tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-60346565194018848292024-03-05T05:09:36.542-06:00Speak The Truth Even If Your Voice Shakes: being a domestic abuse/sexual assult survivorAnonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.comBlogger131125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-50947018677989776632015-03-31T16:33:00.001-05:002015-03-31T16:33:20.138-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-64285619784231794072015-03-16T13:14:00.002-05:002015-03-16T13:14:43.369-05:00My reading for Hear Us Roar sexual assault survivors performance <h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 25.6800003051758px;">Below is my reading for the event for sexual assault survivors, </span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 25.6800003051758px;"><br /></span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 25.6800003051758px;">Speak the truth even if your voice shakes.</span></h2>
<h2 style="text-align: left;">
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I met Jake
at the pief where I worked as a lifeguard in late august 2012. He was handsome
and charming, He told me he wanted to spank me. I imagined just gentle sensual
foreplay. The first time he did it he flipped me over his knee, face down, held
my hands and arms down. He was hitting me hard, real hard. I thought this would
be a onetime thing. I didn’t like it. But I thought it meant something was
wrong with me.<br /> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">It then
became a form of “punishment” when I had broken a rule of his, or he felt like
I just needed to be punished. Every single time jake spanked me he gave me deep
tissue bruises, that would last for weeks at a time, that would make it painful
for me sit, and move. He said he liked the color of my bruised ass. I can’t
remember the specific details because I put my mind somewhere else to deal with
the pain, the humiliation, because if I fought back it could make jake angrier
or make him hit me harder. I just remember moments in time like when he gave me
a clean sock to bite down on. I hit my bed so hard I got a bloody nose, and I
was crying and jake didn’t stop until he said “my ass was bleeding”. I was
terrified it was like I could feel all of Jake anger into my body.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">“Dammnit girl, you need to get some
respect. You’re such a pushover.”<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> Jake said he wanted me to come to a Halloween
party with him wearing a certain dress and underwear. Instead he took me to his
friend’s apartment. I was really drunk, and it felt like I was these guys’ toy,
their fingers were near places they shouldn’t be, jake decided he wanted to
spank me, I said no and tried to run away but jake grabbed me he pulled my
dress up and started spanking me with his friend. I tried to fight and get
away. I had a panic attack, and jake just rubbed my face saying “your ok Mary,
you’re ok.” that following week or longer I had a bruise mark of a hand on my
left arm, I was upset so I just wanted to do was be held by jake on the couch
but when I tried he pushed me off hard and said “stop fucking nagging me” I was
on the floor crying. Jake’s friend brought me back to his room, he said jake
didn’t have any feelings for you, he told him he’d never ask me out, just used
me as a thing. I was upset. Crying. Very drunk. Falling asleep.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">Michael started touching me, I didn’t
say no, but I really didn’t want to but I was broken,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I let</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">Michael take advantage of me.<br /> <o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">After two
months of waiting, Jake finally asked me out. I thought things will get better
now. I ended up drinking with the guys in my hall, I wasn’t allowed to do that.
“oh my fucking god! Dammnit girl you’re going to get it now! You’re sweet ass
is mine! We made an agreement!!!”<br /> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> November 11,
jake’s 19th birthday. jake was behind
me with a white wood paddle, hitting it against his hand.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">He said if he ever found out I was
drinking again without telling him he would beat my ass with that paddle. Jake
texted me that he was going to allow me to miss one more class before he would
beat my ass with that paddle, and he would know because he was going to be
waiting on the steps of Jamrich for me before class on the days he had class,
when he didn’t have class I was to text him at 8:45 or else he would assume I
had over slept, and he would know if I was lying because he had a friend in
that class.”</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">The next
day I slept through my class. Jake texting me saying “I’m waiting” “guess you
just slept through your safety net, and on the first day too. What a shame.”</span><span style="line-height: 107%;">that day it
was ominous what jake wanted to do to me</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">we were making out when I giggled and Jake got really angry</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">it was like a flip of a switch</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">the light leaves Jake’s eyes,
his voice changes and his face becomes like stone.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I was on top of Jake and he had his
hand above me shaking trying not to hit me, I closed my eyes waiting for him to
smack me hard.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I started
trying to rub his face “you’re ok.”</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">he screamed at me “STOP IT.”</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">always like walking on egg shells with Jake, say the
right things, do the right things,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">always do and say what makes Jake happy.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">“you have no reason to be afraid of
me.” He said “I’ve got a deal of you.” I said “ok” he said “I can hear the fear
in your voice Mary, you don’t have to be afraid of me, I genuinely care about
you.” I said “ok.” He said “I can still hear the fear in your voice, Mary. But
I’ll make you a deal, I’ll never spank you for anything to do with school, but
if I find out you’re drinking with out telling me, so help me god. And I don’t
understand why you have such a problem with spanking, this college Mary,
everyone does it.” Any effort I had ever thought about to stand up to Jake
again left me, when I remembered that image of the light leaving jake’s eyes
and his hand shaking above me.<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">December 13.
