Showing posts with label Healing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Healing. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 28, 2013

"A Parent's Guide to Helping a Daughter Who Has Been Raped."

Over the last few weeks I've been approached by several close family friends who have told me their child has suffered from some sort of sexual abuse. As a survivor, seeing their agony and pain for their child is heartbreaking and touching in more ways than I imagined. It has been helping me heal knowing they want to do something to help their child, but often when they ask me “what can I do” questions, I struggle to find the answers to give them. I’m so used to being the one raped and recovering that I hadn't thought much on what the family goes through.

In my search for answers I found this really great booklet by Matthew Atkinson. He’s a licensed clinical therapist and broke the questions most parents have into an 18 page booklet called A Parent’s Guide to helping a Daughter who has beenraped. After sitting through and reading it I could not find a better, more thorough answer to my questions.

My favorite part of the whole booklet though was his defining of rape. I felt that if I looked at it from that perspective, my mind was much more open to understanding than being defensive.
First--and I cannot emphasize this enough--rape is not about forcing someone to have sex. It is not sexual at all, in fact. This may sound like a startling and bizarre thing to say, so hear me out.  Although rape usually happens when a woman’s body is hurt in what we consider a “sexual” way, rapists themselves tell us that their actions weren’t about being aroused, attracted, turned on, or “horny beyond control.” Rather, it is a crime of violence in which the goal is to take power, not sex, from the person. Sex is the method used to take power and control; not the goal of the control.   
Think of it this way: when someone mugs a person at gunpoint, the goal of the crime is to take something valuable from the victim, usually money. It is not about fulfilling a mugger’s desire to point and use a gun. The gun (and the threat) is the method used to take something else from the victim, and rapists use sex as their weapon, not as the thing they want to get.
I tried this quote on a few of my friends and you could just see the light bulbs go off in their heads. He does bring up the fact that this happens to men too, but his booklet mostly focuses on a woman’s perspective. There is a name for the families of rape victim though that applies to both.
However, rape does not only affect the woman (or man), but also her family, friends, and other loved ones. Because of this, people in relationships with rape survivors are called secondary survivors; we are not the ones who were attacked, yet we are still hurt and affected. Secondary survivors sometimes need help dealing with the trauma too, and our role as the victim’s helpers makes it important that we prepare ourselves with education and counseling whenever needed.
The booklet goes on to discuss common myths and inaccurate ideas about rape. He addresses what is true and correct and how you can help him or her.
• The victim is not responsible--even slightly--for what a rapist has chosen to do. Even if we disagree with some of her decisions during the incident, some of her responses are instincts (not choices), and even when she does choose some of her actions, no choices make rape deserved, natural, or even likely. Only a rapist’s choice to attack makes a rape happen.
• All humans--men and women--have three instincts when we feel out life is threatened: Fight, flight, or freeze. None of these choices is “better” than the other, so we should resist judging a victim who did something other than “what I would have done in that situation...”Nearly all rape survivors will blame themselves or feel guilty after the rape. This is an unhealthy but natural way for her to psychologically protect herself by trying to figure out what she “did wrong,” so she’ll be able to “fix it” and keep it from happening again. It is important that you not go along with it, and even disagree and insist that none of it was her fault.

You can help by:
• Knowing the myths, and not falling for them
• Understanding what she is going through and why she blames herself
• Listening without asking prying questions, but also reminding her that she is not to blame
• Allowing her to make decisions to regain control (except the decision to blame herself; you will gently but solidly teach her that she is not at fault) 

Then he brings up actual questions the victim will wonder like:
 “Will I need medical care?”
 “Should I tell my family?”
“Should I report this to police?”
 “Could it happen again?”
“Will I become pregnant? “
“What if I get a disease like AIDS?”
 “Will others reject me now?”
 “Am I ruined for the rest of my life?”
 “Will I be an embarrassment to the people I love?”
 “Can my life be normal again?”

