Stephanie Says.. Take a walk inside my head

This One Is Gonna Hurt

 In 1992, I met three men who changed my life forever.  The first, of course, was Beau.  All of seventeen, he was the hero of my senior year.  Not my first love, or even my first kiss, he WAS the first person to call me “very, very pretty”, the first to show me that maybe, just maybe, when I liked a boy, some part of him might like me back.  He was patient with me, as much as an adolescent could be, and gave me the gift of feeling worth something, even if it was only for a few months.  This was a gift I would need going into the big scary world of college.

 The second is the man who is now my husband.  He was already a professor and we didn’t begin to form a relationship until a few years later, but the seeds were laid that summer.  I began to get to know him, to laugh at his jokes, to figure out who he was.  Three years later, we were engaged, but that is for a different day.

 And then.  And then there was HIM.  Six weeks into being a freshman, there I was, standing in his apartment with his hands on me.

I didn’t realize until years later that actual factual abuse had taken place.  See, someone in my new little group, someone that I thought was my friend hurt me very badly.  On the inside, where there are no scars.

There was no actual sex.  There were no actual wounds.  He had me strip.  We played Truth or Dare.  He kissed me.  He took pictures.  He tied me up.  He ran his hands over me.   He ran a knife over me.  He blindfolded me.  He took me to his room.  There were other people there.  There were hands on me.  There was something in my mouth.  I was cold and afraid and alone.  But there was no actual wound.  No bruise.  No scar.

I was hurt, but I was not injured.

And then the nightmares began.

And I couldn’t figure out why.

Hear what I’m saying.  The early ‘90’s were a strange time to be a teenager.  Abuse and assault weren’t studied or understood as much as they are today.  Victimizers were no longer thought of as strange men dragging unwary women behind the bushes, but neither were they perceived to be what they sometimes are: students, friends, advisers, part of a group.  Even the people I eventually talked to didn’t and couldn’t understand.  I was fine.  I was going to school.  I was singing in choir.  I ate, breathed, slept, attended classes, participated in work study, did my homework.  Was I sure there was something wrong?

There was something wrong.  There was (and continues to be) something wrong in the dream cycles I circle through in which I’m being chased by HIM, holding a knife and determined to find me.  There is something wrong in the episodes of –Law and Order- I watch and continually tell the TV that just because someone is not ACTING like a victim, it doesn’t mean they are NOT a victim.  There is something wrong in the attention I continually seek from those around me.  I am a “love me, touch me, hold me, think I’m worth something for a little while” kind of person and some of it stems from having been used in a physical way.

I was ten years past my freshman year and on the verge of destroying my marriage (one cannot beg for love from everyone one meets and expect one’s spouse to stay happy) when I met the first therapist who understood what I myself couldn’t put into words.

“You.”, he told me, “Have the responses and reactions of a rape victim.  Didn’t you know that?”

Well no.  No I didn’t.  No one had ever used that word in connection with me before.  After all, nothing had really happened, had it?  There was no actual sex, no contact in that way.  I thought I was going crazy.  I honestly thought my brain had rolled out of my head and I had lost my mind somewhere along the way. 

I was functioning.  I went to work and halfway sorta did my job.  I went to church.  I watched TV.  I ate.  I breathed.  I did the laundry.  I slept.  But I was on my way to convincing myself that I was crazy.  After all, no one seemed to know what was going on with me.  I myself couldn’t explain why I was feeling the way I did.  If there were no words, if I could not express what I was feeling, even to my most secret self, wasn’t I going insane?  It was, I thought, the only possible explanation.

Well.  No.  As it turns out, there were other explanations.  And that day, in that office, with my doctor looking me straight in the eye, I began to discover the strength to seek them.

I’m not there yet.  I’m still broken.  But there are more pieces fitting together these days than there ever have been.  And I’m learning that there ARE answers for the ones still left in the box, waiting to fill up the empty holes.

That day, in that office, I began to realize that I wasn’t alone.  I began to read.  I began to discover some things.

One of the things I have discovered is that some studies show that nearly one out of every five women has been abused sexually.  Think about that.  If there are twenty girls in your class, four of them are statistically victims.  If you are in a study group of ten girls, two of them have been hurt in that way, according to the surveys.