I saw that my microwave was gone. The boys in my hall stole it as a joke. Jake
saw it, and the switch flipped “are you going to go get your microwave or do I
have to.”</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I went to go
get it back, I was pleading with the boys, didn’t they understand how angry
they were making Jake? How all that anger was going to be put on me?</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">jake yelled “give her her fucking
microwave back!!”</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I said
“come on boys.”</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">Jake punched
the metal door hard next to me I cowered down,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">covered my head. The boys</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">opened the door it was like I was
protecting those boys from Jake, they had joked around before that they could
take him but I didn’t want anyone to get hurt. He talked of wanting to kill
them. I told him it might make him feel better to kiss me, and he said he
didn’t trust himself, I said I trusted him, even as tears rolled down my face.
I remember I just wanted him happy. To not hurt those boys.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">He handcuffed my hands behind me. I
didn’t fight, I didn’t say no. I gave up. I was taking it for those boys. I let
my mind go numb, but cried out that I was sorry over and over again, jake
yelled are you going to get a backbone now?</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">He stopped took the handcuffs off and in my most sincere
voice said “I’m sorry for the way I am” and started hitting my backside with
the handcuffs.<br /><o:p></o:p></span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">He wanted to give me a hickey</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">he had me pinned down and was on top
of me. I told him to stop,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">he pushed my head back forcefully and said move your head now,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">it looked like he had strangled me,
this wasn’t a hickey, this was a marking of me that I was his. A branding.</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">he said “you’d better not cover
it up, Ill know okay.” I said “I”m afraid I’d get in trouble.” He said “You’ll
be in a lot trouble with me if you cover it up, because it’s the last part of
your punishment to wear it proudly, and if I come to the PEIF tomorrow and its
covered up I’m gonna turn your butt that color again.” I was so scared, I felt
embarrassed, I felt demeaned, I went to file my police report, than later for a
Personal Pertection Order,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">There was supposed to be no contact, but jake said he loved me, couldn’t
he atleast give me his Christmas present to me,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I thought he would change, your mind tells you it
isn’t possible for someone to really treat you like that. I knew deep down that
this man was a horrible man. It was like I was brainwashed. It was a constant
battle between trusting heart and my logical head.<br /> <o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">The first
day of second semester Jake was expelled from NMU with twenty four counts
against him, five of them sexual assault. He told he</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I was going to be a witness on his
trial</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">He would call any
waking moment for a week</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">jake
said well if you don’t say this right, if you don’t save me I might as well
kill myself if I don’t have school…and “do you really want me to kill myself
Mary?”</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">Did he remember
who this all happened to, not him, me! A lot more people were at this trial. I
thought they all think I’m going to lie. What will jake do to me if I don’t say
the right thing? I was just here to fight for a second chance for jake. He
talked of going to batters anonymous, he never did. He said he had started to go
back to his therapist, the same therapist he had went to because was abused by
this dad, this therapy wasn’t for an abuser but instead for a victim. All this
people knew about such the horribly intimate details of my abuse, of my life</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">“how this wasn’t just about me
but think of all the other students related who were affected, for example the
roommate.” I remember down right hating this closing argument of hers, yes it
affected them, but more because I chose to speak about my abuse rather than
hide it? Couldn’t she see for once this was about me? what I had gone through,
it was about me. </span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">as the dean of students walked past
me she said “Good luck”. This wasn’t about me, this wasn’t my trial. it was
Jake’s. I testified because I felt I had to, if I had wanted him to have no
consequences for what he did to me I would have lied. Jake wasn’t able to
negate a single count and was expelled<br /><o:p></o:p></span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I got rid of my PPO against Jake.
Jake had complete control over my life. Life was go to school, work and Jake.
He had it all planed out for me told me in 5 years we were going to be living
in his trailer with a baby he talked about me dropping out of college, or transferring
colleges. It was like I was trapped in a life already planned out for me.<br /><o:p></o:p></span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">jake woke me up at 4 am and told me I
had to sleep in his car alone. In below 0 temperatures,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">he would be back for me later.</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">He shut the door</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">told me the alarm would go off if I
tried to get out. I was afraid I would freeze and no one would know.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I cried myself to sleep as I tried to
cuddle myself for warm,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">It’s
funny because someone could say why didn’t you just unlock the doors, that was
never an option.</span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Another type
of punishment</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">Jake used
was oral sex, he would just move my head</span>. <span style="line-height: 107%;">My body would shake, tears would roll down my cheeks. I had
to start dissociating to get through it, because Jake would be so angry if he
didn’t finish and wouldn’t let me stop. I was just a body.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I tried to tell Jake’s step dad once
that he was beating me he just said that he didn’t know why Jake thought that
was ok. But that was it, I knew he believe me but why wouldn’t he try to help
me? Help Jake?<br /> <o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">The things I
learned were daily life, Jake stood behind me once with scissors wanting to cut
my hair off, held my face down to shave because he said I had a mustache. I had
to stay behind the cart at the grocery store.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">He was by the book personality disorder narcissistic.
