I have to stop the Blame

I've been reading a few books about resistance in therapy and PTSD. I've been reading the one about PTSD for about two years now. It has different therapies and different aspects of PTSD. Today, I was reading the chapter about grief. Putting it together, I realized a few things that I really want to work on in my written and visual journal.
1. I have not dealt with my dad leaving the house. I don't talk much about it but I went out the day that I was raped by Kirk because I was upset that my dad was moving his things out of the house. I had asked my friend to meet me at the bowling alley, thinking that he'd remember because it was important to me; but he forgot so I went for a walk and went there anyway. I had been very angry with my dad for many years since he had cheated on my mom, moved in with his girlfriend, and for a time, was allowed to go back and forth between the two places. My mom said she was trying to make things work and had considered getting back together with my dad but one of us, most likely me, had expressed such dislike for the situation, that she reconsidered and decided to go with the full divorce.
2. I need to stop blaming my dad and Kirk for my bad relationships. I used to blame them for everything. My dad never showed me what a good relationship could be like. Kirk made me mistrust men and therefore, I cheated. I also learned cheating from my dad. I'm old enough now, I can have good relationships. Yes, I've had some difficulty figuring out what I wanted out of relationships and how to have one. But it doesn't always have to be that way. I can find friends and mentors to teach me how to have friendships and to teach me how to have a good relationship. I feel that my current relationship has been going very well. We're 6 months in and that's a feat for me since it has taken me a while to have a relationship that lasts more that 2-3 months. I have had a lot less doubts in this relationship. I worry about things that aren't about the relationship, for example, accepting that he'll work hard but he'll always want to paint and he won't have a steady income if all he does is paint. He's a great painter and is gaining recognition, but it might be a while before those good paychecks come in.

I haven't dealt with my dad's leaving. I have dealt with the anger towards my dad. But it seems the whole day is overshadowed by the incident with Kirk. It has taken me quite a while to even think about it. I used to sort of blame my dad for leaving and sending me out of the house. I mean walking in the neighborhood is a good coping skill.  There was maybe once that I was walking around the neighborhood that I saw Kirk, hanging out in his van. I didn't trust him and I thought he might have had a naked girl in the back, hiding. It was a weird thought but he quickly drove away and I was glad for it.
I saw Kirk at one of my brother's parties. He was trying to make it seem like everything was fine. I just nodded my head and wished he would never talk to me. There was at time when he got a job at Dominos making pizza. It was located in a shopping center that I had to pass every time I came home. The other side of the street was the bowling alley (I'll have to write a diagram). I had to pass that if I came from the other way. There was no way around passing his car if he was working. My mom noticed that I looked over at the bowling alley parking lot every time we passed. If his car was there, I felt sick to my stomach. If his car wasn't there, I felt sick to my stomach. I thought that if his car wasn't there, then he must be having sex, taking advantage of another girl, or whatever it was. I don't think he ever told anyone that he slept with me. I think he slept with other people I knew. I know some of the girls who bragged about having sex had worked at the bowling alley in the restaurant part.
At one point, I knew the moms of two of my friends were working at that bowling alley. Ryan and I were in the same grade at the same school. He was cool. He told me that Kirk had asked him to go to a party. I really hated Kirk and the stories about Kirk. I didn't like who hung out with him, either. But they were the same as my brother's friends and my brother didn't like me to hang out with his friends.
Another time, my friend, Christy, and I went to the bowling alley. I didn't think that Kirk had continued to work there. He just showed up. I was showing Christy who he was and she was saying I was staring, which made me upset because she wanted to know what he looked like and I was pointing him out. It was enough for me to stand there while he was there. I can't tell you the sequence of all these events because I can't remember.
At some point, Kirk moved to be a cook in Oregon and I knew I didn't have to worry about seeing his fucking van, where he raped me, again. But when my brother knew when he was coming back for a visit, I would get paranoid about any Oregon license plate that I saw, thinking that he'd be in it. I later found out that he was getting married. I wondered how that happened. I hoped that his family didn't have to go through what my family.
I remember when I started to realize what a life he must have had, to look to women as objects and as nuturing him. I infered that his mother wasn't affectionate and probably didn't pay him much attention. He was overweight. I don't know how much he weighed but he seemed so large. Then, he had liposuction. He looked a lot less taller. I think when he was leaving, after the first time I saw him after his lipo, I got a half-assed hug from him. I now realize a few things while writing this-- that he really let other people know what he was up to-- he liked to have his network of people knowing his every move. He liked the attention. But he was so uncomfortable with himself. It still doesn't give him the right to do what he did, knowing full-well that it was wrong.
I remember his friend Flipper. Flipper was dumb. His real name was Dave. I would be surprised if Dave ever got off his ass and did something. I wouldn't be surprised if he's dead from a heroin overdose. Flipper told me that everyone in the neighborhood knew what happened so, Kirk or someone else said something. My brother told my mom that there was a rumor I had sex on top of a van. She told me, "Now, it may not be true that you had sex with someone, you might have just been making out." I did not come out of my room for two weeks. I didn't eat except for a few things every couple of days. One day, my mom even brought food to me. All I wanted to do was kill myself. I wanted to set myself on fire in front of the bowling alley. I wanted people to realize that I was very hurt by the actions of Kirk and this rumor. It seemed like everyone came together to get all up in my business and to call me a slut, when they didn't know shit.

