How I Survived.

Not many of you know that I tried to commit suicide two weeks ago but I didn’t. In the instant I tried to breathe in water, I was reminded of everything I loved, of every person I loved. It was their voices, faces, the memory of their hugs and words encouragement against my depression that really pulled my head above water. They have always been the ones that have kept me going no matter how low on fuel I am.

“You are my best friend.”

“You are amazing. You are incredible. You are worth a bazillion everything.”

“I’ve heard of you and I don’t know who Norman Reedus is so in my imaginary world you’re way more famous than he is.”

“It’ll be okay.”

“You are intelligent and talented and beautiful. In short, you are amazing. Never forget that.”

These people believe I am amazing but the truth is, they are more amazing than I will every be. They have been my wings when I needed them the most. They have never feared my depression, self-hatred, or my lack of belief in their words. However, from this point onward I will believe, like you do, that I am worth bazillion everything, I am amazing, I am intelligent, and that it will be okay and that I am loved.   

Later, I decided I would share my story last November with  My friend, Dese’Rae L. Stage. During this interview for Live Through This, I was having trouble remembering things I wanted to say and she said, “You’ll remember it when we’re done.” She was right, I remembered more what of what I wished I had said. I remembered what I was afraid to say because it might be triggering for some. I remembered the feelings I had the night I tried to kill myself.

I have always thought that depression felt like ice wrapping itself around my shoulders and knife in my chest. Except the  knife would never reach my heart nor would the ice fully cover me even though I wanted them to.
I didn’t want to be alive. I didn’t want to have other people’s thoughts and wishes in my head anymore. I didn’t want to think of the hundreds of ways that I failed. I didn’t want to let people know just how badly my rape had hurt me. I had felt that way for a while but that night was the final straw.
Everything ached and I was having trouble breathing. I was convincing myself out of hurting myself, like I had promised my family. I promised I wouldn’t cut. What I decided to do was far worse: I began to fill my bathtub with only one motive.  I was going to drown myself in the one place I often sought comfort. What was ironic was that as I watch the bathtub fill, I tried talking myself out of doing it but I was failing because of memories. Memories of bad test scores, disappointment from my parents and teachers, my embarrassment, and being raped by someone I thought loved me thus making me unworthy of love of that kind. All of them at once like a very ugly movie. It was enough. I was done. I pulled myself above the water and here I am.

I wish I had remembered to say that.

Time is too Slow

I’m unsure as to how to proceed with this post. Should I talk more about the aftermath of recovering?  Should I talk about how my weight upsets me? Should I talk about how much I want to cut myself lately? Or my decision to not date or have any type of romantic contact?
Why don’t I just talk about all of them? Let’s do that.
First on my mind: Relationship thing. I made this decision yesterday because I have become sick to hurting myself (literally) of getting hurt, violated, looking over for someone “better” or someone who fits a preferred mold. I’m done with trying to guess whether a guy likes me or not– friends or not friends? Am I good enough for you? I am done with guess and getting hurt. I have better, more worthwhile, things to do than wait for someone for me who probably doesn’t exist. I will only accept a miracle man. I man who shows me that he is brave and won’t play games. A man who is honest and strong. That man will have to accept me for who I am and all of my craziness. My emotional roller-coaster-ness.I will change for that man. 

      On top of being shunted aside for more beige-like-personalities, I’m not thin enough. It frustrates me beyond belief that there isn’t one man who genuinely believes I am beautiful but I guess my personality is such an affliction that beauty can’t over power it. Which is impressive because many have admitted that they wanted me just to get laid. 
I want so desperately to be that one woman you see and just say, “wow.” The unattainable beauty that people remember and not another person on the bus, in class, or at a party. I want to be spectacular. Then jaw-dropping when they find out that I am whip-lash smart but I’m not these. To others, I am just some rape victim who wasn’t intelligent to keep herself safe. That is what is making me want to cut. It’s hard to shut out the words because they are my own and proven through experience. I’m not sure how to handle any of this. 