Always needing to be greater than me, better, feel like he was God.<br /><o:p></o:p></span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">Valentines Day. Jake had figured out
what we were going to do but told me he had to work on Valentines day and he
didn’t want to take it off,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">but I was busy when wanted to meet. He called me asking if I cared about
our relationship? Told me I wasn’t putting enough in to it. He told me that “I
had to tell him every time I had a doctor’s appointment, a party, etc. where
ever I went because what if he had a date planned for us and I had fucked it up”.</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">Yes Jake I need to tell you
every time I have anything.” This person talking wasn’t me, where was mary?</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">I saw my razer I had never
thought about hurting myself before, but I was so used to this feeling of do
something wrong get punished. Jake was talking on the phone but I just couldn’t
take it anymore getting all this emotional abuse atleast the physical pain hurt
less, so I grabbed my razer and cut up my legs deep till they bled and scarred,
still on the phone with jake. I couldn’t</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">cry my PTSD had gotten so bad. </span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">Jake saif that he was going to take valentines day off but he wasn’t
going to like it</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">.<br /> <o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">I had to
meet with the dean of students she said that
I was dumb for staying with this guy, this woman had no idea what I had gone
through how scared I was to leave, scared to die or worse how myself was slowly
dying inside, how lost I really was.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">She said staying with Jake was self-harming myself, we both agreed I’d
never cut myself ever again. She said I would still need to go to a routine
psych evaluation the head psychologist told me in her 25 years of working at
NMU she had never told anyone nor believed so strongly that an abuser would
kill a victim as she was in my case. She said I am going to see your name in
the obituaries. A part of me knew I was going to die on this path.<br /> <o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Valentine’s
day 2013 The school withdraw me because they were afraid Jake was going to kill
me. It felt like my life was crumbling before me,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">The school was punishing me for doing
nothing wrong, giving the victim the same punishment of the perpetrator. The
dean wouldn’t let me stay.</span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Not even a
week later I went back up to the UP on a bus. Jake wanted me to take lots of
pictures and post them on facebook to show people I wasn’t dead. The guys in my
dorm hall commented “slut”, “looks like someone’s hungry for a knuckle
sandwich.” “looks like someone’s ready to get hit” the same guys I had taken a
beaten for over a microwave.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">Jake kept talking about killing him
self,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">he said maybe we
should just off it off together. I said “kill ourselves? Jake I don’t want to
die.” He said don’t say it out loud.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">He wanted me to come up again, he came down to get me.</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">We were driving when he pulled
out a knife put it up to me. Telling me we could just off ourselves off right
now. Said how tempted he was to just serve into a tree or semi on the way here,
started swerving saying thes trucks looked like good ones to crash into</span>. <span style="line-height: 107%;">Jake took me to the trailer we were going to live in, it was
nostalgic, like a graveyard for all my dreams</span><span style="line-height: 107%;">I ended up
telling Jake’s mom he had been beating me. I felt alittle strength telling her.
Then Jake found out. He said I had no right to tell his mom about that</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I did have a right it had to do with
me, she had to know, than she’d help him right? Help me?<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">I’ve found</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">when people don’t know what to
say or do they don’t say anything at all, I’ve noticed this with my family and
especially my friends they don’t understand, they don’t know what to say, upset
that you would stay with someone that would hurt you like that, so they
distance themselves from you, the old Mary was so cheery, fun, who would do
anything, this Mary was different. This Mary had internally pain, some of my
friends didn’t want to accept it all, accept me, so I lost them.<br /> <o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">Jake said</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">we should take a break</span>. <span style="line-height: 107%;">He was breaking up with me because I was too broken for him. My life had
been erased.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">A part of
me just wanted to be dead but I knew I was stronger than killing myself that
was what jake wanted and I was stronger than that.<br /><o:p></o:p></span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">Jake’s friend’s Jannis sent me a
message saying that his girlfriend Michelle (who was one of jake’s best
friends) had left him for jake</span>. <span style="line-height: 107%;">My heart stopped this was the moment that I knew I was wasn’t
jealous, this had nothing to do with jake getting a new girlfriend and not
wanting me. I was scared no one deserved to go through what I went through, you
can’t change people who don’t want to be changed. Abusers only escalate. I had
to save her, some way, some how. I told Jannis of all the abuse, how horrible
it was how I had to help her.</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I called Michelle crying</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">I just wanted her safe. As far as I know I changed her mind but I guess
I’ll never know. Jake sent me a message</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">saying “thank you for setting
me free, from you and everything else that was ever between me and Michelle or
ever was going to be between me and Michelle I am grateful to for that because
I just couldn’t do it and I’m glad that you did thank you, I am free from the
past now that Michelle knows, I couldn’t tell her all of it because of how much
it hurt.I can finally let it go never have to think about it. I’m grateful that
you did what I knew I could never do, thank you for freeing me babe.” It was
like he was taking this inner strength I had to try to speak out to Michelle,
try to help her, be that person I wanted to help me and throwing it in my face.
