Like many other people, I have a Facebook account. I don’t post regularly, and when I do post, it’s usually song lyrics or something very vague (my mother hates it). As odd as it sounds now that I’m blogging, I’ve always preferred to keep my personal life private. There have been a few exception, of course. But the most notable exception was earlier this year, on February 10th, when I posted the following:
“In March of 1999, I was raped. It was about ten years before I could start to say that I was healing. During those early years, I did some things I’m not proud of, the worst being sabotaging a relationship with a man who loved me just because I didn’t know what else to do. As I look back on my relationships since then (one liar, two cheaters, and the very recent what-the-fuck-just-happened blindsiding), I can’t help but start to wonder if I’m doomed to spend the rest of my life paying for the actions of that person I once was.”
Well, no one could accuse me of being vague or cryptic then!
I bring this up for a number of reasons, and none of those reasons involve shock value. The biggest reason that I’m writing about this is because it did have a huge impact on my life and there are things that have happened (and continue to happen) that really need to be explained in the context of this particular event in my life. In fact, the original inspiration for Tales From Sick and Twisted (my novel-in-progress) came during those first few months when I realized that I was a different person because of this experience. It was when I stopped trying to rationalize my trauma into nothing. It was the sabotaging of that relationship. So my novel would not have existed without this internal struggle.
While I will likely refer to this in a number of future posts, I will generally avoid detailing that night, mainly because it’s not the events themselves that are of consequence, but how I changed as a person, for better or worse, as a result. In other words, the real story is found in the days, months and years that have passed since that night. In general, here are the only things I consider relevant to any future posts or discussions:
- It was date rape–I knew my attacker
- While I did ultimately report it, I chose not to press charges
- The Emergency Room visit was its own level of hell
- It was the first and last time that I ignored my gut (generally referred to as the “Psychic Chick Sense”)
- While I never thought I would post something on Facebook, I’ve never shied away from discussing it if the conversation was relevant (I consider this my personal form of advocacy)
I also want to add that I was humbled and felt immensely blessed by the outpouring of support that I received from my Facebook friends. It was amazing because I didn’t expect anything. It’s a tough topic and tough topics are hard to discuss. In fact, my motivation for writing the post was a sudden need to put forth my own apology for some of my actions. I know that I was dealing with my own pain, but even as I worked through my pain, I had never actually apologized for the pain I caused others during that time. I expected my post to fade on the Facebook newsfeed, maybe seen by others, maybe just lost in the middle of other posts. I wrote it for myself, to purge my own inner demons, and not for the purpose of eliciting any sort or response from others. So when those responses flooded in, I was surprised, but I was (and I still remain) grateful.
So now that we’ve got that out there… how about those Orangemen?