and even though she thought it might have been me who drew it she wasn't sure - and when the picture suddenly disappeared she didn't go any further with it. I also started getting UTIs during this time. And the nightmares started. My sister would at times wake me up because I was crying in my sleep. What I remember of them is being held down by a man (or men) and being touched and being so incredibly scared. A lot of times it seemed like it took place in a basement. But again, I only remember bits and pieces from the nightmares. And in the 2nd grade I remember telling my mom that I hurt between my legs. I recently asked her about this but she said she didn't remember me telling her.

My mom and my father divorced when I was about 4. My father was a very angry person. He had a horrible temper. My mom revealed about ten years ago to me that he raped her throughout their marriage. He certainly was someone who sparked fear in you - he would fly off the handle at the littlest things. My mom said she tried to keep us away from his as much as possible. It wasn't long after my father left that my step-father was there (although he had always been around as he had been a family friend since before I was born). I remember being scared at one point because I couldn't tell my stepfather and father apart. They both had these full beards and mustaches.

I remember in about third grade having a talk with my mom in my grandparents bathroom (we moved around A LOT and sometimes stayed with them between houses). We were getting ready to go to a Take Back the Night march and she was telling me how rape was wrong. I believed her. But I remember knowing in my head that I must be different. I already knew that *I* deserved it.

Come 7th grade, I started getting severely depressed and suicidal. I started developing increasingly self-abusive behaviors (tying ropes around my neck, hanging out windows and hoping to fall from the upstairs floor, anorexia, rubbing my wrists raw, etc). I also started contemplating suicide. 7th grade I also awoke to a family member coming into my bedroom and climbing into bed with me. I was ALWAYS on the alert at nighttime. This time though, I ran out of the room. I got into bed with my mom. He stayed in my bed and the next morning I came up with an excuse for why he was in there. No one questioned anything. I had so much guilt though for getting away... I started walking the streets at night in unsafe places (outside strip clubs, etc.) hoping to get hurt. Ninth grade year was my first suicide attempt (there would be several more).

My mom didn't want much to do with me. She regretted having kids. Every day when I would come home from school she would get up and go into her bedroom and close the door. That was of course if she was even home. She was gone a lot. I told her one time that I felt like she didn't want me around... she told me she needed to think about it. She later told me that she had conceived me because she "didn't realize she could have a life of her own". I started having flashbacks and body memories of my childhood in 12th grade after watching a home video of us as kids. It brought so much back. After I graduated high school, I had planned to go away to school at Hunter college in NYC. My mom ended up have a psychotic break though, so I stayed home to take care of her. She asked me during this "episode" if I knew anyone who had been hurt in a basement because she had a strong feeling about something like that happening. I lied and said no. But it fit the nightmares I remember from my childhood. When I was about 21, my therapist at the time, suggested I move to another state to get away from things and move in with my father. She had spoken with him on the phone a few times and said that he really wanted a relationship with me and wanted to help me. My therapist had already gotten me to quit my job because she had me in partial hospitalization/day treatment - told me if I didn't agree she would fully hospitalize me because she was concerned about my safety (even though I did get hospitalized in that time anyways). So I didn't have many options - I certainly couldn't afford my apartment without any income coming in. She knew everything about my father but thought he had changed. He hadn't. It was actually right before I moved in with him that my mother revealed to me that he had raped her repeatedly.

I moved in with my father and step mother and the verbal abuse started right away. I was told how pathetic I was on pretty much a daily basis. I remember one time my stepmother told me, after reading a newspaper article on a rash of school suicides that had just taken place, that if I did kill myself that I shouldn't expect her and my father to be too broken up about it. I developed heart problems during this time, I believe from all the stress, which they of course blamed me for too. I remember coming home from the hospital one time (I had been hospitalized after they thought I was having a heart attack during a stress test)... I got myself home on public transportation (the nurses couldn't believe I couldn't get a ride home because physically I was not well - I could barely walk from one room to another without being completely out of breath, they kept asking if I was safe at home - I denied anything was wrong) and walked through the door to have my stepmother greet me with a "I hope you are satisfied with yourself now." Everything was always my fault and it eventually escalated to some physical abuse. My father would grab me by my neck when he was angry with me. He also would swear at me and call me a "fucking bitch". Ironically they kicked me out and I had to go into a homeless shelter. I had no one and no where to go.

In the shelter I was sexually assaulted by another woman. I had trusted her prior to the assault. I completely froze up during it though and she was on top of me touching me under my clothes. There were other women who saw it all but did nothing (initially anyways). She started demanding that they leave the room at one point and I remember being so scared that they were going to go because I knew what was coming. But one of the women finally came over to me and told me to take her hand and come to her. I couldn't move and couldn't talk. I was completely paralyzed with fear. She stayed with me though and kept coaching me to come to her and get away from this woman who was hurting me. I finally was able to reach out to this woman and take her hand. She got me out of there.

