I was raped on several occasions 3 years ago by the man I first trusted and then feared. Ive been spat on, cursed, humiliated, dehumanised and slapped around. A lot of it still feels numb. All the times he threatened to kill me
it still hasnt registered. I have done A LOT of healing in the last two years, overcome the situation to the extent where I dont feel like he can hurt me anymore. He cant.
I blamed myself obviously because I stuck around to take it. Now I just take responsibility for my contribution, knowing that that still NEVER gave him the right to do what he did. I was naïve, that didnt make me an animal.
The thing is that I have bipolar and it was only after I was saved, for want of a better word, from that relationship that it became evident. I have been told that bipolar contributed to the almost total lack of judgement on my part but I feel like that crisis took away so much and augmented the bipolar if thats possible.
I lost my will. I had nothing and worst of all I couldnt trust myself. That was the hardest part; I was so disappointed in me, so angry and so terrified all at once that I lost all my confidence. Making simple decisions became difficult.
I was also sexually abused as a child. By my neighbour. I remember one occasion where he tried to penetrate and all I can recall is the sound of my head hitting the kitchen tiles, the sky outside and then blank. I dont remember most of my childhood. Just that, I was 9. I remember most of the happy times. And this was also the person I trusted because his house was a refuge from my parents bad marriage. He was around my age.
Ive met a great person, well three years ago. He helped me through it all, he was the wake up call that made me realise that I could end up dead, that this wasnt a game my senses werent dull anymore and I left. At one point when I had been put on antidepressants, he invited me to a crusade where I truly (not the half hearted life I lived before) accepted Christ and was slain in the Spirit. Ive never looked back! I dont intend to. God gave me a new life, a fresh start. I have to maximise on it.
Where it still hurts is the shame I feel sometimes, the total shame. The fact that I let someone call me a n----a when he raped me, that he spat at me, that he hit me. And told me that he loved me after. And I fell for it. It took more out of me to run apparently. So I didnt.
Im doing well now. Three years later, Im doing well.
My favourite Scripture after the night of the crusade: Therefore, he who is in Christ is a new creation. The old has gone and the new has come! II Corinthians 5:17
Be encouraged.
This is a story I wrote about one experience. My pastor read it and was really moved by it. Though painful, I had to let it out. And I am. I probably need to be more open about this part. I talk about the bad relationship, about my struggle with bipolar and depression...but never about the rapes. I need to.
>>
You know, I was once a good girl." she mutters. The tears welled up in her kohl-lined eyes. She is immensely sad. Heartbroken. Her eyelids flutter with brief disbelief. Then she is transfixed on a point far away; somewhere where her pain is so real she can breathe it in and exhale it in short terrified puffs. She thinks and she sighs. "Once..." she whispers,
"I was a good girl...what happened?" She shakes her head as if to clear it of nonsensical thoughts. "What's wrong? What are you thinking about?" he asks. He's always concerned about her and what saddens her. "Do you have any paper?" she asks, barely meeting his bewildered gaze. "I need to write something down." "It's in my bag," he says tilting to get a good look at her face under the muted lights at the bar. She pulls a piece of crumpled, stained piece of paper out of his gray knapsack. It's the only scrap paper he has in there. On it is written: "Apply 2 Morgan State University, Howard..." She laughs a cynical, dry laugh. She remembers that he's leaving soon. Ignoring what she previously thought of writing she instead pens the words to "their" song:
"Fallen angels at my feet
Whispered voices at my ear
Death before my eyes
Lying next to me I fear
She beckons me
Shall I give in?
Upon my end shall I begin?