Throwing it in my face that it was the past, whatever he did to me it didn’t
matter now because he wouldn’t have to think about it. He could just let it go,
how he was the victim of MY abuse.<br /><o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> It was here that I knew I had to try to stand
up, try to get charges on him because it wasn’t about me anymore. It was about
the other girls out there who can’t stand up for themselves; who could be his
next victim. If all this happened to me, if I was this close to him killing me
what would he do to the next girl? Abusers only escalate. How long can he go
thinking he’s doing nothing wrong? He just got to start over at finlandia, he
can just tell people he didn’t like NMU because Finlandia didn’t have to look
at his record because it’s a private school, and because he has no current
criminal charges. He gets to forget it all. That makes me angry. But I can’t I
have nightmares, flashbacks, if someone hits my backside; to the sound of his hand
hitting against me, the car he drove. My life is changed. Inside I am so
broken, I try to hide it, I am afraid of people, afraid of my past, afraid of
my future.<br /> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">July 2013 I
sent a message to Jake’s ex girlfriend Tresse</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">asking her if jake had ever hurt her. Terese texted “Only
once,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">the only way you
can help him is pressing charges,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">He got the pleasure from smacking people on the ass I guess</span>
<span style="line-height: 107%;">but then I broke his nose. So
he never did that to me again. That may not sound terrible but he was holding
me down,</span> <span style="line-height: 107%;">she was at
Wisconsin Dells with him when she made a joke about Jake being gay. She said he
had tried to assault her in the back of his car the same place he had assaulted
me multiple times. She had broken his nose. She was still terrified of the back
of cars like that now.<br /> <o:p></o:p></span><span style="line-height: 107%;">It’s been
two years, Charges had been denied because they didn’t think there was enough
evidence to stand before a jury and get a guilty verdict I fought for months, a
year, nonstop. I called lawyers, politicians, public safety, I even mailed and
received a letter back from Obama. It felt like everywhere had washed their
hands of me. Telling me they couldn’t help me, that I consented enough.
Everything I went through, everything he did to me, he got away with it. I feel
like I don’t matter, forgotten. He just keeps to keep going like I never
existed, that he did nothing wrong.<br /> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">I refuse to
give up though, I will fight, I refuse to be silent, I refuse to not be heard.
I will not give up. Even though I know I cannot legally put charges on him, not
even give him a smudge on his record I continue to fight by sharing
information, speaking out, I have gone to so many therapists, support groups
for sexual assault survivors, It’s funny because all our stories are different
yet the same. One day he will wake and think “I never should have hit that
girl”<br /> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">I wake up
every day terrified, changed by my past. I’m still trying to find myself again
what I’m good at, who I want to be, who I am. Tears well in my eyes but I am
determined to keep going.</span><span style="line-height: 107%;">As of
Valentines day this year it has been two years since this all has happened, but
today I stand before you at NMU. I came back starting this winter semester, to
finish what I started. Its scary, to see the same places, the fear that I may
see him, be afraid one day he’ll snap and come kill me, but I want to
eventually work in a shelter to help woman with domestic abuse.<br /> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;">When I
started at NMU August 2012 I thought I had it all figured out but than my life
was changed but not by my choice. I don’t have it all figured out yet but I
think that’s ok. My speaking up, my fighting back isn’t about revenge, it’s
about having my power back, trying to save another girl who doesn’t have her
voice. To speak the truth even if my voice shakes.</span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span><span style="line-height: 107%;"> </span></h2>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-38160560343775405512015-01-19T17:19:00.002-06:002015-01-19T17:19:24.301-06:00Slap Her.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-7244989913153034842015-01-19T17:10:00.001-06:002015-01-19T17:10:03.108-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-31717277464341657722015-01-19T17:08:00.004-06:002015-01-19T17:08:55.382-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-59086514563015312812015-01-19T17:06:00.000-06:002015-01-19T17:06:48.345-06:00E.E cummings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span id="goog_869561721"></span><span id="goog_869561722"></span><br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-4487939381039501562015-01-13T09:43:00.002-06:002015-01-13T09:45:05.709-06:00I am hereI am here.<br />
<br />
The place it all happened.<br />
<br />
I'm ok. It's scary. But I'm ok.<br />
<br />
It's hard because I'm constantly looking over my shoulder seeing if you're there. I walk by places, a memory flashes through my mind of what happened there, something you said to me. Not always bad, not always good.<br />
Memories.<br />
<br />
Going in to public places I'm searching, surveying every moment. I don't want to go out alone,<br />