Another woman in the shelter took care of me after this happened (she was actually one of the women who had witnessed the event). I would cry ALL day long and just shake and shake. I would dissociate for hours at a time curled up with this one woman. I was also being stalked at this time, and there was a man at the soup kitchen who would grab me and put me on his lap and move me around to get him off. After I was able to get out of the shelter and got an apartment with the woman who took care of me in the shelter, I went in and out of catatonic states. But things slowly started to get better. I finally started to feel safe again... until one night she touched me in the night.

When I turned 27, I was doing SO much better though. I started thinking about having a family and just having a LIFE. I didn't know if I could handle being in a relationship though (mainly the sexual aspect) and decided to just test the waters. I met a man online and went out on a date with him. We went out to dinner first and he showed his controlling side right away. I still agreed to go back to his house for some hot chocolate though. The hot chocolate clearly had something else in it and I got freaked out and started dissociating a little. I really wanted to go home but was too afraid to ask. I don't know what he put in my drink. My therapist says because of this it doesn't matter that I didn't verbalize a "no" - that what happened next was rape. I blamed myself for years though (okay, I still do). He was so rough with me. I can't even begin to describe how much pain I was in. I kept screaming "no" in my head and saying "please stop" but I couldn't get anything out. It seemed to go on forever and I just kept trying to dissociate so that I could escape from all the pain - but every time I would start to "disappear" a little he would yank me into a different position and I would be forced back into the nightmare. I was so dizzy and felt like I was going to pass out and kept hoping that would happen but it didn't. After he was finished he pulled out and simply said "you're bleeding". He grabbed something and cleaned me up a little. There was blood all over the bed. He pulled me up in the bed and wanted to lay there with me. I finally mustered the strength to ask to go home. He was angry but after I told him I had someone at home who was waiting for me and would be looking for me he relented. I bled fairly heavily for almost a week afterwards.

That kind of brings me to now (this is certainly a condensed version of events). My body memories have started coming back full force. I know I am little in them. I can just feel it. I feel the fear too like I am still that little girl. I can feel him over me and he is too heavy and it is hard to breathe. I feel the pain between my legs and it hurts so much - sometimes even after the body memories stop the pain still lingers. And I feel his penis in my mouth. I feel so sick and just want it out. But the body memories keep coming and won't go away. I hate to think the things I do -- because I am not 100% positive about who it is in them. I feel like a horrible person. I am so confused and scared and... tired. I have a little girl now though (she is 2 1/2) and everything I do is for her. I keep living for her because I am all she has (and vice versa). But it is a struggle. I just wish it would all go away because I am living each day teetering on the edge.

Freezing and Paralysis During Rape

I came across this excerpt from the book "Resurrection After Rape" by Matt Atkinson, LCSW(http://www.resurrectionafterrape.org/) and found it incredibly helpful. It is amazing the amount of guilt we can place on ourselves after such horrendous events. I really found the information to be incredibly eye-opening and it gave my own actions some validation.

Freezing and paralysis during rape – “I just laid there and took it!”

At first, few rape victims can tolerate alternate explanations for their rapes. For example, you may habitually tell yourself “I should have fought more,” without considering the possibility that you might have been harmed even worse had you done so. Because rape is about power and control, a rapist will use a level of aggression that exceeds any resistance in order to maintain that control. Furthermore, during a traumatic assault the body’s sympathetic nervous system takes over, instinctively regulating your behaviors for the sake of survival. That means your conscious mind stops choosing what to do, and your physical systems grab control, producing one of three basic responses: fight, flee, or freeze.

All three instincts have helpful and harmful aspects about them; they may either increase or decrease your safety. But contrary to what we see in movies and what we read in booklets promoted by the self-defense industry, the “fight instinct” is actually rather rare in both men and women. By far the most common instinct is the “freeze instinct,” in which the body becomes very still, rigid, and silent. This is called “tonic immobility,” and is a simple survival behavior. During rape, temporary paralysis is very common (it occurs in up to 88% of rape victims during the assault, according to studies) and entirely normal, and probably even quite healthy. (source: Heidt, J. M., Marx, B. P., & Forsyth, J. P. (2005). Tonic immobility and childhood sexual abuse: Evaluating the sequela of rape-induced paralysis. Behaviour Research and Therapy,43,1157–1171.)