Forsaking all I've fallen for
I rise to meet my end"
She's lost in thought. Broken in her silence; shethinks about the nightmare she lived, the one she still can't seem to wake up from. There are fragments, pieces of memories which are disconnected from her, things she swears she didn't experience. She's remembers him vaguely, yet she recalls all the good times between them clearly. She remembers looking at him, smiling uncertainly while he got a glass of water. The early stages, this is the beginning and she still doesn't know what to make of anything, what to expect. He turns to her, 38 years of experience gleaming in his eyes, he grins and she smiles back stupidly. She was uneasy, there was something calculating about the way he looked at her, there was the blatant objectification of her 19 year old body, but that wasn't it...something else was spawning. He approaches her slowly, she naively thinks that maybe he's attempting to be sexy. She smirks and before the brief lightness of her thought can evaporate, he's got his hands on her shoulders. Blinking, she looks at him, stupid, innocent and unsure smile still tugging on her lips and in a moment it's gone as she sees the hate and anger swirl in his eyes. The slap catches her off guard. She stands there listening to his hateful laughter; to her it feels like she's lost her sight, she wouldn't want to look at him anyway. Later that day, after she'd washed away her pain and shame in the shower, after she'd picked up the pieces of her shattered dignity and tried to glue them back together with sweet lies, he comes to her. She pretends to be asleep, freshly washed, barely perverted...she breathes out so softly he might have thought she was holding her breath. What more could a man want, is what he would have said. He breathes out harshly on her neck; she closes her eyes tighter and childishly believes that doing so will make the monsters disappear. Well, this one doesn't. In a moment he's on her, ignoring her tears, ignoring her pleas for him to stop. It was then that she believed that the word "no" really didn't mean anything. Just like she didn't mean anything. The two women sitting opposite her burst into a cackle of laughter and she's brought out of her thoughts. They look the part of confidence and maturity; discerning, discriminating eyes, wry pouted mouths and ready-for-anything postures...that wouldn't have happened to them. They wouldn't have allowed it. He doesn't notice her looking at him; he's watching the basketball game. She takes the opportunity to observe him, his calmness and transparency, his innocent love and patience. She wants to reach out to him. She wants to be held right then and there, she wants the security of this man. She can see through him, she isn't afraid of this one; he's nothing like the other one. She sinks back into her thoughts, into fresh pain and guilt. He doesn't deserve this, this taint that she's brought to him. She wishes that she could hide, run, die... "What's wrong?" he interjects. "Nothing" she wheezes, forcing a smile that only seems to squeeze the tears out of her eyes. Her throat is clogged with thoughts and memories of pains past, of lives and lifetimes gone; all condensed and undefined into the words "WHAT DID YOU DO?" "Where do I go from here?" He doesn't hear her; he's still transfixed in her sad, wet eyed distance.
I blamed myself obviously because I stuck around to take it. Now I just take responsibility for my contribution, knowing that that still NEVER gave him the right to do what he did. I was naïve, that didnt make me an animal.
The thing is that I have bipolar and it was only after I was saved, for want of a better word, from that relationship that it became evident. I have been told that bipolar contributed to the almost total lack of judgement on my part but I feel like that crisis took away so much and augmented the bipolar if thats possible.
I lost my will. I had nothing and worst of all I couldnt trust myself. That was the hardest part; I was so disappointed in me, so angry and so terrified all at once that I lost all my confidence. Making simple decisions became difficult.
I was also sexually abused as a child. By my neighbour. I remember one occasion where he tried to penetrate and all I can recall is the sound of my head hitting the kitchen tiles, the sky outside and then blank. I dont remember most of my childhood. Just that, I was 9. I remember most of the happy times. And this was also the person I trusted because his house was a refuge from my parents bad marriage. He was around my age.
Ive met a great person, well three years ago. He helped me through it all, he was the wake up call that made me realise that I could end up dead, that this wasnt a game my senses werent dull anymore and I left. At one point when I had been put on antidepressants, he invited me to a crusade where I truly (not the half hearted life I lived before) accepted Christ and was slain in the Spirit. Ive never looked back! I dont intend to. God gave me a new life, a fresh start. I have to maximise on it.
Where it still hurts is the shame I feel sometimes, the total shame. The fact that I let someone call me a n----a when he raped me, that he spat at me, that he hit me. And told me that he loved me after. And I fell for it. It took more out of me to run apparently. So I didnt.
Im doing well now. Three years later, Im doing well.
My favourite Scripture after the night of the crusade: Therefore, he who is in Christ is a new creation. The old has gone and the new has come! II Corinthians 5:17
Be encouraged.