Every time I enter somewhere new I keep my hand near my pepper spray. It's silly. Does it make me feel safer?<br />
I'm less afraid of you hurting me.<br />
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More afraid of seeing you.<br />
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Seeing your family, your friends, people who know you.<br />
<br />
Who know me.<br />
<br />
Do they remember me.<br />
<br />
Do they remember what you did to me.<br />
<br />
I am here.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-66016300437940680392014-12-06T22:20:00.001-06:002014-12-06T22:20:18.318-06:00Here Is How I Am A Bad Sexual Assault Victim<div class="sub_buzz_desc">
Excerpt from article "Here Is How I Am a Bad Sexual Assault Victim" by Maya Inamura found at:</div>
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<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/mayainamura/here-is-how-i-am-a-bad-sexual-assault-victim">http://www.buzzfeed.com/mayainamura/here-is-how-i-am-a-bad-sexual-assault-victim</a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">"I am not a good victim of sexual assault. My assailant was not a stranger: We were on a date. I let him into my apartment and he eventually assaulted me there. After he left, he texted me saying that he had a great time and hoped to see me again soon. If you asked him today, I bet he’d tell you he was a modest, sweet, upstanding guy who had never assaulted or raped anyone. He even identified as a feminist.</span></div>
<span style="font-size: large;">A good victim is one who did nothing to “ask for it.” A good victim does not know her assailant, is not around him willingly, isn’t sexually active, isn’t dressed provocatively, and isn’t under the influence of drugs or alcohol. She makes it clear that the assault is not consensual, immediately reports it to the authorities, and cooperates with the investigation. No one can find fault with a good victim, because the good victim did everything in her power, and more, to prevent the assault from happening. The fault, therefore, can only lie with the assailant.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I’m a bad victim for a number of reasons. Perhaps the biggest reason is that I didn’t even immediately process that what was happening to me was sexual assault: I turned numb, unable to think or react, and stayed that way for several days afterward. My sympathetic nervous system — the “fight-or-flight” response — chose the third, lesser-known option of “freezing.” Most likely because of that, I think, my memory of the events before and after my assault is hazy, though I wasn’t drunk at all. I don’t remember exactly what we talked about at the restaurant beforehand, or what route we took to walk to my apartment, or what reason he gave for eventually leaving. I don’t even remember the exact date on which it happened. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">These blanks in my memory give others a reason to doubt my story — what if I was just making it all up for attention? — despite the fact that my memory of the assault itself is crystal clear. Because I didn’t do everything right, because there is reason to doubt me, I am not a good victim.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">In actuality, the “good victim” is a mythical archetype, simply a yardstick by which all other victims are measured. No one will ever be considered a good victim in our society, because there’s always something one can find for which to fault the victim. Once there’s anything at all to fault the victim for, she and her story lose all credibility and she becomes a bad victim."</span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-80092468077869324222014-12-01T06:19:00.001-06:002014-12-01T06:19:48.093-06:00Scared<p dir="ltr">This is hard to write, but maybe it will make me feel better to write it. A guy took advantage of me and kind of freaked me out. I met him online which probably isn't a good thing in the first place. He picked me up because we were supposed to watch a movie but was yelling at on the phone because he couldnt find where I lived, I started walking to be able to try to meet him somewhere, I was starting to tear up as he was yelling at me and being mean to me on the phone, but it was so cold outside, I just wanted to be somewhere warm and I was already afraid of him to say something so I got in his car with him. He took me to his apartment then after a while he started trying to hook up with me. I didn't want to but didn't say no, so I guess it's kinda my fault but he was yelling at me so it kind of scared me so I didn't want to make him angry, because I was so extremly sexually assaulted I was trying to explain why he couldn't do certain things because I have PTSD which he did anyway and said he didn't want to know because he didn't want to think of another guy in where he was, I was terrified and couldn't speak looking up at him in horror and he was yelling at me to say yes or no, and telling me what to do. He kept asking me if I was clean and wouldn't believe me when I kept saying I,was, It made me feel dirty. I knew I wasn't going to get out of there till he finished and I was kind of scared of what he would do if I told him I wanted to stop or leave. When he was done he didn't want to bring me home, I did want to stay there any longer though. So he put me in a cab, Just can't sleep now. I know it's my fault but I was just scared.