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. :)

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.