Victim to Survivor

Last Valentine’s Day I was raped by a person I thought loved me. Most rape survivors are stronger than I am and what I mean by that is that they didn’t let it, the trauma or loss, practically consume them. I kind of have. I hear loving words from those around me but I feel as if they are wrong because everyday I paint a smile on my face. I haven’t spoken of the nightmares that are more reliving the memory and every night more and more resurfaces. Every night I have to deal with a new wave of horror, misery and self-hatred because I lost my memory. My brain shut off the second he rolled me over and the image that comes to mind everyday and night is the window that I was facing. The memory of that damn window taunts me in the fact that it is a twisted metaphor for escape.

I do not see myself as strong because I failed to escape. The thing I haven’t told people is that I let the abuse continue. The abuse started on Valentine’s Day but didn’t stop until April.  I remember that. remember being afraid to say no and I let him do what he wanted then after he left I would ask myself what was wrong with me. Where did my strength go? I have buried that because the guilt and pain has been too much

However. a year later, I start the harder process which is believing in myself and believing that I am as strong as other believe. This process I know will be one of the hardest things I will ever do for myself but it is something I need to do. I have let it interfere with potential relationships, with schoolwork and my family life. I am done being a victim. I am ready to be a survivor.

Action.

Something was pointed out to me, by one of my sisters no less, as to why people may be ignoring it [two posts back.] She didn’t say it like that but her question was, “What would posting that solve? Imagine him reading it. What would you want his response to be? What do you think it would be? I replied, “[It’s] Not really about him reading it, more of  the people around him. Letting them know that someone they put on a pedestal is someone who would say something like this.”Her question was a valid and a good one. Another person said, “People would rather not deal with what they don’t understand or what they don’t want to understand.” These eased my anger and put me in a place of reflection and I came to a few conclusions.
I have very little feeling about how He responds it because I have learned that it is best not to carry the opinions of those who hurt you, but if I had to want him to have a reaction, I would want him to feel ashamed. Also, I am done being seen as the ‘evil one’  because people those around him only have half of the story. Anyone capable of saying things like that to a sexual abuse victim is not a white knight. Reasoning, why do I care about his friends? I wouldn’t want anyone to be friends with someone like that. I am also tired of awful people being praised. You wouldn’t praise someone who slapped and already wounded person, would you? I’m trying to change the way things work, I’m being the change I want to see.
It enrages and saddens me that people aren’t helping. Lack of understanding isn’t an excuse anymore; my mother doesn’t truly understand everything I’m going through but she is still trying to help, she isn’t be ignorant. The true issue is people not wanting to understand and to change because people are afraid of change. The more boastful they are, the least likely they are to actually help, but they continue to boast. I had already learned this but I only believed it when I asked for help yesterday and I’m not one of those Facebook users who posts, “Share this if…” I prefer action. Action like calling-out an asshole who criticizes someone going through PTSD from rape.

The action, the change, I want is for the true good people to win instead of those who are two-faced.

 

Take My Hand.

I wrote this for my loved ones. Some of which are going through really tough times right now.

Clouds roll in; storm in your head
cracking of earth; and heart 
Losing your grounding
Don’t shut your eyes yet

Because here I am;
Right where I always am.
Take my hand and listen:
This isn’t the end; spread your wings
Clear the storm and let it be spring

Invisible or visible, I’m here
Even when the dark draws near
I’ll walk you away from fear
And if there is ever a tomorrow 
Where you feel I’m not there
I’m still there


Because here I am;
Right where I always am.
Take my hand and listen:
This isn’t the end; spread your wings
Clear the storm and let it be spring

CKM (c) 

Purple

Tonight, while I waited for my sister to pick me up, I sat on a bench and held a purple buttercup flower. They are among my favorite wild flowers because they are adorable and smell like, well, a Reese’s. I held it because of how delicate it was. The goal was not to crush it.

Looking at how perfect it was, how unblemished and okay. The lesson was to be gentle with things that have what I do not, to not envy or feel rage towards or feel jealousy. The lesson was to show myself that is okay to trust. To some, it may seem odd to see it in a simple flower but hear me out: You can trust that those flowers will be soft, so very easily breakable, purple in color and smell like candy.

You can trust. It is okay to trust. Trusting will not inherently bring you pain. To trust is one of the bravest things you can do and it’s also one of the most forgiving. Being cruel and bitter isn’t bravery at all, no—bravery is being vulnerable. To be vulnerable is to begin healing and understanding that, yes, awful things can happen but not letting the awful things become your identity and eradicate you of kindness and hope.

I didn’t crush the flower. I will not lose hope or who I am.