</p>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-45034457658813164732014-11-18T11:33:00.000-06:002014-11-18T11:53:36.890-06:00Big decision <span style="font-size: large;">This was a long and hard process to decide but I have decided I want to go back to my college. Jan 12 2015 I will start my first day *again* at Northern Michigan University. I like my job as a cosmetologist, but it was never what I dreamed of, I dreamed of earning a college degree. I feel like there is so much more to me, then just wanting to cut hair for the rest of my life. I finally feel strong enough to go back and finish what I have started. Right now I am hoping to be able to get a degree to hopefully work in a women's shelter to help battered woman and children. I'm not sure about a minor yet but I do have my theatre classes under my belt (because I was originally a theater major, I love theatre, but don't really see job opportunities in it unless I was a professional performer.) so I am considering that as a minor. I am a little nervous to go back but very excited. I get to go follow my dreams again, wish me luck :) </span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-24609649554998769092014-11-12T20:38:00.001-06:002014-11-12T20:38:03.024-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-82992543522352533762014-11-12T20:32:00.000-06:002014-11-12T20:32:08.788-06:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-38543752499702623252014-11-12T20:26:00.001-06:002014-11-12T20:45:28.303-06:00Yesterday was his 21st birthday<span style="font-size: large;">Yesterday was his 21st birthday, </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">I don't know why I remember that but I don't think I'll ever forget. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Last night I had a dream. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">It was outside. He was across the way from me, I saw it was him and started to run away. He said "Don't you wish I could hang" jokingly. His voice was the same. Why is it always right on in my dreams? Then he was on top of me and I was screaming. He was laughing. I was screaming at the top of my lungs "help me!" there was a million people around me, including his family, but no one would help me. He stuck his hand down my pants and was trying to rape me, he flipped me over and smacked my backside. I was screaming. I tried to tell everyone what happened but no one would listen or believe me.</span> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySW7Ml5akdRvpCK_DFHWnlMohlfNwghZpg7S6y4ylwHQ72IqMsEobRcNu3VoaneAAB-77zqohCKJyjlgObyYdw4cAydw4gwPnddIFJNpehs9GU6rqMGgAHRwaUgMx8UmglYsCg07Jq1A/s1600/aHR0cCUzQSUyRiUyRjMxLm1lZGlhLnR1bWJsci5jb20lMkY3OWI0MzM5MGQ5MjVhOWVlNzdmNzY5MjVkZDJlZTNiNyUyRnR1bWJscl9uNWx0ZmJsd0RjMXFqbTlicG8xXzUwMC5qcGc=.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySW7Ml5akdRvpCK_DFHWnlMohlfNwghZpg7S6y4ylwHQ72IqMsEobRcNu3VoaneAAB-77zqohCKJyjlgObyYdw4cAydw4gwPnddIFJNpehs9GU6rqMGgAHRwaUgMx8UmglYsCg07Jq1A/s400/aHR0cCUzQSUyRiUyRjMxLm1lZGlhLnR1bWJsci5jb20lMkY3OWI0MzM5MGQ5MjVhOWVlNzdmNzY5MjVkZDJlZTNiNyUyRnR1bWJscl9uNWx0ZmJsd0RjMXFqbTlicG8xXzUwMC5qcGc=.jpg" width="321" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-88026483103489537822014-11-03T19:27:00.001-06:002014-11-03T19:27:29.987-06:00This Woman Set Up An Instagram To Show The Shocking Truth Of Being A Woman Online<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">The screenshots uploaded detail the abuse and harassment women face daily.</span></strong> <br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Check it out:</strong></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/jobarrow/this-women-set-up-an-instagram-to-show-the-shocking-truth-of">http://www.buzzfeed.com/jobarrow/this-women-set-up-an-instagram-to-show-the-shocking-truth-of</a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-46905506098936730192014-11-03T19:20:00.001-06:002014-11-03T19:20:15.590-06:00<span style="font-size: x-large;">A Woman Called 911 And Pretended To Order A Pizza To Alert Them Of Domestic Abuse</span><br />
From Buzzfeed.com<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;"></span></strong></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong><span style="font-size: x-large;">"</span></strong>had a call that started out pretty dumb, but was actually pretty serious:<br />“911, where is you emergency?”<br /> “123 Main St.”<br /> “Ok, what’s going on there?”<br /> “I’d like to order a pizza for delivery.” (oh great, another prank call).<br />“Ma’am, you’ve reached 911”<br /> “Yeah, I know. Can I have a large with half pepperoni, half mushroom and peppers?”<br /> “Ummm…. I’m sorry, you know you’ve called 911 right?”<br /> “Yeah, do you know how long it will be?”<br /> “Ok, Ma’am, is everything ok over there? do you have an emergency?”<br /> “Yes, I do.”<br /> “..And you can’t talk about it because there’s someone in the room with you?” (moment of realization)<br />“Yes, that’s correct. Do you know how long it will be?”<br /> “I have an officer about a mile from your location. Are there any weapons in your house?”<br /> “Nope.”<br /> “Can you stay on the phone with me?”<br /> “Nope. See you soon, thanks”<br />As we dispatch the call, I check the history at the address, and see there are multiple previous domestic violence calls. The officer arrives and finds a couple, female was kind of banged up, and boyfriend was drunk. Officer arrests him after she explains that the boyfriend had been beating her for a while. I thought she was pretty clever to use that trick. Definitely one of the most memorable calls.</span><span style="font-size: x-large;"><strong>"</strong></span><br />