After I spent the two weeks in my room, I asked my mom if I could go see my grandparents. I went to see them for a few days. I needed that one-to-one attention and a change of scenery. I don't remember much about it. I don't think they really knew what to do with me. But I had an OK time, having email for the first time and smiling that my friends did care about me. I had difficulty believing that for a while.

I left my journal on my bed back at home. My mom found it and read it. She told me, she knew that something had happened. She thought I had sex. But she didn't even realize to what extent it was. And I think she realized the seriousness of it when the police were interviewing me. Then, they couldn't do anything because no one knew that it was rape. Fuck that. I know the difference between regretting sex and rape. I didn't ask this man to put his hands on me and he did. He violated me. And they took his side. They made me feel even more helpless, like I reached out for help and it was slapped away. Luckily, that record is sealed and according to them, no one has access to it. I don't want some fucking perv getting off on that shit.

I think I've ran out of steam for today but I feel I definitely have some ideas for stories and artwork.

Thanks for reading. It feels important to my healing journey to have a voice and an audience.

Friends and the Guestbook

I've neglected uploading photos on here. I can't believe it's been a year.
I'm reading, for the second time, The Sexual Healing Journey I read it in December and now I'm reading it again. It's an intense book. I didn't realize it the first time. But sometimes, it'll go from fact to examples of people's abuse. It catches me off guard.

As I'm working on through the book a second time. Some more memories have come up. I have worked on many aspects. Today, I realized that the whole situation had been one great example of "trust no one." I couldn't trust men as lovers and I couldn't trust women or men as friends. Many friends turned around and called me a slut. Luckily, I was friends with many people outside of school so my school friends didn't really know about what happened and couldn't judge me about it, the way everyone else did. I think all of it ostracized me even more from the little town I lived in and made it easier to leave for college.

I had a friend, Heather, who tried to get me out of my room and out with some friends for the two weeks that I spent in my room after the rape. Later, she proved to be very mean. One night when we were out with some friends playing in a park, she had said when her first time was when she was 17, possibly indicating that it was with the boy I liked when I was 12 (oh, what pain). I told her that I was raped for my experience of intercourse and it was the same day that my dad moved out of the house. A little time later or before ( I can't remember) , Heather was dating a guy from her school and they broke up. No one knew why. They had made silly rumors that she had broken up with him for marijuana. And I told me a friend, "No, she's been over here, dating my brother." My brother went to a different school than her. I knew this would start a rumor and at that point, I didn't care. Things have never been the same with her.

When I checked my guestbook from a website I had then, the guy who raped me named Kirk had written a note to me. It went:
_______________________________________
From: kirk@fuckyou.com
You know it wasn't rape. You wanted it, you slut.
And what does it have to do with your parents divorce?
__________________________________________

I still have an emotional reaction to seeing this and it's been at least 10 years. It makes me shake. My stomach reacts. I just want to cry but nothing comes out.
I can only imagine that Heather went home and told Kirk about my saying he was the one who raped me. And for whatever reason, she told him maybe my email address or at least the name of my webpage. They had become friends at some point and he had moved away-- much to my relief. Since the rape had happened in his van and he lived nearby and he kept getting jobs where I would inevitable have to see that fucking van on a near daily basis, it was just a constant reminder of the terrible things that had happened. But what a cowardly way to get in touch with me-- not giving me a chance to talk directly about what happened. In the end, I know what happened and he will never admit any wrong doing (because hey, what rapist would do that?)

I know I tell you this in bits and pieces. I want to write out the whole thing but it has been very difficult. The basics are that a 17 (almost 18 year old) boy raped me in his van after I had turned 13 years old. He worked at the bowling alley down the street from where I lived.

Three years after this happened, I went to file a police report. In the end, the police said that there was a difference between "rape" and "regretting sex" and they couldn't prosecute. I believed them at the time. But when it comes down to it, I know the difference between my body being violated and what "regretting sex" might be.
I once again blamed myself. I blamed myself for just about everything that happened. I blamed myself for being there, for letting it happen, for being in denial. What I told everyone afterward was how I really wanted it to be and not how it was. I really wanted it to be that this was someone who I knew for a long time (a year or so) and that we had liked each other, that this was just so wonderful, and that I was so cute that he just had to have me. It was all a lie. A lie that protected me from seeing the truth. A friend named Danie(short for Danielle) said it was wrong. I hated her at the time for saying this because she ruined my lie for a moment. But in the end, she was right and she was the ONLY one to ever say, "Hold on, something's not right here. Let's look at this situation."

And that's it for now.