It also provides the reader with what both the mother and father will feel, and how it affects your child’s emotional and mental state.
Going after the guy can scare your daughter by making her wonder if the attacker will come after her for revenge because she told someone what he’d done, had him beaten up, etc. Retaliation by the rapist is possible in some instances. And it shows her that yet one more person she thought she could trust becomes violent as a way of handling angry emotions. She’s just had to deal with one person like that; the last thing she wants to see is yet another person in her life using violence to achieve what a goal. That can make her feel guilty, as if she’s imposed an emotional burden on you. She may see the fierce anger of your reaction and wish she hadn't stressed you out with one more thing for you to have to deal with. She may even try to take the role of being your comforter, counseling and soothing you when in fact she is the one in need.
It also discusses in detail what course of action a parent should take to deal with these new feelings. Questions every parent faces like; what kind of actions will help her most, and what to do when the response the victim gives you isn't what you were expecting to hear. But most importantly, why does that make him or her feel that way? 
• Your daughter will be confused after the assault, so it is important that you discuss the need
for medical care. But it is entirely her choice whether to undergo an evidence-collecting
examination.
• Men often have an instinct to seek revenge, but this is a poor option that can further
traumatize the victim, rather than helping her.
• You are more helpful by listening than by asking questions. Allow her to choose what to say, and when, but without prying or rushing her to open up.
• When your daughter blames herself--and she will--it is important that you disagree and
assure her repeatedly that she is not to blame for the rape, no matter what bad decisions she might have made before or after the attack.
• Family members try to be helpful in many ways that aren't always helpful. They should not invade her privacy, pretend it didn't happen, use jokes to cope, make threats, or express their anger to (or at) her.

It brings up important issues that parents push:
Don’t feel shut out or hurt if she isn't immediately open to you about the rape. It’s not a sign that she doesn't trust you or has lost her love for you, it is a sign that she might not trust herself just yet. She will need a long time to grow strong again before she can discuss it with anyone, even you. Then again, some daughters are immediately open. But don’t disrespect her privacy by prying, inquiring, or pressing her to be open, even if you believe “it’s so we can deal with it and move on.”

To me though, one of the most powerful parts of this booklet is his discussion of the different stages of recovery and how they look like the victim is getting worse, when she’s actually getting better.
But be aware that a relapse into negative behaviors is common and likely. And here’s something confusing you should know: her chances of “relapse” into her old problem behaviors are greatest when things seem to have been “going well” for a while. Don’t give up on counseling just because she relapses into depression, self-harm, moodiness, or even substance abuse. If anything, make sure counseling is consistent.
The third stage is marked by the return of the distress responses she experienced earlier (depression, anxiety, fear, insomnia, nightmares, drug use, tension headaches, etc.). To her, this can seem like a failure to cope or a complete collapse of her strength, and that will frighten her and perhaps aggravate you. You may wonder, “what happened? She was doing so well!” She’ll probably wonder the same thing, and then feel depressed as she sees her second-stage strength appear to crumble: “I’m a failure! I’m slipping right back down again!” Some survivors even have suicidal thoughts at this regression stage (because they think they’re failing themselves and everyone else, or they start to believe that these painful feelings will apparently never go away). This is where family relationships undergo the most stress because husbands, parents, and others hadn't planned on “getting more of the same.” Arguments are common, and her criticisms of you and herself become very sharp.
And as every victim and survivor knows, the most healing thing you can do as a parent is:
Tell her you love her. Tell her you love her. Tell her again that you love her. Got that yet? Tell her you love her.
He concludes with ways you can help, such as counseling through volunteering at rape crisis centers and work to help make stronger rape laws, and just making people more aware around you.
There is no easy way to coast through the recovery process, but counseling can help. It can teach her to recognize the steps of her recovery so she isn't so frightened when they happen, and it can teach you how to help her cope. Rape crisis centers usually offer free counseling to survivors at any point, no matter how long after the rape has occurred. I suggest using these counseling opportunities because the counselors will be specially trained and familiar with RTS. (Rape Trauma Syndrome)
All in all I think this booklet was the best and most thorough source of information you could give any parent. Though I understand it's hard for a parent to bite down their emotions and pride to hear these steps out and implement them, overall the benefit for the victim and for your relationship with her afterwards will be worth it.