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<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/rossalynwarren/a-woman-called-911-and-pretended-to-order-a-pizza-to-alert-t">http://www.buzzfeed.com/rossalynwarren/a-woman-called-911-and-pretended-to-order-a-pizza-to-alert-t</a><br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;"><a class="iol_imc" href="https://www.blogger.com/null" idx="0" style="height: 466px; left: 317px; top: 0.5px; visibility: visible; width: 784px;"><img class="mainImage" height="237" src="http://richthediabetic.com/wp-content/uploads/2013/07/Pizza.jpg" style="background-color: white;" width="400" /></a></span><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-62744547801072976332014-10-26T22:37:00.000-05:002014-10-26T22:37:10.723-05:00walk-a-mile for domestic violence <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-43512204511678546502014-10-20T11:35:00.001-05:002014-10-20T11:35:11.596-05:0010 Survivors Of Domestic Violence Quoting The People Who Attacked Them<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/spenceralthouse/10-survivors-of-domestic-violence-quoting-the-people-who-att#9423sx"><span style="font-size: large;">http://www.buzzfeed.com/spenceralthouse/10-survivors-of-domestic-violence-quoting-the-people-who-att#9423sx</span></a><br />
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-36741535882953186182014-10-09T14:18:00.002-05:002014-10-09T14:18:22.820-05:0011 Startling Confessions About Why Some Women Have To Wear Makeup<h2>
A look at what some alleged victims of abuse have said about how and why they cover up their injuries.</h2>
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<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/rachelzarrell/11-startling-confessions-about-why-some-women-need-makeup#9423sx">http://www.buzzfeed.com/rachelzarrell/11-startling-confessions-about-why-some-women-need-makeup#9423sx</a></h2>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-1650777398977569982014-10-09T14:04:00.002-05:002014-10-09T14:04:50.514-05:00Two Things<span style="font-size: large;">I haven't posted for a while because two things have been haunting me. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">A male lawyer called me and told me everything I went through was consensual. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">A customer at my job (a man) talking about the domestic violence happening with NFL said if your husband beats you in an elevator and you stay with him, than you deserve it. </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: large;">Neither is ok..and they don't understand how their words stay with and haunt me, to degrees they'd never understand.</span> <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrGB-Qv7O9rLREIyYhsCrAiAX2zSktQnQly_F_KbWyURrGK-9Ky37DDHiVbyqsdSCiBxOWthPoKrTsPnIG-kuLr1P4_KpX8i_MA9MOqjIVtcsNoRaPFvuhjCi2gMN2VEYFTaYQ8XsvXE/s1600/5fc138dd8421b821bfb2c86550b62e1c.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicrGB-Qv7O9rLREIyYhsCrAiAX2zSktQnQly_F_KbWyURrGK-9Ky37DDHiVbyqsdSCiBxOWthPoKrTsPnIG-kuLr1P4_KpX8i_MA9MOqjIVtcsNoRaPFvuhjCi2gMN2VEYFTaYQ8XsvXE/s1600/5fc138dd8421b821bfb2c86550b62e1c.jpg" height="640" width="368" /></a></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-67940857429703469412014-10-09T13:54:00.004-05:002014-10-09T13:54:41.119-05:00<span style="font-size: large;">22 British Women Reveal What It’s Really Like To Be In An Abusive Relationships</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZFPiaEK2BSAfZ0MJ5XCLh2hCL9KSl7MuMv5qzZqFp4wq6t505ez7BpbbObipdUyNj5KqhoJlGO4rtrLM3QoY6GdladzVAZVM5L49enfUXvjnWkzltralaXR8Vf5L3TsXsxKV7zsXAGg/s1600/050435734b77626566743e44125792505b9b13-wm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBZFPiaEK2BSAfZ0MJ5XCLh2hCL9KSl7MuMv5qzZqFp4wq6t505ez7BpbbObipdUyNj5KqhoJlGO4rtrLM3QoY6GdladzVAZVM5L49enfUXvjnWkzltralaXR8Vf5L3TsXsxKV7zsXAGg/s1600/050435734b77626566743e44125792505b9b13-wm.jpg" height="640" width="443" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Read more:</span><br />
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<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/rossalynwarren/british-women-reveal-what-its-really-like-to-be-in-an-abu#9423sx"><span style="font-size: large;">http://www.buzzfeed.com/rossalynwarren/british-women-reveal-what-its-really-like-to-be-in-an-abu#9423sx</span></a>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-84621349761155005742014-10-09T12:59:00.001-05:002014-10-09T12:59:58.739-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-35601091945496779182014-10-09T12:57:00.001-05:002014-10-09T12:57:30.710-05:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-4242068174513132522014-09-04T18:24:00.000-05:002014-09-04T18:24:17.685-05:00<h1 id="post-title">
College Student Will Carry A Mattress To Class Every Day Until Her Alleged Rapist Leaves Campus</h1>
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<b>Columbia senior Emma Sulkowicz has vowed to carry a mattress around campus until the man who allegedly raped her leaves the school.</b> </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWoMoXa6RY01_Ljg5rzVGXNlGgEm3L1io8V-DOc9VEayiqf8uiTIdgaxsY1f0BvEiRbtHOFGgWKeBBFS9-aQGXBK5mdFKAgwVFRY-d2rPsNOwsvSCj6SQhZIOeF2M_epwuoWEzyjQ0lJo/s1600/enhanced-4298-1409708626-1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWoMoXa6RY01_Ljg5rzVGXNlGgEm3L1io8V-DOc9VEayiqf8uiTIdgaxsY1f0BvEiRbtHOFGgWKeBBFS9-aQGXBK5mdFKAgwVFRY-d2rPsNOwsvSCj6SQhZIOeF2M_epwuoWEzyjQ0lJo/s1600/enhanced-4298-1409708626-1.png" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">“The idea of me carrying a mattress sort of stuck in my head. I guess I decided to unpack why I was so fascinated with that idea. I was raped in my own dorm bed, so I think the idea of carrying the mattress represented, in my mind, carrying the weight of the memories that I have of that night and carrying the weight of how the school dismissed not only me but the other two women who reported against him, and the way the police harassed me when I reported my case.”</span></div>
