But I Keep Breathing…
Reply
Tag Archives: Rape
Been There, Felt That
A blessing that has been provided to me continuously throughout recovery is the fact that I’m never alone, I’m never the only person in the world who has felt the way I am feeling.
I’ve often been convinced by my own insecurities of the opposite, but I am constantly proved wrong if I just listen a little more closely, use my network and reach out.I’ve been feeling very lonely about some feelings I’ve been experiencing regarding past traumas. I’ve felt very afraid of reaching out to others in fear of being judged, rejected or misunderstood. I’d been convincing myself that no one could possibly have experienced what I’ve experienced. No one could have felt this shame. No one would understand if I confessed the events of my past. How arrogant and naïve can a person be, especially when surrounded by a network of people in recovery?
The phrase, “bondage of self,” has been so relevant to me throughout my journey. My own fear, my own shame can so often hold me hostage in my emotional isolation. And the only solution to that bondage is awareness, which requires the action of reaching out to realize that I’ve been wrong all along.
I believe there is a divine power in the act of relating with someone. Whether being a support to someone else or finding the support from someone who has had a similar experience, there is no greater relief than the realization that I am not alone, nor have I ever been.
You know the phrase, “been there, done that”? Well, I often paraphrase it to say “been there, felt that,” because sometimes knowing that someone has done or been through the exact same circumstance isn’t what is important. Rather it’s the knowing that someone has felt what you have felt. Someone knows how it feels to have been through something similar.
And that very fact has been the saving knife that has cut the ropes that have so long kept me in my own bondage of self.
Those few simple words, “I know how you feel,” can set me free once again.
Stones
It’s been a while since I’ve written which, I suppose, is a good thing because my life today is busy and full of people with whom I can honestly confide in. However, I have missed my writing. I’ve been getting lazy with my journaling which I believe is something I really need to maintain in order to keep sane. Writing gives me perspective and awareness, seeing my thoughts listed on paper awakens me to the reasons behind those thoughts and rational resolutions to my daily problems. And without my journaling, I’ve noticed that I haven’t been as in-tune with myself, as authentic with myself and others.
In the past couple of months, I’ve started a new job and moved to my own apartment. My life has nose-dived into the immediate needs for independence, bill-paying, financial stability and responsibility. I’ve worked and lived on my own before so these are not novel concepts for me, but it has still taken me a while to adjust back into autonomy.
More recently, over the past three weeks or so, something else has caused traffic to build up on this road of transition, causing me to slow and to swerve along my drive. A recent romantic relationship has brought up some emotions that have long been hidden about past traumas and shameful incidents that happened during my addictions. Flashes of these events have clouded my reality, bursting into my mind during the least convenient times. Many of these flashes have left me physically sick and others have left me completed disassociated from the present. In the last few weeks, I can’t remember having a night when I didn’t wake up gasping and sweating in the aftermath of a nightmare.
It has been painful and disconcerting to have the past, yet again, demand attention from my present self. I have to repeat over and over to myself that today is not then, that I am not there, that I am not the person I once was. Being that these events are in the past, I am working hard not to dwell in the self-pity, fear and loneliness that arises alongside these flashes. But at the same time, I know it’s important to acknowledge them, to let my younger self know that she is heard, respected, and loved.
While vacationing near Lake Superior this past weekend, I took several walks along the shoreline by myself, trying to be attentive to the beauty that surrounded me and the blessings in my life today for which I am so grateful. At several points during these walks, I looked around me at the rocks along the shore or in the shallow waters around my feet. The sand was decorated with beautiful stones, many of which I took out and held in my hands while I looked out at the lake.
Holding something so solid and firm in my palm held me still for a while. Stones may not seem so fascinating in the minds of others, but I find them to be beautiful metaphors for endurance, wisdom, stability. I found that the most interesting of stones were those in which I could see small cracks or fissures. I wondered if perhaps, many years ago, these stones had been broken or chipped by some geological movement or change in the earth. But even if they had been broken at one time, the stones remained intact. Not only were they no longer broken, but their edges had been smoothed over time, the pressure of the water on their surfaces molding the sharp edges into an even and almost-glossy appearance.
