No Trigger or Worries

 I realized the other day that I don't worry about watching "That 70's Show." There was a time where it made me very uncomfortable because Hyde reminded me of Kirk. For a while, I thought that Kirkwood Smith was the guy who played Hyde. Kirkwood Smith was the dad, Red. Kirk reminded me of the 70's with his hippie van and just something about him. He was a pot smoker and probably had some parental issues like Hyde did too. I'm glad that I don't have to worry about that anymore. It feels like I can remember less and less of it. As far as PTSD, it's great. It means that the event is becoming more and more processed and less of an issue. :)

The Best Revenge and Others

I was trying to do some poetry with the words I had. I have lot of words to use. They just seem to pile up and I intend to make more collages with them but then I don't.

I think this one represents my want to know what sex was like and the serious consequences of getting involved with a person who showed me the dark side of sex.



I like that I had some hope. It was like a grounding for me. I could do a lot of deep work by just knowing that I'm doing this to be better.


I just said, "Awe," to this one so I thought I'd post it.

Community and Break downs

I'm hoping to add some photos soon. I know I haven't added photos in quite some time so I'll try to get up on that. I have two finished visual journals and the beginning of another so, I have plenty of material.
So the man that I was sorta involved with but just wanted to be friends with-- well, he and I have been at least talking friendly. But at all times, he seems like he's just looking for a way to talk about himself. It can be taken as quite condescending although I know he doesn't mean it that way.

I am still going to the Unitarian church and finding a good community there. They have been nothing but supportive. I thought no one knew me or noticed me but the pastor has. She said I was in her prayers but she didn't know how to get a hold of me.

My friend from jr. high passed away in June. I've been upset ever since and it's been rough. She had this tough life of drinking early, having her social security number stolen twice, and lots of anger issues. She seemed like she was on the way to being happy-- she had a kid with a guy and they were going to get married this year in August. It sucked. I shared this at church and got the support I needed. It was a good feeling.

I started bringing some people to church. My boyfriend has talked about it but hasn't gone. My friend who was raised Catholic wants to go to see what it's all about. A friend from my job at the nursing home came last week and said it was like poetry how it all came together. It was nice.

---

Here's what I wrote recently:
9/30/2011
I told my boyfriend about the issues that I had been going through. It was at a moment of weakness. I had lost my job and was crying and crying and crying. Suddenly, we got onto the topic of my sexual issues. I told him about the break down last March and the three rapes. I didn't tell him about the incidences of not-rape. Not-rape like when I had sex with my boyfriend at the time (about 5 years ago) after I had a few drinks. I didn't really want to have sex at that time but we did. I feel like there's just never ending issues for me.

For the short time I was working at a nursing home, I was stressed all the time. I had so much stress that I would forget so easily. My supervisor could tell me something and I'd forget in two seconds. I had asked her about something and about two months later, the issue had come up again. It was as if my mind had reset and I forgot. I felt that I was just there to be told what to do even when others weren't doing the same things. Then, things would get behind because of other departments and then, I'd get in trouble. They were blaming me a lot and I never said anything about it to my supervisor. I feel like even if I had tried to explain it to her, then, she still wouldn't believe me. My friend had helped me to have humor in the situation and a coworker had said that I shouldn't take any blame for anything.

I remember a time when I was a kid when my mind reset. I had a thought to call my cousin to wish him happy birthday. I double checked and saw that his birthday was actually the next day. I remember being young enough that my parents had to help me to make a long distance call. My mind had then reset and I called anyway. Later, I realized what I had learned earlier, that his birthday was the next day. My parents said that I was insistent so they let me call. I also vaguely remembering that they had told me that his birthday was another day but I was so determined to call him that I did anyway. It was such an odd thing.

After I was fired from the job, my friends and coworkers were upset. I felt that they were being protective and I was embarrassed. I was starting to believe that I wasn't doing the right thing. I wasn't going to the CNA's to ask them to hurry along. I wasn't saying, "hey, watch that patient real quick for me, please." I wasn't walking up to patients to make sure that they were engaged in the program nor was I trying to get them engaged in the programs sometimes. Sometimes I was really tired. Sometimes I hated the whole thing. Sometimes the activities I did were hurting me. I started making it known I hated certain activities. I tried to tell myself that my supervisor wanted me to do well so she was encouraging me along. I just didn't like that she had to talk to me almost every day. I'm glad that it was just a work performance issue, though. With my previous job at the hospital, it was that I wasn't wearing professional clothing and that I was getting too snippy with the patients. So, I worry about those things. I feel that this job at the nursing home was very easy and that I was too good/smart for it. I think that it's better for me that I'm not at either place anymore.

