Raped.
I was raped.
It’s taken me 21 minutes to type those words through blurred vision and trembling hands.
I can’t tell you who by.
And that makes me feel like a liar.
All I know is the flashbacks I am experiencing as a form of PTSD.
I can tell you I was a child and I can tell you it was in a car.
I can tell you my skin feels as though it’s covered in dirt and my most personal body parts hurt from the feel and image of what happened.
But I can’t tell you much more than that.
The thing is, seen as I had blocked it out for all these years, when I remembered last week; it felt as though it had just happened that day.
I feel like I’m experiencing things as if I was only raped last week.. it’s all new to me.
Because of that, I don’t know how to handle it.
So what do I do?
Ask for help of course.
As I knew I was seeing the psychologist to be offered counselling anyway, I figured I’d wait a few days.. a few gruelling, distress filled days.
In those days I scrubbed my skin raw for several minutes in the shower. In those days I felt the inside of my skull physically going insane. In those days I hated every ounce of myself and my appearance. In those days I questioned every man I’ve ever known; even the ones I’m surrounded by now and I cannot look at them the same – what if it was you?
In those days my Mum started off understanding; shocked, but understanding. Most of all she was loving and caring and affectionate.
Toward the end of those days my Mum’s love and affection decreased as anger set in.
I know she is angry at the situation. She is angry she didn’t save me. But I also know, deep down, she is angry that I am putting her through yet another thing when she is already so tired. She is angry at who did this to me.. but she is angry at me, too.
So.. the end of those days came. I had my 7 minute appointment. I sat in front of the psychologist and I told her I am terrified; literally terrified. Everywhere. I don’t even feel safe in my house.
I’ll give you a few of her responses:
‘Most people with Emotionally Unstable Personality Disorder experience sexual or physical abuse in childhood and they make the decision to just get on with it’
‘Well, you’re not really doing anything at the moment so it’s not surprising you’re reacting this way‘ Dicsclaimer: It is school holidays so I have no uni or work.
‘If you need support, you’re going to have to seek that elsewhere. It isn’t something we offer here’
Great.
I waited those days. I scraped through those days. For nothing. You aren’t going to help me.
Why?
Do you not want to help me because you think it was my fault, too?
Do you think I’m lying?
So, here I am. Alone again.
And I’m still experiencing ‘those days’.
Nobody understands.
Nobody understands how terrified I am every waking and even sleeping moment.
Everyone says ‘I don’t know how to help; what do you want me to do?’
So I tell them.. love me, comfort me, protect me.
And then I speak of how I’m feeling and they get angry and I say ‘you’re getting angry’ and they revert back to ‘I don’t know how to help; what do you want me to do’ and so the process starts again..
So here I am.
Telling you what I need you to do:
LOVE ME
COMFORT ME
PROTECT ME
HEAR ME
BELIEVE ME
To my Mum.. I know you are tired. I know. I know my conditions and my dramas are what’s made you so tired. I know. I am being independent. I am spending 21 hours of the day coping alone because I know you need a break. But can you really not even handle me for 3 hours? Do you resent me that much? Have I worn you down so far you can’t even spend 3 hours with me 7 days after I remember a rape?
Why am I expected to get up and get on when I feel like I was only raped 7 days ago.
7 days.
If I really had only been raped 7 days ago I would be surrounded with love and comfort and reassurance.
Where is that now?
I’m still trying to process the feeling of my private areas being ripped apart. Of my hair being pulled and inappropriate things being forced inside me and my mouth. Of my ankles being held down and my arms being pinned to the car seat. Of the sound of a trouser zipper which still rings in my ears and makes me feel sick to my stomach.
I was raped.
I
was
raped.
Why do you doubt I won’t get up and get on and get over this? Why do you feel you have to tell me that’s what I need to be doing? Isn’t that what I’ve always done?
And sure as hell, I’ll do it again.
But right now, I am processing and that process is destroying me.. not forever, but for now.
I just need your love, support, understanding and reassurance right now.
So when I tell you how I feel and you get angry, maybe assess that your daughter, your granddaughter, your friend, has just been raped. And someone saying how they feel due to rape is not something to be mad at.
Being tired, worn and fed up of the same old drama and the ongoing nightmares I bring is something to be mad at. So address that.
I do not blame you for resenting me. Even for not liking me.
People act like I’ve changed when I repeat myself and need reassurance when in reality, I’m the best I’ve been in 9 years.. I don’t have screaming/ crying fits anymore, I can actually be left now and do things on my own, i don’t hear voices.. so maybe it’s not me that’s the problem; maybe it’s you,
So maybe address that rather than telling me to do one thing and then getting angry/ not paying attention when I do. It is confusing and makes me worse.
One day I will be rid of all this sh#t and you will be rid of me.
No one wants to help me? Fine.
I can do this on my own.
I will do this on my own.
You will see me living a life where all the reason for all this heartache is evident.
Love always,
An Impartial Soul xo