In a way, these stones gave me hope. Though these recent traumatic memories make me feel newly broken, I know that with time, I will heal. My heart will once again be whole, the faded scars and cracks making it appear even more beautiful in its endurance.
Better, Not Bitter
It. Will. Pass.
Something that’s taken me a long time to learn about pain…
is that it passes.
Everyone has felt pain. Physical, from a paper-cut to a gunshot wound. Emotional, from a high school break-up to losing the love of your life. Mental, from overworking yourself before taking final exams to feeling like you’ve lost your identity, your capacity to live and to overcome pain.
So many times, I’ve been in a place in which I was convinced the pain would not end. My body literally felt heavy, my shoulders cowered, my back arched. I could barely hold myself upright. The mere lifting of my eyelids in the morning took the utmost effort. Getting out of bed was a battle that could take hours. Addictions, disorders and traumas had stolen my identity, my purpose and will to live. I had lost my direction. I had lost all confidence. I had lost all hope.
It seemed unfathomable to me that I would ever feel “okay” again.
And yet today, though life is far from perfect, though I am forever imperfect, I can say that I am okay. I still have fears, anxieties, periods of depression, occasional urges to use old behaviors… but today, it’s different. And what makes it different is my knowledge and awareness that these things pass. I don’t have to act on them, to let them reign over my every thought and impulse. What’s different is that I have experience from years of believing I’d never make it out of the darkness…and now living a life in the light.
In my early days of recovery, I did not yet know or accept that my pain would end. I believed (and still sometimes believe) that the smallest problem or inconvenience is a crisis. Others have told me to “just relax,” to “stop overreacting” or to “stop being so dramatic.” These comments used to hurt me, to infuriate me, because what they didn’t know was that even a glimpse of fear, heartache, failure, made me immediately believe I was once again, lost in the endless abyss of pain, self-loathing, terror. To a person who hadn’t lived a long period of their lives in such a place, a tiny problem seemed ridiculous to even be concerned about. But to my newly-recovering self, my negative feelings felt like I was falling backwards in time.
Recovery is (excuse my french) fucking hard. It is not merely stopping a behavior, getting clear or sober, forgetting old traumas. It’s almost insulting when others tell us to just “get over it.” Recovery takes so much more than just getting over something. Our identities are rooted in our addictions, our pasts. It takes dismantling our former realities and accepting an entirely new perspective. It’s about become vulnerable, naked, when you’ve spent your entire life hiding every glimpse of weakness. And every second of early recovery is spent constantly battling against the old version of yourself who just wants a drink, a drug, a purge, a cut, a moment of numbness, relief. Most of all, recovery is abandoning the will to give up, to die… and replacing it with the will to live.
People without these battles often minimize the effort it takes to overcome them. It’s not their fault of course, because they haven’t experienced it. But what I needed to know to get through, was that I wasn’t alone, that I wasn’t terminally unique, I wasn’t the only one who had given up.
Each time I felt the old pain, it became easier and easier to remember the relief that comes afterwards. Knowing that it wouldn’t last forever made enduring it so much more bearable.
Today, I can remember and accept that moments of pain, loss, fear, flashbacks, depression, dissociation… will pass. How do I know this? Because they have passed. And they still do.
The Past: A Familiar Stranger
It amazes me that life can at times, be so monotonous, so calm and routine and then suddenly, everything can change at once. This week has been a blur of anxiety, fear, confusion and a whole lot of caffeine. The first week back at school was successful for the most part, but I already feel drained. It’s been a constant battle to stay in the day and to not worry about the future. The past, too, has been trying to reclaim a part in this new life of mine.
No matter how hard we work to put it behind us, I believe our past is always a part of us.
Even though we’ve filtered our blood of the toxins, the memories of those emotions still swim in our veins.