I realize that I like stories where I am the victim of something. I always find something. I try to down play it a lot of the time when talking about a certain situation. I feel that many people don't know the true complexity of me nor the situation so when they give me advice or a statement about the issue, I think, "You don't know the whole story." I explain more but people already have their opinions so, they just hear more about what they already believe. It's a little annoying. At first, I was so angry with my dad, I'd always tell stories. Then, I'd get mad when people would say, "I'm sorry." Why? Did you do something? Leave me the fuck alone to my emotions. So, I was just angry. Lately, it was my bad day in San Francisco last year. The summary: Bad hotel, bad sleep, cold and allergies, called my ex to tell him the cat was dying (she died that night) and found out he was getting married, carried my heavy bags down some stairs, lost my phone, went to the wrong hotel, went to San Francisco, got off at the wrong stop on BART, bum bothered me and a man asked for money for a bad photo I'd taken of him, had something to eat where the guy reminded me of the guy I was trying to get over, went to the art museum only to discovered it was going to close in 45 minutes, I considered going to China town, went to a small coffee shop called "Leaf" and discovered it was really a Starbucks, went back to the hotel (2 hours to get back). I told it over and over again and a coworker had said that I was taking it too personally. So, I started saying that before hand-- "Maybe I'm taking it too personally." I am looking at all that I wrote and I am amazed that that was one day. But I feel that I tell that story to gain sympathy.

I also realize now that I really like attention. I do a lot to get attention. I like when I'm the only one talking and people are just so into what I'm saying. I like when people listen. I had enjoyed talking to one of my coworkers because it felt like an even exchange. We talked and took in what the other was saying. It was nice.

10/1/11
I remember a time when I was having my break down in March. I was suicidal but I didn't really want to die. I wanted to hurt myself but I didn't want to cut myself. I decided to have too much fiber. It was as if I wanted to get rid of the bad things in my body. I knew it hurt my stomach. I was glad when someone listened to me that time. She said, "You're not eating right. Change that and start walking. You can make the time for it." It was just the right amount of advice, concern, and listening to me.
Sometimes I still feel very young. I feel like I am just a child. I know my mind is sharp but I feel like I fuck up all the time. I feel like it's only a matter of time before people realize I don't know what I'm doing. I've been feeling very lost.
I thought my supervisor at the nursing home was using some sort of motivational technique by making me feel badly. I got mad at her one day when I redid an overcrowded closet. She didn't want me to throw away anything. She wanted me to ask her about what to throw away or not. She had made it clear earlier that she was not rational. She thought she might throw away things later but she decided to keep them for the time being. I don't understand that type of thinking. The closet was even more overcrowded when my coworker decided to put everything from the office in there. Then, my supervisor had the galls to say, "So-n-So worked her butt off to clean up the office." Yeah, so she could pass it to me. I hated her but I couldn't do anything. I didn't say anything. I didn't feel like I had the right anymore. I was dis-empowered.
I noticed people pleasing behaviors like trying to make one of the patients happy especially when his wife came to visit him. They seemed to have such a spiteful relationship that I wanted to make sure that at least she was happy. On my last day, he cried in front of me saying that he was homesick. Another time he said that he knew he was acting like an asshole. Later on my last day, I heard someone call him a jerk. They didn't know that he had cried. I wrote a note about it before I didn't have a chance to write down another one.

I am feeling a bit lost without an income. I feel like I'm just looking for the next job that will take me, hoping that it'll work out this time. I hope it pays the bills, I can move out and my life can get even better. I just want people to be able to come over, hang out, and there won't be any problems. I ask my spirits and G-d to light my way so I can see my path. So far, nothing has come to me yet.
Tomorrow, my friend has invited me to his church and I've invited him to my church. So, we're going to do both services-- his at 10AM and mine at 11:15. I guess it's good that it could work out that way. Eventually, I want to go see a previous patient at her church so that I might become friends with her niece. They used to come to the nursing home to pass along the word of G-d according to the Baptists. I don't know the difference. They all are Christians to me. At least these people seem less judgmental than others. I find it interesting that after I asked a different Baptist group to pray for me and they prayed for me to find my way in what is my path, I was fired nearly a week after that.

