There have been things that I can't seem to shake from my mind that have happened in the past. My psychologist calls them my "traumas" There have been a lot. The ones that are messing with my emotional well-being right now are when I was repeatedly molested in 8th and 9th grade and when I was raped in the winter of 2010.
I don't know if I've ever posted about those two incidents that shaped me and crushed me at the same time. I've been told to let it out. I have trouble doing that. I feel like if and when I let it out it consumes me. It breaks down the walls I've put up to protect myself and it crashes over me like waves. Tonight that pandora's box of twisted memories was opened. I feel like this is a good thing. Yes I'm sitting here a mess crying but you know what.. I was told there is nothing to be embarrassed about, ashamed of or afraid of anymore. I've kept it locked down inside of me for years. Both of them. I've tried so long to just move on. Normal people move on. People have bad things happen to them and they get over it. I want to know why I can't get over it. I want to know why it crosses my mind almost every day. Not in a flash back or anything but just a little reminder "You were raped" or "he's still out there".
I feel like I need to keep it to myself. That I don't want to burden anyone. I don't want their pity. I don't want the looks that tell me how damaged they think I am. They tend to hold me at arms length after they find out. They're afraid of me. People I thought loved me pulled away from me. When they find out I see a psychologist they say things like "oh.. the crazy doctor"....Yes.. if that makes me crazy for being raped. for being molested. For being demeaned, shamed, verbally and emotionally abused as a child, humiliated, taunted and hurt...then yes. If my witnessing someone commit suicide makes me crazy... then fine. Sometimes I just need to talk about it. I shove it so deep inside of me because I don't want people to look at me like I'm broken. ... even though there are times I feel absolutely shattered. I just for once want to be able to be open with someone and have them still see ...me...Sarah. ME. I'm still ME. I'm still ME . I'm still ME. It's still me. I'm still who I was. I'm still the same girl... only different. I'm still....me.
I recall seeing a meme on facebook floating around about how "One day there will be someone who comes to you who is so perfect who will see that you are broken and will hold you so tight that it sticks the pieces back together"
- I thought I wanted that. That I wanted someone to come along and show me that everything is alright and that things CAN be good and CAN be put back together. Then I started thinking about what my doctor told me "Don't look for someone to save you. You have to save yourself" At first I was taken aback by it. I wanted someone to save me. I needed someone to throw me a damn life preserver. I wondered am I strong enough to do it myself? My first reaction- Hell no. Hell no I'm not going to be able to pull myself out of this depression and the panic attacks and the fear. Why am I going to be alone again? Why do I have to be on my own? Then I realized I'm not alone. I'm not. I have my doctor. My friends. My Daddy. My family. and I'm gaining the tools to be able to put humpty dumpty back together again.
So here's the cat out of the bag::
8th grade into 9th I was going to church with my best friend at the time. We were part of the youth group and we attended "teen night" a lot. We thought we were big and bad because we were going out of town to church without our parents. A van would come around and pick up the kids who didn't live nearby and wanted to attend. So we rode in this huge van all through Canton and the surrounding areas.
There was an older guy riding with us. He was 19 at the time. I was 13 going on 14. He started by just resting his arm on my leg while we rode in the van. "WHOA this older guy is flirting with me? Is this what flirting is? God... this is weird... but kind of exciting"
Not so exciting when we were in a van full of people- and I mean people on the floor, people sitting on people. crowded as hell. And he started to finger me and grope me. I was scared. I didn't know what to do. I told him to stop. He told me to shut up.
After it happened twice I told the pastor... they said they had received complaints about it in the past... they were going to move him to the adult group... They didn't. It happened again. I decided I was done with church. Church was messed up. They let me down. I saw the whole system as bad.
I thought leaving the church would mean I wouldn't never see him again.
When I started highschool he was there. He saw me. He pulled me out to him and he did it again while people were all standing around.
I told some of my male friends... the next day he was in the icu with broken legs... broken ribs... messed up face. Baseball bats aren't as soft as little girls bodies.
Winter of 2010 :::
I thought it was time to date after breaking up with a long time boyfriend. I made an account online on a dating site and decided to meet with this amazingly sweet and romantic cuban man. He was a pastor, he would drive to my house multiple times a day to give me a single red rose until I had a full dozen just to have an excuse to see me. He wrote me love letters. He actually sent them in the mail like it should be. All in all I thought he was a keeper.
The sex was always a little rough but I like it that way. All in all it was normal run of the mill sex but harder, faster and sometimes he would slap me or cover my mouth with his hands. All fine with me. Consentual.
He had been trying to get me to let him take me anally. I said no. I wasn't ready. He was rather big. I was scared...sue me.
He asked again and I told him no. I'm not ready for that.
One night he took me to his office. He hadn't seen me in two weeks and said he had been busy. He had some work to do and some filing and typing and wanted to know if I wanted to come spend some time with him while he did it. Of course!
He took me to the church and we were talking and he told me to sit in the corner and be quiet while he worked and then afterwards we would talk and catch up. He just had to focus for like 15 minutes. ok.
So I'm quietly sitting waiting for him to do his paperwork when he comes over and says "All done mi princesa!" yay! so now we can talk.
Nope no talking.
He shoves me to the couch and I'm freaking out "What are you doing??" and he said "Don't worry about it" I can still hear it in my head. The voice and the accent and the words.
I said "Hey, no, what are you doing" and tried to get up or at least turn around so I wasn't bend over the couch.
He shoved me harder down and told me "Just be calm, baby. It's going to be okay"
then he pulled my panties to the side and shoved himself inside of my ass. No warning, no lube, no asking, no warm up. and most of all I had told him previously NO on many occassions.
I remember telling him to stop and to take it out. It gets a little blurry around that. I think I blocked it out. I remember when he was done he said "Thanks babe" Slapped me on my sore ass and said "You helped me fill a fantasy tonight".
I didn't say another word.
He took me home.
My underwear was filled with blood.
I threw them away.
I never reported it.
I tried to convice myself that wasn't rape. I tried to convince myself that it was just sex... rough sex that hurt. That he was a man and they get what they want.
Then I realized what had really happened.
I was ashamed that I put myself in that position. Ashamed that I didn't fight harder. Ashamed I didn't report it. Ashamed I held in inside of me for three years and never said a word to even my own mom.
A lot of my sexual abuse has resulted in shame and guilt. But really... should I be ashamed? Am I guilty?
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