These last two days of posting have my heart in bind, because there are not enough words to completely describe my story. What has been revealed this month through my blogging has only scratched the surface of my memoir.
There are events that happened, specific details, explanations that I can't reveal due to implication or legal matters. In a way, it continues to silence me, which is aggravating. While I may not be able to reveal all through my blog, I do plan on publishing a full memoir. Through this I will be able to change names, and hopefully share the entirety of my narrative.
The memories of the rapist I have exposed are only about a quarter of what I experienced growing up. His actions were detrimental to my development as a fully functioning woman, but he was not the only one to harm me in this way. Revealing even just that bit of reality, is embarrassing for me, because there seems to be a waving of the hand towards rape victims who have had multiple assaults, by multiple perpetrators.
One might ask, "Why would you keep letting this happen to you?" It is a valid question, but one that falls within victim-blaming that perpetuates rape culture.
All of my assaults happened at a stage in my life where I was not able to fight back. I didn't get to choose who was around me for the first 18 years of my life. For this reason, much of my adolescence was a lie. I pleased those around me, got taken advantage of, and was ignored.
The fact I was violated by more than one man in my life, helped keep my mouth shut. I felt like I was a magnet for sexual assault. That "I'm a vessel for men to have their way with" mentality led me to sleeping with whoever in early adulthood.
Since I started therapy, much of my anguish is because of repressed memories of other assaults. I remember numerous times that I was journaling and something would flash. Once that realization sparked, my world started to fall apart. I was in constant denial. I would not admit that I was raped by these other men. No fucking way...did I let that happen...
When I started going through Resurrection After Rape, and read the clear definition of all that was classified as rape, I broke down in tears of frustration. Much of the rape myths I have addressed in this blog, I had been living behind for a majority of my life. This was due to inexperienced therapists explaining to me what actually was "real rape" versus what was an "unfortunate confusion."
When I told my therapist that I wasn't aware rape included a list of unwanted penetration, she nodded and said, "It's hard to grasp, because no one seems to think that oral sex is really sex either...but it is....rape is rape." Hearing her validate my abuse, especially since it was the first time from a therapist, made me sigh in relief. That day, I finally felt safe in that room, sitting across my therapist. She didn't look at me like I was crazy or say, "Well, that isn't what really happened." She supported my claims and eased my fears.
She is the only therapist I have had who has not only supported me, but also challenged me. Sometimes it is infuriating, because she refuses to let me give up. She doesn't say, "It's okay, I'll hold your hand while you wallow in your depression." She reminds me that it isn't going to go away unless I face it, and calls me out on my shit, especially when I start blaming myself. She doesn't cringe, she doesn't over sympathize, she just knows.
I am writing all of this to remind myself in a few months, when I am deep in intense trauma therapy, not to give up or hate my therapist. I will be going through Prolonged Exposure Therapy, which I guarantee is going to throw me into a fit of rage and depression, but if it helps lessen the panic attacks related to frequent flashbacks, I don't care.
I'm not done fighting.
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