This Isn't the End: Part 2 (Sensitive Material and Profanity)

It has been a bittersweet morning as I went through my normal routine of stumbling out of bed with just enough energy to get a half-a-pot of Colombian roast going while watching my son expel his first burst of energy of the day. Normally, I look forward to his nap time so I can journal and/or write my daily post, but today I was filled with sadness as I laid my little man in his crib.

But why?

Does the fact that today marks the end of Sexual Assault Awareness Month mean I have to stop talking? No.

Somebody close to me was discussing my blog and questioned my intentions for after this month, "Well now that it's out there, what now? What will you do after April is over and everyone has read your story?"

"They've read only a fraction, and I'm not going to just stop fighting!"

This isn't the end. After today, I don't care if it isn't April anymore, Sexual Assault Awareness doesn't begin on the 1st and cease to exist end of day on the 30th. It is a lifestyle. Every day I wake up and think, How can I be an advocate today?

These past 30 days haven't just been about me, they have been about all the victims who experience the shame, frustration, invalidation, rage, anguish, fear...This was about them knowing they aren't alone. How could I stop fighting when there are others who need my help?


So how will YOU help? How will YOU react to the victims that come forward?

You will listen and never doubt them. As soon as you ask questions that sound like you are blaming them, they will shut you out, never to open their mouth again. Don't let that happen.

• Don't ask them what they were wearing.
• Don't ask them if they were drinking.
• Don't ask them if they fought back.
• Don't ask them if they if they said no.
• Don't ask them if they were hurt.

Why? Because:

• It doesn't matter what they were wearing.
• It doesn't matter if they were drinking.
• Sometimes not fighting is the only way to survive.
• Sometimes you can't say no if your drugged, or drunk, or your mouth is being covered, or gagged. Cries, screams, fear in eyes...there are more ways then just saying the word no, but the only thing that means yes, is yes. 
• They were raped, of course they are hurt! There is more to rape than just physical pain.

If I could have the support system I have now while growing up, many of my behaviors may have been diminished. I might have never cut, or drank myself to sleep, or thought the only way to a man's heart was by blowing him.

Yet, if a rape victim does utilize similar coping skills, do NOT judge them. Don't ask them why the hell they would do shit like that, because that will force them to push you away and never get better. Trust me, I know.

Be patient. Recovery is an extremely long process, and once a rape victim senses a loved one is becoming exasperated with a demeanor of "she isn't getting better, I don't know how to help her anymore," she will give up. The last thing she wants to be is a burden, but you have to let her be that burden, no matter how difficult it is.

I am writing all these things as an example, but they are evidently internalized. The biggest support in my life, my husband, even has off days. Because I am so sensitive to emotions, his negative ones manifest within me, and an amazing day can quickly plummet into a pit of self-loathing and suicidal thoughts. My husband has to explain every one of his emotions to me, so I know he isn't mad at me, otherwise I feel like a weight around his neck, slowly bringing him down each day.

I am not saying every victim will be like me, I am certainly a unique case. The nature of my abuse, along with the repeated offenses, and multiple perps, had an adverse effect on my personality. There is no official stamp on my diagnosis, but it has become evident that I struggle with more than just PTSD.


There is a word for it, but unfortunately it is so widely misunderstood it is like the leper of mental illnesses. Yet, it is real, and scary.

My therapist has been pushing me since she realized my impulse to cut, drink, and suicidal thoughts were continuing to be prevalent, to enter into Dialectical Behavior Therapy. For weeks I have denied the need, until the other day when I snapped.

I did not see my mood change coming. Typically it is a slow build up throughout the day, and I can use skills to override my impulses. This experience was different. Everything hit me at once, there was no time to call anyone or distract myself. I disassociated, and came back realizing I had lost control, and given into my impulse to cut.

The result was worse than previous times, and I was frantic. I didn't feel what I was doing...I had no idea. That scared the shit out of me. I knew I had to do the DBT program, because I don't want to die, but I'm sick of feeling that way.

Last night, after an explosive argument (due to me internalizing my husbands emotions), I had to ground myself using ice so I didn't disassociate. When I finally calmed down, all the tears I had held back streamed out of my eyes with an impeccable force. I wailed to Greg, "Don't let me die! I don't want to leave Link, or you, but I just don't know what is happening...I have no control!"

It is in this moment I finally admitted I needed to stop denying my disorder, and learn how to start living a life worth living.

So no, this isn't the end. Because I am going to start living a life worth living, no matter what it takes.

I am going to be an advocate for rape victims, and fight every day against this fucked up society that has conformed to normalizing and accepting sexual violence.

And with that, my thirty-day blogging journey through Sexual Assault Awareness Month, comes to an end.