gift
i had a dream about you once. years ago… soon after you had raped me. i had a dream that i was standing face-to-face with you, on the main street of our college campus.
the entire student body surrounded us. and we all stood outside the bar you took me to. the bar you worked at. the bar where you drugged me.
in my dream, i had a gift for you. as the entire student body circled around the two of us, i presented you with a gift wrapped in white and tied with a black ribbon. i told you to open the gift, in front of everyone.
you did.
you slowly unraveled the ribbon, untaped the tape that surrounded the square box. eventually you opened the box to find your gift. your gift from me that i had been longing to give you for so long.
it was a black t-shirt with the word “RAPIST” in bright white letters across the front of it. it was your size. a perfect fit.
you held the shirt up, not quite understanding the message that it held. and when it was OUT for all to see, i turned and walked away.
**********
you are forever cloaked in disgusting, horrendous, dark, dreary, wretchedness.
you are a rapist.
and i had given a t-shirt to you in my dream.
a gift for you.
as if you hadn’t taken enough from me.
i had a gift for you.
you deserve the label “rapist.”
i earned the label “SURVIVOR.”
i’ve worn that label for 9 years as of today, and will continue to… proudly.
and you will continue to wear your label… your gift.
hold me
i’ve been in bed since 8:38 this evening. trying to keep in mind what so many friends and loved ones are encouraging me to do right now, take care of me. and so i read for a while, attempting to place my mind elsewhere, though the tension headaches blur the words on the page (fuckin PTSD).
jackson had a nightmare tonight. at 10:30 i heard him screaming. paul and i both woke up startled and i went into jackson’s room to find my magoo crying in the corner of his crib yet still asleep. eyes closed. i picked him up, wrapped the two of us in a blanket and rocked him until he calmed down. rubbing his back, i wondered to myself “what could a little one, a 17 month old, possibly have a nightmare about?”
maybe jackson was waking me up from a nightmare. i have a lot of them. maybe he woke me up, knowing that right now i need the comfort, the closeness, the support.
i need to be held.
**********
i’ve been receiving a lot of emails this week, as saturday approaches… my 9 year sucky anniversary. a friend, a fellow survivor, wrote me today and asked “does it get better?” (referring to the time after one shares one’s story). “tell me it gets better,” my friend said.
i couldn’t give her the 1 word, 3 lettered answer she wanted… instead i emailed her back and said, “once it’s out and you’ve opened yourself up and shared, it’s embraced. maybe not easier. but embraced.”
**********
there are times when i am strong. i imagine wearing this armor consisting of survivorship and bravery and power.
and then there are times when i am weak.
my armor is currently hung up in my closet, allowing me the vulnerability to be who i am at this moment, a sleep-deprived, just-getting-by rape survivor. i’ll put the armor back on at the start of october.
a new month approaches. a good one. one that includes a trip out to portland and seattle just paul and i. one that will include me expanding on my story in ink.
i am excited.
**********
i twittered with another friend today, who is experiencing her own sucky anniversary this week. not in the same way i am, but she is grieving the loss of her child. and as both she and i most likely share too much on the internet, i found myself telling her, “i hear you. and i’m listening.”
i imagine both of these friends i mention in this post have their own armor.
sometimes it gets too heavy to wear. and you have to hang it up for a while.
be vulnerable.
cry it out.
be held.
under-tow
waves
collecting
swelling
building
rolling
tumbling
crashing
reaching
and then
pulling
retracting
repeatedly
**********
this is not a good week for me. i appreciate all the support you so graciously offer via emails, comments, and tweets. please forgive me if i don’t answer you in the most timely of manners. saturday will mark 9 years. 9 years of waves.
tense
someone is behind me.
at all times.
not touching me. no contact is made.
but just there.
always present.
and i’m always aware of the presence.
my mind works against me.
i try to distract myself from what’s behind me.
wash the dishes.
sort laundry.
get outside.
(though some days outside is scary)
write… lots and lots of writing.
some drafts. some published.
(ok, most drafts)
the magoo helps.
his laughter helps.
but someone is still behind me.
breathing.
softly but noticeably.
the hair stands up on my arms.
my own breathing gets shallow.
i close my eyes and will the someone away.
i lose.
sleep is my enemy.
someone is then in my head.
inside.
my teeth grind.
my back is tense.
shoulder muscles turn into rocks.
i wake up sore.
and tired. always tired.
make my someone go away.
Have a Sip