At times, when my past shows up in my present or something happens that stirs up those painful memories, I get angry. It infuriates me that they still have power over me, that I’m still affected by what I went through despite having worked so hard to move past it. The past shows up in different forms. Old urges to use behaviors. Thoughts that have become clichés echo through my mind, a shouting match between reason and impulsivity. All week, I’ve felt those old fears of embracing this new life, of living without my illnesses. These fears manifest in an immensity of anxiety, building just below my consciousness. I’ve felt its presence, but have ignored it having been too busy to pay it any notice. But then, towards the end of the week, the past demanded that I notice. It struck me hard with a flashback of a past trauma. I rarely have these, but when they happen, I’m caught completely off-guard. A detail was mentioned in my present life that reminded me of that memory and as if I’d been transported instantaneously, I was there, again. The memory was overwhelmingly salient. It’s amazing how our memories can retain the most minute aspects of certain moments, the smells, the sounds, the feel of certain textures. It almost felt as if my mind was trying to convince me that that moment was now, that I’d never really left.
With what seemed to be every ounce of my strength, I pulled myself back to the present. I’ve helped others out of dissociation by telling them to notice sensory details of their current environment. I’d take their hand and ask them if they could feel it inside theirs. I’d tell them to focus on a painting on the wall. I’d tell them to press their fingers into the carpet and feel the softness. So that’s what I did in this moment. I dug my nails into the suede covering on the armchair in which I was sitting. I smelled the scent of fish in the air from someone cooking upstairs. I focused on reading the titles of the books in the bookcase in my line of sight. Slowly, I came back. And I gasped my first breath in what seemed like hours, though it had really only been mere seconds.
It felt like the past’s last stand against me, the most murderous weapon that it had in its arsenal and combined with the element of surprise, it tackled me… but only for a moment. When it happened, I felt weak, as if I’d failed myself in protecting me from the past. I considered that the progress I’d made, the growth and recovery time was all an illusion. Maybe I wasn’t really doing as well as I had thought. But then, I thought about how I pulled myself out of the memory. I thought about my reaction to revisiting the past. Though I felt the same fear, I was also aware that this had happened before, that it wasn’t happening now. I was able to reason that this couldn’t be today, because that memory was just that, a memory. If it wasn’t, it would have felt new, foreign. The familiarity was a clue that this was my past disguising itself as my present.
After thinking it over the last couple of days, I’ve loosened the shame and anger I had about still being susceptible to my past. I’ve realized that I wouldn’t be me without my past. I wouldn’t have the depth and the empathy I have for others had I not experienced that pain for myself. “A blessing in disguise,” is a phrase I’ve always resented when people have said it to me during times when I was struggling. “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.” Yeah, yeah… But those clichés hold truth. I am stronger for having been through what I have been through. And in a way, it was a blessing, because today, I can relate to others, I can help them to feel less alone.
A part of me has always hoped that one day, those memories, those triggers would hold no power over me at all, that I would be desensitized to them. But now, I think… do I really want that? That’s the old me that wants to be safe from feeling, numb. A guy in my class this week asked the professor, “is it possible to have complete control over your emotions?” I almost laughed out loud, because that was something I yearned for for most of my life. But not anymore. I’ve come to realize that it’s human to feel, to be affected by something. I don’t want to be unfeeling, a cold and empty machine. Emotions give me life, give me meaning. At times, they hurt and feel like they will never end. But at others, they propel us to move forward, give us that excitement to pursue our dreams and passions. I wouldn’t be the person I am if I wasn’t able to feel. I wouldn’t enjoy being around family and friends if I couldn’t feel the love I have for them. I wouldn’t pursue a future in helping others if I didn’t feel passion, excitement and empathy. I wouldn’t appreciate literature, art, theater if I didn’t experience the emotions that the experience evokes.
My point is that yes, I will remember my past and feel those painful emotions, often at inconvenient times. But it’s okay. It’s okay to remember those times, to appreciate what I went through because today, it has given me strength and purpose. It’s okay to feel those old emotions, because not only do I now have the ability to recognize them as being in the past, but it also allows me to honor those moments. Feeling occasionally sad or hurt in response to those memories does not make me weak. It makes me stronger each time I reencounter them, because this time, I don’t have to succumb to them. I don’t have to act on those urges, to ruminate on those thoughts, to immerse myself in those emotions. The past is a part of me and I will never completely forget what I’ve been through, but it doesn’t have to steal my present. I can remember without being consumed by the memories.