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Saturday, June 29, 2013

The Good Men Project, Nathan's Story, and Surviving the Fourth Cycle

Today I'm sharing an article I stumbled upon from The Good Men Project. If you're like me and have never heard of them this is an excerpt from their About section on their website.
"The Good Men Project was founded by Tom Matlack in 2009 as an anthology and documentary film featuring men’s stories about the defining moments in their lives. The original, modest goal, was to tell stories about men that “changed the writer and changed the reader.” In the process, it became apparent that this book was fostering a much-needed cultural conversation about manhood. Since that time, The Good Men Project has grown into a diverse, multi-faceted media company and an idea-based social platform." 
I think this idea is totally brilliant and of course the first story I stumble upon on their site was this one. "What My Sister Did: Surviving Incest" by Nathan C. Daniels. On the site Nathan shares his painful story and you can definitely feel his uncomfortableness, but very real, very raw pain he has suffered. 
"They say that time heals all wounds… that’s bullshit! In this situation, time is not on your side and, if left to its own devices, it will form an alliance with your problems… not you."
Nathan has also written his own book called "Surviving the Fourth Cycle" his true story about overcoming suicide and mental illness.


"Surviving the Fourth Cycle swings pendulously back and forth between two stories that ultimately bleed into one. 
You will experience the author's most recent battle with mental illness through raw and honest journal entries that give you a rare "fly on the wall" perspective from a truly haunted mind. At the same time, Nathan rips his closet door off its hinges and lets all the skeletons come rattling out through a series of writings that are, in essence, the chapters of his life. You are in for a bumpy ride as he picks through the bones in these extremely personal essays that examine the intense relationships and experiences that have led to both his struggle to function in society, and his ability to persevere."

In Nathan's article he shared several steps that helped him recover that he hopes will help others. I'll spare quoting his whole article right here, but if your suffering and want to see what a true survivor, a male survivor, found helpful in his own recovery I strongly suggest checking this out.


Thank you Nathan for coming forward in a harsh society against male rape and speaking out. You are braver than you know and as a survivor I thank you.
To read more about Nathan's book go here: http://www.survivingthefourthcycle.com
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A Letter to a Molester.

This is from http://www.therealsupermumblog.com/2013/05/letter-molester/ but it was so touching I just had to share it here.

A Letter To My Molester
“Just this once,” you used to say, but that was just a lie.
You stole my innocence and made your little brother cry.
Not just when you touched my skin, throughout my whole existence.
Nightmares! Flashbacks! Memories, pursued with great persistence.
You would bring me to the basement, in the quiet of the night.
I know you were a victim too. That doesn’t make it right.
It was wrong, our uncle touched you once, outside by grandma’s shed.
He shared a sickness with you, sis, and then you helped it spread!
It wasn’t good enough to touch… you made me touch you back!
You forced my face between your legs, while writhing on your back.
Once was traumatizing, but this would last throughout a year!
You filled a dwindling childhood with painful, shameful fear!
I’d go to school on Mondays with my wounded pubic bone.
Surrounded by a hundred kids… you made me feel alone!
A six-year old, should never feel the things you had me feeling.
It wasn’t just that year, you took —Decades you were stealing!
I did try to forget it all… once that nightmare passed.
I’m glad I didn’t know back then, how long the pain would last.
You fucked my life up really bad —Without so much as trying.
I’ve cut myself! I’ve gone insane —Envisioned myself dying!
From fear, to shame, to hatred, that I carried for too long,
To numbness, and insanity… before I could be strong!
For thirty years, I’ve struggled with insatiable confusion,
To finally, after all this time, achieve some restitution.
Now, that I’m no longer numb, and I have found relief…
Now, that I’ve survived abuse, and loss, and death, and grief…
I’m finally letting go of all the hate and shame you made!
I’ve learned to reach out for a pen, a lot more than a blade.
I will never say I love you… and I cannot wish you well,
But, I released my hatred too, and now I’m free from Hell!
You molested me, big sister, and now I’m writing so you know…
My wounds have finally healed inside, but getting here was slow.
One more thing I want to share —It’s important, that you see…
The sickness that you tried to spread… I let it end with me!

To the 'The Real Supermom' that wrote this, you are awesome.
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Monday, April 22, 2013

Update - Twitter Hashtag Announcement and TeamStrick Online Awareness Day

Just a quick update and small change to our #hashtag posted here. 

#RISEandShine (Mondays) are now #MusicMondays. RISEandShine will continue, but not on a specific day anymore. So the new schedule is as follows:

#MusicMondays. 
#InnerChildTuesday
#SurvivorWednesday
#TherapyThursday
#FreedomFriday
#SharingSaturday
#HealingSunday

Also April 20th was the online campaign with TeamStrick & a bunch of other groups to spread awareness. We had some really great entries. #RISEawareness

Our friends at RAINN - (Rape, Abuse, Incest National Network)




Kylie - Founder of R.I.S.E.




