Finding Love, Despite the Thorns. (TRIGGER WARNING: Sensitive Material. Offensive Language).

When I first met my husband, I had no idea I was going to be sucked into the life that I am now living. We were both aspiring musicians, trying to take on too much our first year of college. I was enrolled in more credits than what was considered full-time while attempting to double major in voice and piano. As if that wasn't enough, I decided to audition for the vocal jazz group. I was ecstatic when my name appeared on the member list.

At the first practice I noticed Greg, my husband, sitting across from me and realized I had a few classes with him. Something about his goofy and careless attitude drew me in. He was different than other guys I had relations with over the years; more...passive.

It wasn't long before my attempts to get attention from the sexy bass singer started. What started out as asking for rides to class, soon developed into long conversations on the phone and spending time together outside of school. The more time we spent together, the harder my insecurities with relationships worked to seep into the bond Greg and I had formed. I began to ponder, If I don't make the moves, show him I'm interested, he's gonna walk away!

One afternoon, after a Saturday vocal jazz competition at Western Michigan University, Greg was driving me back to my car, which was waiting for me at the school lot. Since it was a fairly long drive, we talked the whole away and I felt myself growing even closer to him. When we reached our destination he parked next to my car. There was a moment of sexual tension, but he quickly said "Alright, I guess I'll see you later."  I hesitated to leave, because I expected him to kiss me and he hadn't

"Why aren't you kissing me, or anything else for that matter?"

He sighed, "It isn't the right time."

"Uh...what? Am I getting mixed signals? Don't you like me?" I was perplexed.

"Yea...like a lot."

"So what's the problem?"

"Didn't you hear me? I like you...and I respect you. I don't want to be THAT guy, that's just in it for the sex."

Needless to say, I was disappointed when I left his car that day. I was fully convinced that something was wrong with me. My fear of abandonment jumped into hyper-drive.

We continued to converse regularly on the phone after that afternoon. I was not shy to press the issue of whether he truly liked me or not.

"Dana, let me tell you about what happened that night. I went home to my family and told them about how I didn't kiss you. They mocked me. The rest of the night, I beat myself up, because I cannot stop thinking about you. I literally sat on the toilet, with my head between my hands, saying 'Why can't I get her out of my head!'"

"Greg, I am just so confused right now. Just please don't leave me. Let me figure this out."

"I'm not going anywhere. I don't care if it takes 20 years, I will wait for you."

That was the moment I knew we were meant to be together. This man TRULY loved me. All he wanted was to spend time with me. Sex was just a perk.

8 years later, things haven't changed. My husband is still the most patient person I know. If I would have ended up marrying any other man, they would have run for the hills by now. My past has infiltrated our marriage and caused me to do things I deeply regret. I keep thinking Okay, by now, I can't imagine why Greg wouldn't just walk out that door. Instead, he refuses to satisfy my fears.

When I experienced my extreme disassociation, the first thing Greg did was hold me tight to his body and remind me that I wasn't a little girl anymore, "You're safe, I'm here, I'm not letting go."

Most women who have been raped find it difficult to discuss their experiences in detail with their husband. At first, I was part of that group. I couldn't place that burden on his shoulders. I knew it would make him sick and angry. However, I was aware that if I couldn't be vulnerable with him, I would remain stagnant in my healing process.

One evening, after a rather heated discussion surrounding my self-harm habits, I decided that I had to make Greg understand. I was frustrated, because for the first time, I felt lost in our relationship. I am including a portion of an email I sent him, just to show the extreme mood swings a rape victim struggling through PTSD can experience:

"I understand that you are extremely frustrated with me right now, and that is okay. But know this: I am not just going to magically be fine. Do you honestly have any idea of what this guy did to me? You want me to talk, I'll talk...he pulled me into his bedroom, covered my mouth, and screwed my brains out till I couldn't feel (Just want to insert that "couldn't feel" is not a physical reference, but more of the disassociation that occurs during abuse. My experiences were not violent as stated in previous posts). Do you think that was fun for me?..Ask me to talk about it. I FUCKING DARE YOU...Ask me about how I managed to bury it all these years and pretend I was fine...Ask me how it felt to see that rat bastards face again...Ask me about how every time we have sex now I see HIS face and experience it all over. Ask me about how humiliated I feel that I can't even have sex with my own husband without having a panic attack. Ask me how I only run to feel the burn in my chest. Ask me how good it felt to cut because it released so much pain... All you say is you don't know how to help me. Well here are a few tips: Don't get mad if I don't want to be touched. Don't get mad if I don't want to talk. Don't get impatient because that only makes me feel like more of a burden. Understand that all men disgust me and it has nothing to do with you. You wanted the truth, there you go."

Reading this back makes me want to hide in a corner because that is not the usual me. However, I was in the "no one wants me, so let's just act like a bitch to push them away" mood. I was ready for Greg to pack his bags due to my "crazy" instilled by this email. Guess what he did? He just held me.

"I wish I could take away your pain, so you didn't feel the need to do it yourself in violent ways. I had no idea how hard this was. I understand. Tell me more."

I am blessed to have the biggest support in my life right now. He has held my hand through thick and thin. He understands my mood swings now, calls me out on my crap when I am snapping at him rather than projecting my anger appropriately, lets my tears flow into his chest, and picks me up every time I start to give up.

If you are like me and struggling through PTSD, it is crucial to have that one person that will never give up on you (outside of a therapist). It can take the edge off the misery and provide the security we all desire.