Memorial Day 2014

I would like to write something profound and patriotic to commemorate this day. However, I am neither profound, nor ardently patriotic--although I suppose, in my own way, I have a fair sense of patriotism.

However, today I have other things on my mind and in my heart--and this is my place.

I am a rape survivor.

I'm not saying this because it's news, or to garner sympathy, or because I think I'm somehow different or special because of it. It's not, I would never do that, and I'm not.

I am a rape survivor.

I'm saying this because ten years ago I couldn't even think or remember or silently acknowledge it--let alone allow the words to escape my mouth. I knew what had happened, but glossed over it as, "a small amount of sexual abuse." Today I'm not even sure that means--except it represents my inability to face the truth, and also my deeply held belief that I was somehow responsible.

I am a rape survivor.

I'm saying this because four years ago, while I could say it and write it, I felt afterwards that I might scream or throw up and my body wouldn't stop shaking. I wanted to rage and throw tantrums. I wanted to make it go away. I felt helpless because I couldn't change the fact that it happened, and I desperately wanted to be held and soothed and protected.

I am a rape survivor.

I'm saying this because I finally understand that, while I wish with all my heart that it had not happened, there is no shame on my part. I was a child. I said no. I was manipulated and abused. I did not have the means to protect myself. There is horrifying vulnerability in acknowledging that there was nothing more I could to do prevent what happened. There is also truth.

I am a rape survivor.

I'm saying this because I did not deserve to have it happen to me. I was a lovely, giggly, perpetually happy preadolescent. I had curly hair, a quirky sense of humor, and boundless energy. I loved playing hide and seek, and freeze tag, and Red Rover. I loved playing the piano and reading and writing really awful poetry. I was tiny and funny. My favorite color was orange.

I am a rape survivor.

I'm saying this because today I can. And when I say it, these are my words: "I'm a rape survivor--and it's okay. I've made it through a lot of anguish and healing. I've learned to forgive in so many ways. I understand who I am--and I like me. I live with PTSD, but I've done some really great things as I've learned to manage what PTSD adds to my life. Last summer I was able to have my first physical in 18 years, and my first mammogram ever. And I was able to tell the medical professionals involved about my past and my current needs. And it was awful, but I did it. I'll do it again this year. While I understand that this is WAY more information than you wish, ten years ago I couldn't tell you any of this and today I can. I think that's progress. I hope you do, too."

I am a rape survivor.

I still have curly hair. Sometimes I let it remain in a mess of curls, but most of the time I straighten it. I still love to play hide and seek, but I limit the time I spend playing Red Rover and freeze tag since I've not yet been cleared to run after my hip replacement. I still read avidly, write terrible poetry, and playing the piano has become my vocation. My quirky sense of humor has not changed, nor has my energy level. I'm usually happy, and if you talk to me, within the first 30 seconds, you can count on it--I will giggle.

I am a rape survivor...and so much more. It has taken me many years to understand this, and the journey was incredibly painful. To any person who still reads this blog, who walked with me in person or online, who offered support in thought, prayer, or word--I love you. Thank you for helping me learn once again, to love myself.