"I love the idea of the phoenix "rising" from the ashes. And underneath, to be true to it's Greek Mythology, is "RISE" in Greek." -Shona (Official Member) 


My graphic for a shirt. Rape affects both men and women, why not involve them both.



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Friday, April 12, 2013

Canadian Rape Bullying and Awareness Day

"A female in Canada who was raped and humiliated killed herself last week because she couldn't handle it anymore. She was bullied, insulted, and struggled alone thinking she was making it up and she was in the wrong because everyone in her school turned against her -- even her own friends. I am truly devastated to hear this and sickened that she was pushed to that limit and no one was there to be her foundation, to act as the Secondary she desperately needed. Raise your voices, my fellow RISE members! Let this atrocity not go unheard! Regardless of whether you believe a person was actually assaulted or not, don't discount their story. NEVER tell them it wasn't real. NEVER tell them it was their fault. This just... I have no words. For a Survivor who has been to the depths of that darkness and feared there was no way out yet managed to find freedom, I feel so deeply for the Family that lost this beautiful young woman to something so horrible.
NEVER GIVE UP! No matter who turns on you, no matter how alone you get -- YOU. AREN'T. ALONE. WE, those who have RISEN from the darkness, who have become SURVIVORS can and SHALL BE your foundation when no one else will! I'm in tears right now typing this because I am so grateful for the people that were in my life when I came home after leaving my abuser. So grateful for those who willingly stepped up to the plate not knowing what they were getting into and not giving a shit because it was the RIGHT THING TO DO, not because it was the easy one.
So, Rehtaeh Parsons, I pray that you find the peace you did not find on Earth within the boundless expanse of the Summerlands. And may the knowledge that you are eased of your suffering bring some measure of relief to your Family -- even if the loss of you is too great a thing to put into words.
Before I end this, I have a request. On the 20th, for Awareness day, since this case made national headlines for so damn long, let's get together and come up with some way to be the voice this poor girl never had. Even if it's too late to help her heal through it, it's never too late to show others that we're ALWAYS listening."
-Bailey (Official RISE Member)
"It really is heartbreaking that we've lost another rape victim to suicide. What's it gonna take for people to see that victim blaming kills?!?"
-Kylie (RISE Founder)
R.I.P. Rehtaeh Parsons. 
Check out more about R.I.S.E. at any of the following:

Thursday, November 22, 2012

Adrien's Story

New story submission from our R.I.S.E. facebook page:

"I'm an adult survivor of childhood sexual abuse. I was molested by a step-dad from age 7-12, He was in his 40's and 16 years older than my mother. After I finally told and my mother divorced him, he married my aunt (my mom's older half sister
-who he is still with) & he later molested/raped my younger cousin by that aunt.

My cousin has done well in her healing, but I have struggled. I'm 33 now, and I still cry about the damage that was done. Some days are better than others but my strength lies in Christ. My Christian family has accepted me as I am, and God has answered so many prayers having to do with my healing process.

I've accomplished a lot in my adult life, and have grown to accept that I'm a survivor. I've learned that sexual abuse will forever be a part of who I am, but that I don't have to let it define me. I'm happy to say I love & respect myself now, and am taking life one day at a time.

Thank you to all of you at R.I.S.E. for all you do. Never stop encouraging us, because although many of us may not publicly respond, we all see and read your posts.

I know this is difficult for survivors to talk about because of how shameful we were made to feel by our manipulative abusers, but the cure to ending this tragedy is speaking out & making others aware.

-Adrien ♥"

If you have a story of your own to share, don't be afraid to message us. We will never share your story without permission from you.
Stay Strong, and Keep Rising!

-Kylie & the RISE team. ♥


You can also find R.I.S.E. at the sites below:
Website: avoiceforheather.tripod.com

Myspace: myspace.com/avoiceforheather
Blog: avoiceforheather.blogspot.com
Facebook:www.facebook.com/avoiceforheather
Twitter: www.twitter.com/VoiceforHeather
Email: VoiceforHeather@yahoo.com



Saturday, November 3, 2012

Free Form Writing - A Kiss.