Kurt and Rant about Vincent

I started having a memory that came up more than once. When I was 12, I dated a boy, Kurt. We held hands and kissed. Eventually, he put his hands down my pants to finger me and he broke my cherry. Then, we broke up. I wasn't too upset with it because I was upset that he had tried to get me to do more and that he had touched me in the first place. One of the things I've learned is that victims of sexual abuse feel that they don't have the right to say no. I felt like it was what everyone else was doing and I might as well do it. I hated the way he kissed and touched me. It felt like I sort of wanted him to touch me but I would have enjoyed myself better if we just talked.

I got mad at him, I told friends that he had touched me and eventually felt that it was necessary to tell the school administrators what happened. It was months of them interviewing our friends and even our family about what happened. I was too scared to even mention the fingering thing until it went to the school board.
What I remember most was the principal. She said some very messed up things. She seemed mad at me for one reason or another. What hurt the most was that she asked me how he was supposed to know that he wasn't supposed to touch me if I held his hand. When I look at it now, I think, "Are you f*cking kidding me?" She made this imaginary link between holding hands and groping. I can't imagine that being OK in anyone's mind. It is beyond reason.

I look at this now and think, "No wonder I blamed myself for Kirk raping me." I had this story in my head-- well, I did go outside with him, I did talk to him. How was he supposed to know that it wasn't OK to have sex with me? In reality, I told him no. I was reluctant to go anywhere with him and if he wasn't looking so much to get laid and wasn't a f*cking scum bag, he would have seen that. Instead, he took advantage of a young girl who didn't know what to say to get this piece of shit to stop bothering her for sex.

In my mind, I still think of the way Kirk acted and the way Rafael acted. Rafael much younger and I'll say horny, knew that something wasn't right and chose to leave the situation. Kirk was on his way to becoming a man and felt that he had to get this out of the way before it was "really" illegal, even though it was illegal then too. A few more months or years doesn't make a person more able to make an adult and responsible decision, as we can see with Rafael.

I think of other points too, where it seemed that by some societal or media influence, I got the message that it's OK to just go along, even when it's not in my best interest to go forward. I think about the times I felt that if I had sex before, I might as well have sex with the guy who I'm dating or that he'll expect it so I might as well do it. There wasn't anyone there or any voice in my head asking, "Do you really like him? Do you see this lasting a long time? Does he have any particular qualities that you really dislike or that you find attractive and unique? If you get pregnant, have you both decided what's best for the situation? In any case, do you really want to do this?"

A lot of time my sexual experiences were about disconnecting for my body. I wouldn't be in the moment. I would get headaches with fighting with my conscious that I didn't really want to do anything with anyone. I wanted to be alone and to feel safe with a friend or a lover. I remember writing about how during sex, I'd think of roads I went down or houses that I saw that I liked. I would now identify that as dissociation. I wasn't present during sex; I had simply given into hormones instead of rational or emotional thoughts/reasoning.