After a while, the past becomes like a familiar stranger that you come across from time to time. You recognize them, you have a history with them, they still stir something inside of you, but they’ve become a stranger. Today, you can wave at the past as you come across it, but you can keep walking.
I honor the pain of the past by allowing myself to feel it, but I honor my present by staying in today.
…And I honor my future by never giving up.
Link
#SurvivorPrivilege Trends On Twitter After Columnist Says Rape Survivors Lie To Get “Privileges”
George Will, your ignorance hurts. Do society a favor and open your mind, before you open your mouth.
Albom
Image
Haunted
I’ve done a lot of work on my past, on dealing with old resentments, traumas, behaviors. I know that I’ve grown, that I’ve moved past a lot of it, but sometimes it shows up, sometimes the bandage comes off and the scar that remains stings just as bad as a fresh wound. You can move past things. You can forgive others, forgive yourself. You can express those old emotions and let them go… but no matter how much time has passed, no matter how much therapy, reflection, step-work you do, you don’t forget your past. It’s part of you and it always will be.
I’ve heard people say that your past can haunt you. Usually, we think that “ghosts” and “spirits” are those of people who have died, but what if there are also ghosts of events, places, incidents? What if the spirit of what happened lives on in those it happened to? What if our memories are our ghosts? There’s a reason why trauma-survivors, addicts or others have “triggers.” People who have had abusive childhoods dread returning to their old homes. Those with traumatic events in their pasts often cower and shudder at the sound of banging doors or loud footsteps. Alcoholics stay away from bars and clubs, not only to avoid temptation, but also to avoid remembering their past lives.
I have my ghosts, too. The town where I did most of my drinking and using holds many a painful place for me. Clubs, bars, party houses… I moved away for a reason. Especially when I would drive by one particular bar, I would speed up almost as if I was afraid it would chase after me. I suppose it did, in a way. The memories always caught up. It’s kind of ironic that I used drinking to forget the past, because now I’m trying to forget what happened as a result of my drinking. The fights, the near-deaths, the humiliation, the offenses on my body and my soul. My addiction didn’t relieve me of pain, it just added to the pile. It didn’t make me forget, it just gave me more to remember, more that I wish that I could forget.
These memories or “ghosts” show up when I least expect them. During routine daily activities, when I’m working, or in my relationships with others. Old insecurities, fears, urges show up out of nowhere, seemingly without cause or stimulus. Sometimes, in broad daylight, while standing on a street corner in a safe neighborhood, a chill will run up my spine, my eyes darting from face to face, my hand searching for my keys to hold in my fist just in case. But no one’s after me, no one’s chasing me… except for my past.
Sometimes those ghosts make me so scared, so apprehensive that I have to talk myself down. I have to repeat in my mind over and over that “I’m not there,” “I’m safe,” “I’m not that person anymore.” Because despite having those memories of pain and anguish, I also have memories of recovery, of growth and progress. By bringing those to the forefront, I can sometimes pull myself back to the present. The urge to reach for the bottle, the reflex to hide or to run… it passes. The ghosts retreat back into the darkness of my mind.
For me, the past has always been a place of fear and anxiety. Remembering has meant reliving. Drinking and using behaviors was my attempt at amnesia… but it never lasted. The time came to stop running, to accept my past as part of my journey and as part of me. They say in AA, “we will not regret the past nor wish to shut the door on it.” Because though the past is filled with ghosts and fear, it’s also a reminder of how far we’ve come. Those scars remind us of that which has healed, that which we have overcome. And by accepting our pasts as part of our stories, we can find that others share similarities. We can show others in the midst of that same pain that it ends, that there is relief in recovery and sobriety. We can give others hope by sharing what we’ve been through, because we’re still here. We’ve made it through.
We all have our ghosts and sometimes, they might scare us. Sometimes they may cloud the present with a memory of the past. But when they come, don’t cower, don’t flee. Let yourself remember, just for a moment. And tell yourself that what you’re remembering is just that, a memory. It’s no longer happening and therefore, it no longer has power over you. By accepting, by forgiving, we give ourselves back that power.
When you look down at the scars on your wrists, acknowledge that they are scars, not wounds. You no longer need that pain to feel alive.