I leaned against the leather couch, arms wrapped tightly around the plush pillow in my arms. The room was warm and cozy, an excellent counseling office if I do say so myself. My counselor sat a few feet away, relaxed, her blonde ponytail swaying gently in the air condition.

“So tell me, what do think about something small, like kissing?” She asked, her voice like a lullaby you hadn’t heard in a long time, gentle, relaxing, luring.

“Kissing? It’s so precious to me.”

“Why’s that?”

“When my abuse started, he tried to french kiss me. I was 10, that was disgusting back then. I always clamped my teeth shut and refused to give in. It pissed him off every time, but I didn’t care. I wanted to piss him off anyways. Eventually he learned I’d never give it up, so he just gave up with that. For a while anyways.” My voice trialed off, my smile at my defiance, slowly slipping.

“Then one day he figured out how to take that from me too.” I squeezed the pillow tighter, my legs curling close to me.

“By now he’s done pretty much anything you could think off at that age. It wasn’t right, but it was routine now. I knew generally what to expect and I just performed to get it over with. I was numb really. So he decided to try something new to get a rise out of me.”

“One day, while laying nude in the bed he climbed under the covers and between my legs. I remember staring at the ceiling, just waiting for it to begin. I didn’t expect his tongue down there.” I felt my cheeks redden.

“It felt good and I hated it. I hated myself for liking it. I hated that he made me like anything.” Just like all those years ago tears began to slide from my eyes.

“I hated him.” I blinked to try and gain control over myself, burying my head in the pillow for a moment to hide my shame.

“I didn’t want any positive feelings with him. As long as it didn’t feel good then there wasn’t any confusion. As long as it wasn’t nice I could block it out. So I gave in.” I pulled my head away from the pillow, leaning further back to stare at the lamp in front of me.

“I told him if he’d stop I’d give him a kiss. And he agreed. He took from me the one thing I’d held onto for years. The one thing I considered sacred. The one thing I refused to allow him to have. I felt…broken. Like I just lost the game. Like with that kiss he might has well have stepped on what was left of my soul.”

I stared at the soft glow of the lamp, and felt empty. Like it had happened all over again by just admitting it out loud for the first time. We were quiet for a long time as I struggled to unlock myself, to warm myself up from the cold numbness that taken over. Finally I left semi alive again I spoke.

“That’s why a kiss means so much to me now. If I kiss you it’s not just a peck on the cheek for fun. It has a meaning, a feeling, a showing of love, or caring for that person. Even though he took something great and turned it rotten that alone has still remained pure to me. Maybe it’s cause I fought so hard for it for so long. Or maybe it’s because it’s part of how it all began, I don’t know. I just know that for me a kiss is always more than just a kiss.”

I’m sure my counselor said something along the lines of ‘thank you for sharing’, but I don’t’ remember. I remember being in shock about those feeling because I’ve never said them out loud before. I also remember feeling slightly happy to have found that I still held some things precious to me.

Free Form Writing - Pinned.


The mat thumps as I fall back against it, heart pounding. Perspiration slides down my neck in the hot room, but I embrace it, enjoying the work out. Every muscle feels tight, tuned like fine tuned weapon.  I jump to my feet, blocking a punch, countering with my own. Everything feels in slow motion, like we’re in the middle of performing a perfect play. We’re actually in Karate class, doing self defense combos. This is my favorite subject, something that makes me feel stronger, braver; something that makes me feel like I’m not that frightened girl.

My partner smiles as we break prepping for the next lesson. She’s warm, inviting. A bigger woman yes, but that’s expected after having three children. The whole family is here, practicing, I smile over at her husband and oldest child, encouraged by their compliments. They’re Hispanic, but the sweetest people you will ever meet.

Daddy Carlos, waves from across the room, as Carlos, his oldest looks on.  It’s a little confusing in class having two people of the same name, but for short we just call Daddy Carlos, Daddy.  We’re given a five minute break and they walk over, chatting about what they need to improve on in that last move.

I offer to practice a few rounds with Daddy Carlos, helping him get the correct amount of power needed to accomplish what needs to be. My roommate shouts, telling us it’s time to continue with lessons. It’s time to practice holds and pins. My heart speeds us, this is a hard subject for me, but I’m excited about the fact that you also learn how to get out of them. I automatically slide to the floor in position; I’m the one that gets held first.  

