Blue Jean Dreams

When we think of rape, we think of the scenes in movies that are designed to shock us. Brief, violent encounters. Women screaming. Clothes ripping. We think of all of the "Self Defense" classes that are given for women; What to do if some huge, burly guy tries to grab us in a bar or dark alley. We think of domestic abuse; drunken, angry husbands and sobbing wives. We don't think of the literally millions of women who blame themselves for being raped because it doesn't fit into what the world says it should. We don't think of the women who got too drunk at a party and woke up the next day having no idea what happened, or woke up to someone doing things to them that they had no idea were happening until then. We don't think of the women who are in relationships with narcissistic men who never stop to think that maybe she doesn't want it. Who never realize that they don't have a right to her body just because she's given it before. We don't think ...

Last night I received a phone call from my father. Now I first want to say that I have the best father in the world. Truly and completely amazing. Fun, loving, laid back, patient, kind, wise. Especially wise. He's lived a lot of life, and has seen a lot go down, and has a pretty good idea of how to deal with a lot of things. My father deals with one of my rapists on a fairly regular basis. He didn't know until just a few days ago that this man had raped me, however. In fact, a goodly number of my friends deal with this man on a regular basis. Have been friends with him for years, having no idea what happened. Well, not even a week ago a lot of them found out. This man, whom I will refer to as X, also found out. Now he had never considered himself a rapist, and he was surprised to learn that I consider myself to be raped by him. I wasn't surprised that he thought that way--He is not an evil man, just a thoughtless narcissist. (As our own L so succinctly put it.) A...

Family History She was 12 in her uncles house and in those days what was done was done and was nobody's business in a man's house. She grew up and she raised daughters and never told them that in those days what was done had been done and it's done now and he died and it was done. But she never told them, not directly, and that was the lesson. So when the daughter was 14 what was done was done and it was not the same but it was the same and it was nobody's business. And she never told her mother, not directly, because that was the lesson. And she grew up. And had daughters.  My eternal thanks to K, for her courage, for her love, and for her strength, without which I could not have had the courage to reopen old wounds and begin to truly heal.  ...you can call me L.

So yesterday, I told my backstory. Today, I think I'll tell you all what I did about it. Not. A. Damn. Thing. For years. I hid myself. I didn't tell anyone. I barely admitted it to myself. I buried myself in a relationship that was safe, if not right for me. I drank too much (Though I did it socially, and I don't feel that I ever got to the point of using it as an escape or substance abuse.), I smoked too much. I surrounded myself mostly with people who never really cared about me to begin with, but were at least there. I had a few friends who I loved very deeply, but most of them lived (And indeed, still live) in a city a couple of hours away. I managed to see them sometimes, but not as often as I wanted. And while I didn't heal, I developed a numbness over the pain. I hadn't forgotten, but I could usually ignore it. I wasn't happy, and I wasn't living. But at least I could pretend to all who knew me, and that was good enough for the moment. Two y...

Welcome, one and all. When I started this blog, it wasn't actually for anything. I just wanted to use it to comment on friends' blogs. I made a decision today that I wanted to do something with it. So please forgive me if it's a little rough starting. I'm K. And I am a woman who has been raped. Some people call me a "victim." Some people call me a "survivor." Some people call me a "statistic." But I'm K. I've been raped three times in my life. Once as a tiny thing of only 18 months old. Once anally by an abusive boyfriend, when I was 22. Once when I was 23 by a near stranger who drugged me. The easiest one for me to talk about is the first one. It's easiest for me to believe that that one wasn't my fault. To feel no shame or guilt, because I made no decisions that put me in a bad situation. In that situation, I was truly a victim. Not even out of diapers. I had been left by my babysitter with her husband, who...

I stand naked before you all, arms spread wide, feet planted firmly, head up. Everything about me from my eyes to my pose to my voice are screaming. Judge me! Judge me! Judge me! I'm still ashamed, and I'm still afraid I'm terrified of what you think. But I can't live this way. Not anymore. So judge me! Judge me! Judge me! I won't be ruled by my fears or my shame I won't let my nightmares get the best of me. I won't let the fear win, I won't let the shame rule. I will stand proudly With my strong warrior body bared With my scarred survivor's spirit aglow With my indefatigable fighter's courage strong And I will DEMAND that you judge me. And then it will be on MY terms MY choice MY decision. And you can hurt me But you can never defeat me. So go ahead and judge me. Then I will win.