--Warning: Rant--
When my older and immature boyfriend at the time, Vincent, read this passage in my journal while I was on vacation and had hidden that journal, he had said it was OK. He had also made it clear that if I didn't want him reading it, I would have hidden it better. OMG, A-hole!
Vincent was a special (read: traumatic brain injury "retarded") person. His thoughts were more like a 10 or 15 year old boy instead of a 23 year old man. He'd make up these crazy stories. We broke up because I was tired of dating him. Our dates included us sitting on the couch for hours, watching TV, barely talking. I got bored. I could do that by myself and have more fun. He didn't want to do anything else because everything else required money and he didn't have job. I asked for an engraved bracelet back. He didn't want to give it back and instead said that I must have taken it back. In his mind, the only reason I'd ask for it back was to make him feel guilty (because in his world, I already had it). Eventually, he gave me back the bracelet and a bag that I had made. But as a last bitch move, he put "Vincent and Venus" in paint marker inside of it. I gave it to a friend who said she really liked it because I was still trying to use it despite being pissed at him. After all that, he had an older friend call me to see if I would date the older friend. Then, he started mooching off some 17 year old in the next town over, while still leaving me voice mails (on my pager, back in the day) saying I was the only one for him, he didn't know how he'd find someone else, reminding me when our anniversary would have been, and asking me if I had driven by because he saw someone with a similar van and kind of looked like me. He created screen names with his new girlfriend's name in it, something like "VincentLuvsLindsey123" on my parents' AOL account (because my screen name had been something like "VenusLuvsVW123" for my VW van). He sent an email to my mom asking her out, making it seem like he was just sending out to see if any single women wanted to date him. He sent me various voice mails over the course of two years, wherein I didn't call back to talk to him once. He was so dumb, he asked me to hang out but not if I had a boyfriend. He also drove passed my house several times. He made me scared for my safety. I was worried that once I moved to San Diego, he would still find me and stalk me. These thoughts stopped after moving again. They have also disappeared now that I'm on a different coast from where I grew up.
This girl, Lindsey, left a voicemail one day before I cancelled my account. I talked to her briefly. She said that he had lived at her dad's place, she was paying for this cell phone, they had broken up and she was calling numbers on the bill. Some of the places, she reported, were really weird. She asked if we met up or I cheated with him. I said the truth; I hadn't talked to him and didn't want to talk to him. We talked a bit about him and what had happened between them and what had happened between us. I made sure not to mention where I was moving for school, but that I was moving. Again, I was worried about his odd behaviors.
---- End Rant----

I'm glad that I can get this all out. I really needed to just sit and reflect. It's interesting to me when I have these memories that are persistent. I often wonder what's in my life now that is triggering these memories to come up. Sometimes there's a connection. Sometimes it takes me a while to see what I was trying to tell myself through these memories. I think, though, it might be time to make some art while having these memories in mind.

Thanks,
Venus

Incidences of "Not Rape"

I like this one essay about "not rape" (seen here: http://www.racialicious.com/2008/12/21/original-essay-the-not-rape-epidemic/ ). I'm going to write about some of my experiences with rape and not rape. These are the things that I just want to get out as a catharsis.

One of the times I really remember a not rape moment was when I dated an older guy when I was 16. His name was Vincent. One day, he was driving me home. He stopped down the street from where I lived. Now, I could have gotten out of the car and walked but I didn't. He told me that he wanted me to give him a hand job and he's drive me home based on how good I was. He drove on. I felt uncomfortable because there were apartments around and some of those apartments face the street. Those people could see in. Also, wtf? He eventually go me there, but it was uncomfortable.

I had a long term relationship with a man. I even lived with him for a few years. One night, we drank. He drank often and it didn't seem to effect him. For me, it effected me a lot. We went upstairs to our bedroom. I was tipsy. I was slightly horny. He pulled my legs apart and we had sex. The only thing that I said to him was that I regretted that it happened or maybe even that I wished it didn't happen. I wasn't fully conscious or in control at the time. I don't remember if I was seeing a therapist at the time, but I probably didn't mention it to her. I didn't want it to be a big deal. For my body, though, it was a big deal. It may be that I don't drink as heavily or loosen up as much as maybe I should.

I liked a guy, James. He had been drunk one night and he spent the night at my place. He was very gentle and nice. He spent the night on the inflatable mattress. We had hung out a few more times. One of the times we had hung out, we started kissing and eventually had sex. I had asked him to stop, to go down on me. He said it was OK. While I did want it to happen, I didn't. I wanted to sit down, talk. I wanted to talk about my health concern, about what it would mean. I felt badly. I even did some artwork and went into a funk. I didn't want to think that James would be that way. We eventually were friends again. He recently passed away from causes unknown. I'm glad we were friendly before he died. I wish I wasn't angry with him (and sometimes I am). And sometimes I get really emotional about it.

There are many guys who have crushes on me. Sometimes they seem overly persistent that we will be together. One of the guys is a photographer and I had him take some photos of me. We were going to do some semi-nude photos. I decided against it because he continued to look at my breasts and push the limits of our friendship. I just wasn't comfortable in being without clothes in front of him.
I just get so annoyed when I encounter someone who has liked me and doesn't get the hint that I don't want to be with that person. I get tired of answering questions of why I don't want to date the person. I get annoyed when they try to touch me, hug me, kiss me, etc. I feel that somehow I brought it onto myself.