There’s a brief moment of talking above me between Daddy Carlos and my partner, as I let my hands fall to either side of my head, waiting to be pinned. Suddenly Little Carlos is ontop of me, pinning my wrist against the mat. I perform the escape maneuver and it ends with me shoving Little Carlos off myself a little too rough. I jump to my feet, bowing to Becky, my instructor and I turn, just short of running for the bathroom. My heart is racing and my hands are shaking so bad I almost can’t open the bathroom door.

I stumble into the bathroom, jerking the door closed and locking it. There’s nothing but a toilet, a trashcan and an open sink, sticking out from the wall. I lean against the wall half sliding half falling down it till I’m sitting on the floor, knees to my chest. My mind is racing, flashing images of being pinned, a shadow of a face above me.  I might have screamed, but I don’t remember. I feel my normal guards falling, overwhelmed by the sudden overload leaving the scared little girl inside me vulnerable free to the nightmares. I struggle to rebuild them, but it’s like trying to stop a flood, it’s impossible.

Somewhere far away in the distance I hear banging on the door, only adding to my fears as I think the Shadow Man is coming for me. Becky’s voice cuts through my sobs as she asked to be let in. I forgot I locked the door. She’s calming, soothing, and familiar. Nightmare dance around me, frighting in the big empty bathroom. She calmly orders me to let her in. I open my eyes, tears still running and I realize I've somehow managed to squeeze under the sink, as though the small space will protect me. I slide out and reach for the door handle, unlocking it with a quick flick, before immediately sliding back under the sink.

Becky slowly enters the room, followed by my lady partner, who looks shocked to see me so obviously shooked up. Becky slowly slides to her knees in front of me, reaching out to touch me. I feel her fingertips on my knees and I jerk away, screaming at her to don’t touch me. I rock back and forth under the sink, trying to comfort myself and failing. I sound like a primitive animal caught in a bear trap. Seeing her, but not really seeing her.

I cry harder scaring myself, my eyes squeezing close as I pray they all go away. Becky talks softly to me, soothingly, bringing up inside jokes to laugh at. I focus on her voice, struggling to remember the joke and situation that went with it. It helps. Slowly I begin to remember who I am. I’m not the 12 year old hiding in her room, but the 17 year old in class. I’m not being raped, I’m being taught. I’m not alone, Becky’s here. I slowly open my eyes, latching around her hand, trying to find warmth because I feel suddenly cold. Becky gently pulls me out from under the sink. I feel scared to be so open, so vulnerable while I’m still out of it, so I latch to her, letting her protect me as my nightmares fade.

My partner walks over and rubs my back gently, saying she’s sorry, for whatever just happened for the last 20 minutes she’s sorry. I nod, taking deep, calming breathes as inside I’m stopping the flood over memories. I was my face, and get myself together before exiting the bathroom. I’m shaky and still super jumpy, but I’m myself again.

Class is over and almost everyone has left except for the Carlos’s, Becky and I. I smile weakly at them, almost apologetically. Little Carlos comes over and apologizes to me and I shake my head saying it wasn’t his fault. I embarrassingly tell them that I was raped when I was younger and I just had a flashback. It sounds so much milder than it really felt. The either family’s face showed their shock and I look away embarrassed. I tell Becky to fill them in as I gather my things and change.

I walk away as she explains what just happened. In the side room I take a moment to punch the wall, angry at myself for losing it tonight. Angry that I was affected that bad. Angry that I was still affected after all this time and no somebody else had found out my secret. I slide my shoes on, tying them slowly.  I hated when people learned of what happened in class. They looked at you different, they were careful, scared to set you off again. I didn’t want that. I wanted to be just like them, normal, unafraid. I wanted to be treated just as they did before, not like a glass doll.  From now on the ease going friendship I had with the Carlos’s would be changed. Little Carlos would be afraid of scaring me again, so he would pass on being my partner anymore. Daddy Carlos would hold me gentler, making it to easy to slip from his grasp, not the way a real attacker would. And my partner would never see me the same, she would never against punch me as hard, or wonder like the rest of class why I had to sit out a moment while they practiced.