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Read the story at: <a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/juliapugachevsky/this-college-student-will-carry-a-mattress-to-class-every-da#9423sx">http://www.buzzfeed.com/juliapugachevsky/this-college-student-will-carry-a-mattress-to-class-every-da#9423sx</a></div>
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Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-4245858515318322592014-09-04T18:16:00.005-05:002014-09-04T18:16:41.272-05:0016 Things No One Wants To Tell You About Being A Woman<h1 id="post-title">
16 Things No One Wants To Tell You About Being A Woman</h1>
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<b><span style="font-size: large;">It’s harder than it looks.</span></b> </div>
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<a href="http://www.buzzfeed.com/laraparker/things-no-one-tells-you-about-being-a-woman#9423sx">http://www.buzzfeed.com/laraparker/things-no-one-tells-you-about-being-a-woman#9423sx</a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhevzJryRmoElJkSvRyESFXWUCrJde0YQZmyVmBw9lzIj76F4kRXs-BfINydaKWWNYX1x6qHCG1vHIFQ4biQXjTGA8lQANaN-FOrv9hEWQbtNJk47Butt_1g4N0HAHyuRlN6-9lQ-EuTro/s1600/d19b652e3c50c09b1a4f9e56fec1445f.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhevzJryRmoElJkSvRyESFXWUCrJde0YQZmyVmBw9lzIj76F4kRXs-BfINydaKWWNYX1x6qHCG1vHIFQ4biQXjTGA8lQANaN-FOrv9hEWQbtNJk47Butt_1g4N0HAHyuRlN6-9lQ-EuTro/s1600/d19b652e3c50c09b1a4f9e56fec1445f.jpg" height="640" width="470" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;"> picture source: </span><a href="http://everythingsparklywhite.tumblr.com/post/94208466540"><span style="font-size: xx-small;">http://everythingsparklywhite.tumblr.com/post/94208466540</span></a> </div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6034656519401884829.post-21677640315830260832014-08-31T17:22:00.002-05:002014-08-31T17:22:41.474-05:00What If I Never Find Out <span style="font-size: large;">Today I feeling lonely. Not that I don't usually feel lonely. I miss friendship, I miss myself. I finished with school a week ago so I no longer have school to distract me, from this feeling. Sure I felt lonely at school, I didn't have friends, Didn't know if I was good at what I was doing. But I was doing something. Now I have spent that time looking a job. But besides my occasionally looking and trying to apply I've done nothing. I feel so lost. Apart of me wants to leave this city, leave this house away from my parents. I want to be free, all my brothers are gone as of today as well as my current boyfriend, the only people I feel like I talk to anymore. So it's just me. I don't have the money to just leave, nor the idea of where to go or what to do, I mean I had tried to leave. It's not like I don't like this city I've grown up in. But I want to be away from all these people, these places, these memories that used to be such beautiful things, but that's all they are anymore, memories, ghosts of my past before my abuse. Losing my friends, my interests, what used to be me, would be easier if I had something to replace them with. But there isn't. I don't know how to make friends anymore, how to trust people truly. Even the people I cared so dearly for. I'm afraid of them, but if you looked at me how I interacted with people you wouldn't be able to tell, because I am very much a people person love to talk. I can feel for a little bit, But yet I'm afraid to let them in. So sometimes it's just going through the motions, sometimes I just put up a act of myself who I used to or am suppose to be. I try to connect with old friends, but a part of me is upset deep inside. Sad that I mean nothing anymore, or at least I feel like it. Yet also afraid to let them back in, I'll send a text say "I miss them", "we need to hang out soon" but that's all I'll ever do before I get scared. I don't want to be a bother, and I feel like they are afraid of me for what has happened to me. I want people to know, but not be afraid of me for what has happened to me, not make me afraid to talk to them about it, afraid they'll leave me or judge me. Yet I also don't want to put my great pain on them, I don't want to make them feel the hurt but to understand it. I don't want to feel broken, I don't want to feel weak again, But it hurts to not talk about it. I don't want to bring my family or the people who do still talk to me, including my current boyfriend into this battle in my head. The constant memories, feeling and triggers. No one understands how broken I am, a part of me doesn't want anyone to know. The want for people to see me as strong, over it, normal again. But another part of me yearns for them to know to explain my actions, my feelings, my pain. Why I am, who I am now. This loneliness is something that is not just about friendship. I'm not comfortable with myself when I'm left alone with my thoughts, and the earn to do the one thing I can't; How to fix what ever is wrong with me, find in me what is missing, but I have lost from my abuse, the fear that whatever I do, where ever I go, I will not find it. I'm not comfortable with who I am, I have changed and I hate it. People ask me to tell me about myself and there always comes a sadness in my heart; because I don't know how to tell about my self anymore, what I like, what I don't like. I tell what used to be me, but there's a whisper in me that says "You're lying". But yet I don't know how to find myself either. I'm stuck between who I used to be and who I want to be, but yet have no idea who I am.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> the fear that whatever I do, where ever I go, I will not find it.</span><br />
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<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17190125782433660879noreply@blogger.com0