Writing has been hard this week. I find myself pushing through a junk yard of memories, getting lost in the inter twinning of trash and old things that have been pushed aside. Trying to articulate moments, describe circumstances, and all the while, finding myself caught up the emotions of it. Staring off at the ground, as I re-live nightmares, past hurts pushing through like whispers, and I’m involved with an inner conversation. Only realizing, a half hour later, I have yet to type a single word.
I keep re-living the same two nights. Like a black and white movie reel stuck on repeat, pictures flashing across the inside of my skull. A red pounding heart, swelling with each plot climax. Two nights, over and over again. The night we smashed ourselves into committing this obscenely shameful act, and the night I was raped by two boys from a neighbouring high school. My first sexual experience, and I was thirteen years old.
It’s hard to tie them together with the right strings, but they are both defined by one element. Violation. A thief breaking in, tearing open your chest and spitting out the fire, that is your light. Replacing it with his own excrement, and leaving you on the ground, destroyed. The only difference between them, is that on one of these nights I was the one left on the ground, and the next, I was the thief.
I willingly stepped into those shoes, and became the abuser.
All the while, I was validating the robberies by imagining myself as this vigilante rape victim, only to turn into the monster I hated most. That’s some fucked up irony.
And so, this is what haunts me every time I sit down to write. Ricocheting between the two memories, unable to move. Two black boulders planted in my mind, woven into the walls of my brain. Back and forth. This is my BIGGEST shame. This is the thing I cling to in the dark and shove under my pillow. The thing I hide. Ignore. Avoid and run from. The thing that laughs at me. That hisses and mocks me, when the people in my life tell me, I’m good and worthy. When they tell me, I’m honourable for writing these memoirs, and all the while, this voice inside, tells me all I’m doing is letting out a big secret. The secret, that…I’m bad.
I have done to someone else, the very thing that destroyed me.
I didn’t rape him, but I may as well have.
I left this man bleeding in the street. To DIE.
There is a person out there in the world, who has thick scars running along his face to remind him of his weakness. To remind him, that he was attacked in the middle of the night, on the street, from behind, and left to bleed to death on the sidewalk. Every morning when he wakes up to shave, or shower, those memories stare back at him. Maybe they laugh at him, like mine do. Or maybe, they fill him with rage, with sadness, with despair. Maybe he can’t stand the sight of his own face anymore. Maybe he’s okay, and well and happy. I wouldn’t know.
So, just as I sit and cry. Just as I’m haunted, so is he. Just as I get hit square in the face with flashbacks, and want to crawl out my own skin, so does he. As my ghosts lurk in the shadows, taunting me, so do his. Except his ghosts have a face…my face. The faces of the girls I was with that night. And so as I sit to continue my story, this is what whips my back. This is what pulls me into staring at the floor as tears fall down my face.
I can’t stop thinking about him.
And even though, most days I don’t feel this way,that I know I’m forgiven, and worthy, and beautiful, even though I know the truth, because I know Jesus, I still have these moments. Where, all of the above pains, are a reality. It may have been over ten years since this happened, but consequences are still being lived out to this day. And it’s during these times I have to remind myself, I’m still here. And if I’m still here, than Jesus is still with me. And if He’s with me, then all this can have a beautiful purpose, and with that, there’s no arguing with God.
I’ll most likely write a new memoir post in the next day or two, I just felt really strongly about getting through this, and sharing with you, all that I have. I couldn’t have kept going, without it.
God bless you, and thank you for taking this journey with me, for accepting me, for lifting me up in all the ways that you do. I couldn’t do it with out you. I’ll always keep going, if you keep with me<3