I stood up and grabbed my purse, heading back to my waiting classmates. It didn’t matter now, what’s done is done. I needed to focus on getting myself together tonight. I needed to focus on not screaming when the next person touched my back by surprise. I needed to focus on walking out to my car in the dark and not jumping at the shadows in my head. That’s what mattered now, that’s what mattered tonight.

Free Form Writing - Drowning.


The cold porcelain of the tub bit at my back, but I take no notice of it. It’s solid and real behind me, while my world is crumbling around me. The stark whiteness of the bathroom is comforting in a cool, innocent way. It’s still untouched, not ruined in my mind yet.

Tiny bruises cover my body, and they sting as the water sprays down on me, but I feel I deserve the pain. It’s a reminder that I am a dirty whore, in a way punishing myself for sins I didn’t commit. Bitter hot tears fall down my cheeks, mingling with the scalding water.

I want to scrape him off, remove him from my flesh but the shiny knife looks so intimidating, scary.  Why can’t I get him off me? Why am I such a coward? I grab the soap, scrubbing as hard as I can. My skin is raw and red under my soapy fingernails. Nothing.

His black and blue finger trails against my pale skin are still there. I toss the soap down letting the water wash away my fruitless efforts. I give up and lay down in the tub switching the shower to tap, slowly filling it. The heat soaks into my skin, but it hurts less than the shower did. If only I could drift away.

I wish I was floating away into nothing but the warmth that now surrounds me. Like a piece of driftwood lost at sea, just bobbing along soaking up the sun. It seems like such a far of dream right now.  I wish I far away from here. My parents don’t help me, my friends don’t know how, and  every time I close my eyes I see his smile and I feel his disgusting tongue on my skin. I feel so…alone.

Like the emptiness of this tub there’s just me and the evidence of what he did to me. There is no help, there is no rescue. When I look out at my life for the next several years all I can see is me sitting in this tub, trying to wash him away. It’s never going to end.

I asked for help and was denied. That was my last resort, my last fragile hope. I squeeze my eyes shut and my mother’s face swims to the surface. The look of horror, denial, disgust and rejection. She didn’t want me, she didn’t want to believe me. She would never accept me again, I have done something to horrible to be forgiven.

I should just disappear; I should just go away and just solve the problem for them. I should just die. Strangely that thought calms me, there is no more pain, no more sadness, just empty calm. I start going through the check list. Pills? I hate pills and I probably couldn’t take enough anyways. Slashing wrists? I stare at the bruises on my arm, that would hurt too much. Gun? I know where there is one, but when I imagine that cold metal against my head I chicken out.  I release a breath in frustration, swirling the water around me with my hand. Why can’t I die by water?....Wait drowning.

That’s a good idea actually. I flip myself over, facing the water that mingles with my tears. I wonder what it’s like to drown? My arms fall away and I’m surrounded by water. I slowly push my breath out of my lungs, forcing myself not to hold on any longer. Just make it stop, make it all stop. For a moment I’m at peace, with everything, even excited by the thought that I got one up on D, that I stole myself away from him when no one else would. Then my lungs start to burn for air, I force myself to stay down, accidently swallowing some water. My body panic, jerking back to the surface and sputtering for air. I cough and hack as my body quickly gulps up precious air. I growl angrily at myself. I’m eleven, I don’t know anything about a body’s survival instincts.

Over and over again I try to make it work. I even climb out of the tub and fetch some material to help. I tie the knots, tightening them with my teeth. I return to the tub and climb in, face down, crossing the rope behind my neck, forcing my head to stay down. Each time I get so close. The air leaves, my lungs burn, black dots start to appear and yet every time I can’t figure out a way to stay under and I jerk up sputtering every time.

I give up to tired to cry and to frustrated to be numb. The water’s cold and unwelcoming as I sit in the tub, my hands tied in front of me. I can’t even kill myself right. I am pathetic. I have discovered my new drug.

Drowning will become my new obsession, I will drown myself every time I’m in the tub for the next 5 years, like a cutter that keeps on cutting, but never commits the killing blow. Was I any happier? No. Drowning, suicide was not the answer I was looking for. Help was, counseling was. My first counselor sucked, but I refused to give up. I kept trying till I found the right one. If you ever felt like this know you aren’t alone, know that it’s not the only option, if no one will help you, help yourself, go talk to a professional.