This is a story I wrote about one experience. My pastor read it and was really moved by it. Though painful, I had to let it out. And I am. I probably need to be more open about this part. I talk about the bad relationship, about my struggle with bipolar and depression...but never about the rapes. I need to.
>>
You know, I was once a good girl." she mutters. The tears welled up in her kohl-lined eyes. She is immensely sad. Heartbroken. Her eyelids flutter with brief disbelief. Then she is transfixed on a point far away; somewhere where her pain is so real she can breathe it in and exhale it in short terrified puffs. She thinks and she sighs. "Once..." she whispers,
"I was a good girl...what happened?" She shakes her head as if to clear it of nonsensical thoughts. "What's wrong? What are you thinking about?" he asks. He's always concerned about her and what saddens her. "Do you have any paper?" she asks, barely meeting his bewildered gaze. "I need to write something down." "It's in my bag," he says tilting to get a good look at her face under the muted lights at the bar. She pulls a piece of crumpled, stained piece of paper out of his gray knapsack. It's the only scrap paper he has in there. On it is written: "Apply 2 Morgan State University, Howard..." She laughs a cynical, dry laugh. She remembers that he's leaving soon. Ignoring what she previously thought of writing she instead pens the words to "their" song:
"Fallen angels at my feet
Whispered voices at my ear
Death before my eyes
Lying next to me I fear
She beckons me
Shall I give in?
Upon my end shall I begin?
Forsaking all I've fallen for
I rise to meet my end"
She's lost in thought. Broken in her silence; shethinks about the nightmare she lived, the one she still can't seem to wake up from. There are fragments, pieces of memories which are disconnected from her, things she swears she didn't experience. She's remembers him vaguely, yet she recalls all the good times between them clearly. She remembers looking at him, smiling uncertainly while he got a glass of water. The early stages, this is the beginning and she still doesn't know what to make of anything, what to expect. He turns to her, 38 years of experience gleaming in his eyes, he grins and she smiles back stupidly. She was uneasy, there was something calculating about the way he looked at her, there was the blatant objectification of her 19 year old body, but that wasn't it...something else was spawning. He approaches her slowly, she naively thinks that maybe he's attempting to be sexy. She smirks and before the brief lightness of her thought can evaporate, he's got his hands on her shoulders. Blinking, she looks at him, stupid, innocent and unsure smile still tugging on her lips and in a moment it's gone as she sees the hate and anger swirl in his eyes. The slap catches her off guard. She stands there listening to his hateful laughter; to her it feels like she's lost her sight, she wouldn't want to look at him anyway. Later that day, after she'd washed away her pain and shame in the shower, after she'd picked up the pieces of her shattered dignity and tried to glue them back together with sweet lies, he comes to her. She pretends to be asleep, freshly washed, barely perverted...she breathes out so softly he might have thought she was holding her breath. What more could a man want, is what he would have said. He breathes out harshly on her neck; she closes her eyes tighter and childishly believes that doing so will make the monsters disappear. Well, this one doesn't. In a moment he's on her, ignoring her tears, ignoring her pleas for him to stop. It was then that she believed that the word "no" really didn't mean anything. Just like she didn't mean anything. The two women sitting opposite her burst into a cackle of laughter and she's brought out of her thoughts. They look the part of confidence and maturity; discerning, discriminating eyes, wry pouted mouths and ready-for-anything postures...that wouldn't have happened to them. They wouldn't have allowed it. He doesn't notice her looking at him; he's watching the basketball game. She takes the opportunity to observe him, his calmness and transparency, his innocent love and patience. She wants to reach out to him. She wants to be held right then and there, she wants the security of this man. She can see through him, she isn't afraid of this one; he's nothing like the other one. She sinks back into her thoughts, into fresh pain and guilt. He doesn't deserve this, this taint that she's brought to him. She wishes that she could hide, run, die... "What's wrong?" he interjects. "Nothing" she wheezes, forcing a smile that only seems to squeeze the tears out of her eyes. Her throat is clogged with thoughts and memories of pains past, of lives and lifetimes gone; all condensed and undefined into the words "WHAT DID YOU DO?" "Where do I go from here?" He doesn't hear her; he's still transfixed in her sad, wet eyed distance.