There were two guys who would guilt trip me when I didn't have sex with them. One guy, Matt, was 21 when I was 16 and we were in a relationship. He liked that I was young and skinny. I was like a trophy to him. He was overweight. When I would say I didn't want to have sex with him, he would get all sulky. I hated it. I felt badly. I felt that I needed to have sex with him when he was in the mood.
Another guy who I dated recently, D., would go into these huffs if I wasn't in the mood. Eventually, I would leave. Then later, I would apologize. I wanted to have a relationship. He wanted to only have sex. He pointed out my routine of texting him the next morning. There was even a time when I had a migraine and couldn't leave. He was upset at me.
Things got better when we decided to only have a booty call relationship because I knew when I was horny or he was horny that we would text each other. Even with that, when he decided to end this relationship, he just stopped answering text. That made me feel like shit. When I've encountered him since then, drama has always ensued. I know many people who know him and think highly of him. He's an artist. In my mind, I always scream "Fucking crack addict." My friend warned that D.'s probably not a crack addict, but addicted to LSD. I don't fucking care. His roommate did coke. I wouldn't think twice if I found out he was doing heroin, crack, coke, or LSD, whatever. Of course, my friends in CT tend to be on good terms with each other, even when some are complete fuck-ups. They just kind of manage. I wish I could be more like that instead of irritable. I feel that I have my reasons, though.
Off subject here, (just venting) there's another guy, J. and knows a great amount of my friends. He went up to D. one time to let him know I was clingy, which freaked D. out. I didn't think it was true at the time. When I see J., I can't tell him that I know this and think he's a complete and utter asshole for it. I don't like J. for what he did. I was nice to him many times. I was friends with him on FB for a time. Then, I decided he's not someone who I want to talk to or consider a friend. I took him off my list. Then, he decided to talk to me. We seemed OK at the time. In October, I was on a date and the guy that I was with insulted J. as we walked away from a business. I emailed J., not wanting his feelings to be hurt or to cause drama. He said things were OK. But things were OK because I sent that email. After that, I decided I don't want to give a shit about J.'s fucking emotions. And truthfully, I don't fucking have to. So, when I see him, I might say hi; I might not. Usually, I don't. I just live in uncomfortable silence between us and I try to have fun.

Anyway, since I'm getting off subject here, I'm going to get going. Thanks for reading my vents.

High School

I did this last night after work. This is what it felt like to throw up with I was fighting with that girl who said she was going to talk to Kirk.

More stuff came up for me this morning. Kirk talked to my mom once. He told her that I lied about my age. Let me tell you, I DID NOT LIE ABOUT MY AGE. He knew the whole time how old I was. I vowed to not lie about my age because my friend was always lying about her age and I didn't want to be a part of that. I thought she was getting herself into bad situations by lying about her age. Kirk was such a fucking slimeball.
I started wondering today about if anyone ever confronted Kirk about what happened. Of course he lied because what rapist is going to say he's a rapist? Really, who admits to that?!

I remember people saying that I was going to a certain high school, different than the one my brother and Kirk and a bunch of other people went to because I wanted to be with one boy. The truth is that I didn't want to be at the other high school. I didn't feel safe there. I also didn't want to be reminded about the time that I peed myself in 1st grade, which when you get around people from elementary school, sometimes they want to talk about the times you were embarrassed about. I knew my brother's friends and I know that my brother would hate if I dated anyone. I know his friends would be watching out for anyone talking to me. I also didn't want to see my ex boyfriend, Kirk, and the various people who contributed to passing around the rumor that I had sex on top of a van with an 18 year old. I really think I would have killed myself if I went to that school.

The high school I did go to felt like I was protected there. I mean the worse I went through was that my ex friend dated the guy I had crush on, two teachers didn't like me, and someone called me ugly. There was a lot that I was depressed about but those are the things at school that upset me. I got to be me without being "Casey's little sister" or whatever people would have called me-- possibly "slut." By going to the school I attended, I had a chance to be around my friends, to be me, and to develop as my own person; that was important to me.

I remember all throughout high school, I was worried about being called a slut. I was called a slut after the rape. I was really fearful about being called one again. I also thought that I was just dirty. It's taken me a while to get over that feeling.

