the rape

I’m doing take back the night in a few weeks. I hadn’t thought much about it since Maureen brought it up. She has to go for a class and wanted me to go. She says she is proud of me for doing it last year. But I just read over that entry and I have to say that is probably the most honest I’ve ever been about it. I’ve never written that much on it, I’ve never allowed myself to be so open. I was impressed with my honesty there. My ability to really talk about it in rational and, to be truthful, real way.

Now, thinking of doing it again- I have butterflies. Nervous butterflies, not excited butterflies. I’m scared it’ll shake my core again. I’m scared of talking about it in front of Maureen. Of being vulnerable like that in front of someone who knows me. That’s hard and painful.
I also feel like… why would I do this to myself? If I can go a year without thinking about it, why would I open up that wound again? Can’t I just not do it? But, then I wonder, maybe it’s good for me. Maybe it never really leaves. Maybe if this is the only time I face it then it’s healthy because at least I’m facing it, even if it is only once a year.

Then I doubt it ever really happened.

It’s so far away at this point. I don’t remember it well. I don’t remember a lot of stuff but, I do remember how it effected me.
I remember crying in class.
I remember coming home and that Feminism class and everything I said.

I remember it hurts me and I cry when I talk about it in front of a large group of people. Because I can’t fake it there. I can fake it in front of friends if it ever God forbid gets brought up. In fact, blech, let’s not bring it up.

So… I’m doing it again. And I’m really nervous. But maybe it’s good.

I am still unsure of the entire thing, but I can say that in that post I linked to from last year, I wrote that I could only hope he gets punished even if I don’t see it. I don’t feel that way as much today. I feel bad for him.

In the end, regardless of what happened, I think I’m better off today than he is, and I think it’s sad that he was wherever he was mentally to be capable of such a thing. And I wonder if he stayed up at night worried about it. And I wonder if he still thinks about it. And I wonder if it ever makes him sick.

And that’s I guess one reason why I don’t think about it much: I feel like it’s not healthy to dwell on such things. It’s better to continue on.

It’s strange because I don’t want something like that to have happened to me. I don’t act like someone that has happened to. I am in no way a “victim”. I don’t have any victim like behaviors. I don’t wear it on my sleeve. I don’t want that to be a part of me, so I basically deleted it. It’s not there. Doesn’t affect me. Never happened. But it did fucking happen, didn’t it? Or did it? I honestly just can’t really allow myself to say THIS IS WHAT HAPPENED because my God, how fucking terrible! I guess I separated myself from it a long long time ago. That’s okay. It truly works for me. It does not need to be in the back of my mind or dictating any type of decisions I make or having a say in my mood or anything at all like that.
So maybe once a year I can mention it and look under my rib cage to see how it’s healing. Just make sure the progress is still underway. Then sew it back up and continue doing whatever I was doing before. It’s not a handicap. It’s a scar that’s healing and has been healing and will continue to heal. It just doesn’t require any more attention than that.

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