Yet, it is something no one talks about in a personal way.  There are surveys and studies and reports, but few actual faces.  This is not a movement in the way that Civil Rights or Fair Wage or Death Penalty cases are.  So many people feel alone.  And if they are like me, they often feel that their brain has fallen out of their head and rolled away, never to return.

Therefore, with your permission, I would like to share some of my insights.  These are mostly targeted toward girls and women.  I don’t know much about men who are violated, but anyone is free to read this blog if they want.

First:  THERE ARE NO SUCH THINGS AS “RIGHT” REACTIONS WHEN YOU ARE COMING TO TERMS WITH BEING MISUSED

Hear me here, please.  I am NOT advocating hurting someone else just because you yourself are hurting.  What I AM saying is that your reactions are your reactions.  Your healing is your healing.  You are a person, not a case study or statistic.

You may get mad.  That is okay

You may get sad.  That is okay.

You may feel betrayed.  That is okay.

You may laugh and not know why.  That is okay.

You may not want to talk.  That is okay.

You may feel like kissing everyone in sight.  That is okay.  You feel what you feel.  Actions are different, but it is okay to feel what you feel.

You may want to sleep.  That is okay.

You may want to eat.  That is okay.

You may want to shower.  That is okay.

You may want to hit something.  That is okay.

You may want to write a sad song.  That is okay.

You may want to organize your living space down to the last detail.  That is okay.

You may want to cut your hair.  That is okay.

You may not want to be touched.  That is okay.

You may want to guard your personal space.  That is okay.

You may feel like you don’t have any radar anymore and not know if you can trust anyone.  This is okay.

You may feel like you have to be on guard all the time and get heavily invested in personal safety classes/issues.  This is okay.

You may feel scared all the time and jump at the slightest noise.  This is okay.

 You may also WANT to do some things that are harmful to you and others.  You may not understand or be able to explain why you want to do these things.  Know this.  Your reactions are your reactions.    Feeling is okay.  Thinking is okay.  Hurting…feeling your hurt…is a process.  Part of that process may be to want to hurt yourself.  Part of that process may be that you want to hurt someone else.

You may feel like no one loves you, or that no one could ever love you again.

You may feel betrayed.  You may feel that you can trust no one ever again.

You may feel like you need to use someone, anyone, before someone uses you and you get hurt.

You may hate yourself.

You may feel the need to change the way you dress.

You may feel the need to dress down or ugly so that no one looks at you and wants or values you.

You may feel the need to dress up and wear lots of make up so that all anyone ever sees is the physical you.  You may feel all you are good for now is sexual things.

You may hurt yourself and don’t know why.

You may begin befriending or dating people that you normally would not spend time with because you want to change, escape or run away from the person that you think you are.

You may not know who you are and go through many changes in your make up, wardrobe, speech, activities, jobs, hairstyles or other things.

You may feel the need to shut yourself off from anyone, even the ones who love you best.

You may stop praying.

You may lash out in anger, even at the people you love.

You may have flashbacks and react harshly or run away from situations that seem normal to everyone else.

You may shower a lot or stop showering all together.

You may stop eating.

You may start eating.  You may feel like gaining so much weight that you are ugly and unlovable.

You may START praying and seek to explore or deepen your faith or lack of it.

There are many many reactions.  This is okay!  Healing is a process.

ALSO…HEALING…FEELING is not a step ladder.  You go through cycles like a circle.  You may be angry one day…one hour…one minute and sad the next only to feel yourself angry again.  DON’T BE ALARMED.  This is normal.  Emotions and issues circle around.  They overlap.  They overwhelm at times.  You don’t just deal with one feeling and put it to rest only to take on the next.  It is not a neat line that you check off on some kind of list.  It is more like a collage or a knitted blanket with intertwined strands.

 Second:  IT DOESN’T MATTER

There is a question so familiar in discussions about sexual abuse that it has almost become a cliché.  “What were you wearing?” is so predictable anymore that it is almost part of a script.  The truth is that it doesn’t matter.  It really doesn’t.  I was wearing a sweatshirt with penguins on it and jeans.  I had nothing to eat or drink and I was brushing my hair a lot of the night.  It doesn’t matter.  If I had been topless in a thong, it still wouldn’t have mattered.  Wrong is wrong is wrong.

What were you wearing?  It doesn’t matter.

What did you have to eat? It doesn’t matter.

What was in your purse?  It doesn’t matter.

What did you talk about?  It doesn’t matter.