Venus

Associations

Continuing on in the The Sexual Healing Journey, the author wrote about how there are people who are friends with the abuser or choose to hang around him and who you'll associate with the abuser. This is too true for me. As I've said before, I had one friend who was close with him and that was tough for our friendship. I thought that all they did was talk shit about me. I knew this wasn't completely true but in my mind, that's what they did.

On top of that, there were other people who just thought he was cool. He also knew so many people in the town. My brother, some of my brother's friends who I knew, some of my friends thought he was so cool. One time, someone said they saw his van and they thought it was cool. I think I turned white and said he wasn't as cool as they thought it was.
Another "friend" and I got into a fight over something stupid. This was back in the day of pagers. We had pager fights. She had the advantage of if she didn't want to receive messages, she could just turn off her pager. Mine had the option of voice mail and after she turned off her pager, she continued to send me messages.
At the height of this argument, she said that she had a class with Kirk. This made me immediately sick to my stomach. I didn't know if she was going to try to seduce him or if she was just going to talk to him about how stupid I was or if she was going to find out about how I was in bed, etc. I eventually threw up with her constant taunting. I know that a few days later, she left me a message, saying that she talked to my brother and that even he thought I was immature. But I wasn't sure how this conversation happened, did she just bother my brother until he said yes or did she bring it up in conversation and he said it? I think the first option would fit my brother better. I ignored it.
I was going through so much shit, I thought constantly about killing myself-- particularly in front of the bowling alley where the rape happened. It's like there was this thing in my head that said, just prove it to them. Die and you'll prove it. Die and people will take you seriously and they'll only have nice things to say because you're dead.
A few nights later, she wrote me a message, saying good night. I wrote good night back and it seemed like we were OK. There was a time when we said something like "I don't mind being friends with her but I don't know if she's ok with that." So, we just asked our friends how the other was doing. Secretly, I liked hearing that bad things happened to her. Now, not so much. I hope things have worked out for her because I guess there was a lot of crap that happened to her. There's a part of me that still doesn't trust her.

I can think of people I knew around the time of my rape and how I lost a lot of friends around that time. A friend of my brother's named Paul was also friends with Kirk. Somehow Paul and I have made it through and we're friends. I respect that he is a teacher and had a degree in psychology. It's interesting that he's not friends with my brother on Facebook. I don't know what happened between them but that's their thing.
James A was a friend of mine. I told him what happened. He told my ex who loved hearing that bad things had happened. Then it seemed to snowball from there so that everyone knew. Another contributing factor was my friend Danie (Danielle) who told her brother and her brother told everyone. Her brother spoke to my brother once and I don't know what was said. I thought they were going to beat up Kirk but they didn't.

The worse of it was my brother's friendship with Kirk. My brother had said that he was also accused of rape by a girl at school but nothing happened with that. Not only did my brother have Kirk in the house, invite him over to parties, he was mad at me for asking Kirk to leave. Kirk was hitting on some girls while he was over. I was pissed and I said I was uncomfortable. I was upset. I asked him to leave. I visibly shook around him, even when I tried to just get over it. It was like a cold had set inside of me. My brother has got mad at me for flipping Kirk off. I don't know what I'm supposed to do when my fucking rapist is hanging out with my brother.

At one point, Kirk and I were at one of my brother's parties. He tried to convince me that he didn't rape me and that we were cool. I think I let him think things were ok because when I was angry, people got mad at me. I didn't know what else to do or say. It was easier than confrontation. He then went on to hit on more girls. He left early after the police came to tell us to keep it down. And everyone followed him. I tried to hit on a few of my brother's friends. My brother was increasingly mad at me. I think I went through another deep depression after that.

On vacation, about three years later, my brother and I were watching a movie on MTV about a guy being charged with statutory rape. The guy was on the stand, talking about how she wanted to have sex, etc. I was getting upset. My brother, at that point, said, "What are you upset about, you wanted to have sex with Kirk." He was so mad and hateful. I left the room and cried. And we didn't talk much more about it. I couldn't believe that Kirk got to him too.

I remember two dreams which happened around the same time-- one where I pulled Kirk out of a booth in the dinner at the bowling alley and kicked him. And another one where I tried to leave town but I broke down in my little orange VW bug car and everything was the orange of his van.


Thanks for letting me vent and listening to me while I get through this.

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.