When the scent of liquor rises in your nostrils, use that smell to remember the price you paid by drinking, the price you no longer have to pay in sobriety.
When you walk past that place and remember what happened there, breathe. Remember, but don’t dwell. And then walk away as a symbol of how you’ve left your past behind you.
The past never leaves you. Some may say that it haunts you, that it leaves ghosts in the present. But we no longer have to let those ghosts scare us. We can remember the past, accept it, but not let it control us anymore. Because though it reminds us of the pain that we’ve been through, it also reminds us of our journey since then. We are not there anymore. Times have changed. We have changed.
Don’t be afraid.
#YesAllWomen Deserve to Be Heard
I’ve been following the #yesallwomen trend on Twitter and I’ve made some posts on it, myself. It breaks my heart to hear so many women speak about their abusive pasts, their traumatic assaults or mistreatment by society/men, but it also fills me with warmth to see the empowerment and solidarity that is blooming from each of us speaking out and demanding to be heard. Who knew that a group of broken hearts could work together to repair every crack and every bruise? Speaking out is healing. Every one of us deserves to be heard. It gives me hope that the world really is changing for the better, that though there is such a long way to go, we are making progress towards viewing and treating each other equally.
Maya Angelou, an inspirational author, poet and teacher who recently passed from this world leaving a legacy of hope and acceptance for all, had her own sad story relating to this topic. At the age of eight, she was raped by her mother’s boyfriend and refused to speak for five years following the incident. Five years, she kept a secret that no woman should ever be burdened with. Rape is a traumatic experience but I believe to suffer in silence following the incident is far more torturous. Keeping that secret is a trauma in itself.
When it happened to me, I didn’t speak about it to anyone for at least six months. I went through phases of denial, minimization, shame, isolation. I questioned what it meant about me, if it changed me for the worse. I labeled myself unclean, impure, easy, reckless, “slut”… every label that society likes to pin on women (or men) who have experienced rape or assault, blaming them for their dress, their behavior, “leading the person on,” etc. I relived my own trauma over and over, trying to mold it into an image where it was okay, consensual, no harm done. But I knew. I always knew the truth.
These days, I’ve moved past those feeling of guilt and self-blame. Now, I’m more-so angry. Angry that when a friend of mine tells me that over a year ago, a man forced himself on her and she was too afraid to speak about it in fear that no one would believe her. This world made her afraid, made her feel inferior, made her question her own truth. That’s bullshit.
Why can’t we be a world where women can walk around at night without a pocketknife, pepper-spray or a taser and feel safe? Why can’t we be free to wear what we want, drink what we want, and have fun without someone taking advantage of us? Why can’t society raise their boys to be kind, rather than raise their girls to be cautious?
For a lot of us, those memories remind us of times when we felt the most weak. We blame ourselves for not fighting back or for trying, but not being strong enough. But it doesn’t have to be that way anymore. Though they had power over us in that moment, we have the power now to speak up, to share our stories. They claimed our bodies, but it’s our turn to claim ourselves and our rights to being heard, validated, empowered.
We are no longer the victims.
We are the heroines/heroes of our future by raising our voices now and spreading awareness and unity against injustice.
Some powerful tweets to #YesAllWomen:
#yesallwomen Because countries like #Saudi punish a woman for being harassed/assaulted.
#YesAllWomen Because I have to teach my daughters to protect themselves but so few teach their sons to treat women with respect.
Because I was taught to scream fire instead of rape because it increases the chances of someone coming to help. #YesAllWomen
Because I’ve been told how brave I am for sharing my story, when my story never should have happened in the first place. #yesallwomen
“Each time a woman stands up for herself, without knowing it.., without claiming it, she stands up for all women.” Maya Angelou #yesallwomen
#YesAllWomen because when a girl is harassed or even groped by a stranger in public, we’re told to “take it as a compliment.”
#YesAllWomen because if my dog can understand the word “no” so should the male gender.
And my own:
#YesAllWomen because I shouldn’t be blamed for getting drunk and being taken advantage of. Drinking isn’t a crime, but rape is.
#YesAllWomen because when he was done, I worried more about whether he enjoyed himself than whether I was okay. Society taught me that.
Write to Live 