Were you kissing?  It doesn’t matter.

What did you have to drink?  It doesn’t matter.

Were you in his lap?  It doesn’t matter.

Were you a guest in his house?  It doesn’t matter.

Had you had sex before?  It doesn’t matter.

Had you ever let him touch you before?  It doesn’t matter.

Who else was there?  It doesn’t matter.

Have you ever let him take pictures of you before?  It doesn’t matter.

Were you flirting?  It doesn’t matter.

What kind of signals were you sending?  It doesn’t matter.

Had you ever “played games” before?  It doesn’t matter.

Had you ever told sexually explicit jokes in his presence?  It doesn’t matter.

Where were you sitting?  It doesn’t matter.

What objects were in the room?  It doesn’t matter.

Wrong is wrong is wrong.  But you may blame yourself.  You may second guess everything you said, everything you did, every move you made.  You may believe it was or is your fault.  It is not.  Really.  It is not.

Third:  PEOPLE MAY LOVE YOU BUT THEY MIGHT NOT ALWAYS UNDERSTAND

Some people may ask you why you didn’t scream.  Some people may ask you why you didn’t fight.  If you come from a trusting background, some people may ask you why you didn’t sense that something wrong was happening and you may not have an answer for that.

If you come from a church going background, some people may ask you why you didn’t pray.  You may not have an answer for that.

If the person who hurt you is a friend, some people might ask you if you are SURE that something happened.  You may have an angry answer for that.

People are strange.  Some people want to help, but don’t know what to say.  Some people try to help, but say the wrong thing.  Some people say the wrong thing and don’t realize that they are inflicting even more wounds.

It’s hard.  When one is hurting, they may get so into their own heads that they don’t have the energy to interact with other people-even people who love them.  This, too, is okay for a while.

Hurting can be stressful.  It is okay to devote energy to yourself and your journey.

And now, a little note:  Not everyone is going to believe you.  Even with scars, tears, rips, self destructive behavior, not everyone is going to believe that any kind of abuse, any kind of damage even happened.  It sucks, I know.  

Four:  IT IS NOT OKAY TO HURT OTHER PEOPLE, EVEN IF YOU MIGHT BE HURTING YOURSELF

Thinking can be hard.  You may be convinced that your brain dropped out of your head.  You may be convinced that you are going crazy.  You may be convinced that your mouth is running away with you.

You may try to combat your own pain by hiding it in behaviors such as watching TV or sleeping or working on a project.  This is okay.  Your reaction is your reaction.  Your healing is a process.

What is not okay, ever, is to turn so mistrusting, or revenge filled, or bitter, that you lash out or strike out at those around you.  You are still a person.  People around you are still people.  You are hurting.  You may be confused, or angry, or sad, or questioning.  That is okay.  But becoming something other than yourself by letting anger or bitterness or revenge take over your entire identity?  Is that really someone you want to become?

Yes, Hurting people hurt people.

But you have been hurt.  Don’t become the catalyst for someone else’s pain.

 Finally: SOMEBODY SOMEWHERE IS ABLE TO HELP

It’s frustrating.  It’s difficult.  It’s confusing.  It’s muddling.  It’s foggy.  It’s painful.

Getting answers.  Getting help.  Having someone turn a key that finally puts your mind back in place.

These are things that can take years.

You are going to want to give up.

You are going to want to sink into your pain.

You are going to want to sleep, or drink, or work your life away.

You are going to doubt yourself.

You are going to question your life, your existence, your very identity.

You are going to wonder what your worth even is.

I promise.  You have value.

I promise.  You are worthwhile.

I promise.  It may not ever ever be okay, but some of the pieces WILL fit back together.

Someone somewhere is going to say something that clicks it into place.

Someone somewhere is going to be able to touch your heart.

I don’t mean a lover.

I don’t mean a partner.

I mean a counselor.  A friend.   A teacher.  A priest.  A doctor.

They will believe you.  They will care for you.  They will take your hand so you are not alone.

It’s still going to hurt.  It’s not going to be easy.

Figuring out what to do next can take more than a decade.

You may think you are crazy.  You aren’t.

You may think you aren’t worth loving.  You are.

Don’t give up.  Don’t give in.

Strengthen.  Heal.

Cry. Scream.

Write.  Sing.

Shower. Sleep.

Talk. Weep.

Grieve.

And know that we are here.

We are here.

You are not alone.