However, until someone explains to a survivor that this instinct is normal and appropriate, she will often spend years criticizing herself (“What’s the matter with me? I just laid there! I’m such a fool! Why didn’t I fight, or at least scream?”), and even lawyers and juries can be misled into lenience toward rapists whose victims are inaccurately described as “passive.” This behavior is not “passive;” it is a biologically-driven form of resistance! But this fact is so rarely understood that rape victims often multiply their own sense of guilt and shame because of the freeze instinct. One study even found that the link between this “temporary paralysis” during rape and later feelings of guilt and self-blame are directly related to increased depression, anxiety, and PTSD later.

This is why it is so crucial that rape survivors receive basic education about the body’s adaptations to trauma, so that you can understand and accept these behaviors as normal, rather than as failure. “This is a biologically hard-wired response that just kicks in, typically when there's extreme fear coupled with physical restraint,” states one study of victims’ temporary paralysis during rape. Jennifer Heidt, commenting on a study she helped organize, wrote, “if we can help to show them [in therapy] that they weren't letting this happen to themselves, that this is an unlearned response, that they were incapable of changing it, that they were incapable of fighting back, then we can help deal with that guilt.” (source: Finn, Robert. “Involuntary paralysis common during rape - Legal and TX Implications.” OB/GYN News, Jan. 15, 2003. http://findarticles.com/p/articles...)

It can also be difficult to separate the issues of “compliance” with “consent.” In most rapes where the victim is conscious, there is some degree of forced compliance with the rapist, simply as a reasonable way to protect herself from further harm. Although this is a very normal form of self-preservation, it can also produce one hell of a stuck point afterward:

• “The fact that I stopped struggling when he ordered me to means I am guilty of permitting the rape.”
• “I removed my underpants when he told me to. That means I participated or led him on about sex.”
• “I kept quiet and never screamed. Does that mean I wasn’t really raped?”
• “My whole body froze and I couldn’t move.”
• “They always say ‘no means no.’ But I never said the word ‘no’ because I was paralyzed with fear.”
• “I can’t remember how I got into the closet [where the rape happened]…If I put myself there, it must mean I helped him rape me.”

When a person is mugged, they instinctively freeze and will typically say to the attacker, “Take whatever you want.” They will compliantly hand over wallets, purses, watches, anything demanded of them, in a desperate, terrified hope that the assault will end without further injury or death. And nobody questions this cooperation; police even advise it as the correct course of action. People will support you and assure you that you did the right thing. Nobody blames you for carrying money by saying, well, didn’t you realize that would only lead a robber on?” Nobody would blame you for all the times you willingly spent money by implying that this means you “have a history of giving it away, so aren’t you just ‘crying robbery’ now?” Nobody would claim that the incident was probably just a cash transaction that “got out of hand” or you regretted later.

Yet when the violent assault becomes sexual, many people implausibly lose all their insights about the importance of cooperation to reduce harm. Suddenly, the guilty questions begin: “Why didn’t I fight back? What if I had resisted more? Why did I stay quiet? Why did I freeze? Why did I take off something I wore when he ordered me to?”

These stuck points exist because of the gap between what we want to believe (“I would never ‘let’ anyone rape me”) and what the rape itself seems to prove (“I must have failed to prevent rape. Or worse yet, I must have permitted it!”). It may seem like an unusual statement, but analyzing your stuck points is really a form of forgiving yourself for whatever actions you had to do to survive, and for whatever it’s taken to cope since, and for whatever misguided self-blame you have felt in spite of the facts. When Shannon* wrote the words “I’m sorry, little girl” in her story, it was written after she had finished writing and reading it aloud, and she had recognized the many forms of resistance she had used. The comment was her apology to herself for spending the next three years crucifying herself. She discovered during her “stuck point” work that she was neither weak nor willing, and that her younger self had never deserved the heaps of blame and guilt she had carried.

*Shannon is an author who contributed journals to the book "Resurrection After Rape."

A New Awakening

I hate not being able to make sense of things. I feel so incredibly confused all the time. I don't know who I am... I feel like an outsider in my own life. Like I just pop in from time to time but it is someone else who has lived my life for me. Not that I want this life so I should be thankful that there is a piece of me who was able to escape it. But it leaves me feeling so empty and disconnected.

I am realizing more and more through therapy that I want to change things. I want to be happy and present, to be able to heal from the past, and create a new life for myself and my daughter. In order to achieve this I need to confront all those demons I have kept buried. To give a voice to that little girl who was so scared and confused as to why she was so different to deserve such unspeakable acts. To give a voice to my 20-something me who endured sexual assaults and then a rape a few years back. I need to break these silences I have kept all these years and speak out to reclaim my body and take back my life. Pushing through all the pain and fear I need to find myself again. This is my attempt.