A Black Woman Surviving Rape: Sadness

Saturday, January 19, 2013

She suffers the worst pain in her life The skies lost color Time stood still She paid her dollar Her tears left fire marks in the sidewalk Overwhelming Her soul screaming Her nightmares are reality 16 years old Having to let go Became women As she lost her childhood

I’m tired again. I feel sad again. I’m so fucking sick of feeling this way. It’s too draining to deal with. My PTSD has gotten worse. At first the only things I had were the panic attacks, flashbacks and body memories. Now I have the anger: guilt, the voices running through my head. I've been having a lot of thoughts about suicide.

I don’t want to admit it but my head is really fucked up. It’s heartbreaking accepting the fact that what they did to me really messed up my head. This whole time I tried to take the blame for it. I was hoping that maybe if I took some of the blame I would have control over the situation and I could fix it. But I can’t take that blame because I can’t fix it by myself. I can’t do this alone anymore.

Every day I’m sad and angry and hurt. I want to stay in bed and rock and cry. I don’t want to do anything anymore. I don’t even have the energy to go to work. I’m so fucking sick of faking being happy and faking the smiles. IM NOT FUCKING HAPPY. IM NOT FUCKING OK.

I feel like I’m going crazy. There are a million thoughts running through my head all the time. I can’t stop the voices. I wish they would just shut the fuck up and leave me the hell alone. It just makes me think about a lot. Like I've been feeling like this since fucking elementary school. I remember every happy moment and every sad moment and I should be able to do that at all. This whole time I've been pretending to be happy just to survive and that’s the sad part.

The only thing that stops the voices is listening to music which is what I’m doing right now and I feel happy. I feel normal again. Sometimes the music doe make me feel sadder but then I can write it out and get it out of me. Smoking relaxes me enough to the point I can get some sleep and the anxiety does go away and I can function. Crying makes me feel so much worse. Like every time I cry it hurts so bad. When the tears come out it feels like my face is burning. My writs start throbbing so bad. I just want to cut just to make the throbbing stop. I want to cut to make the pain go away. But I don’t. I keep starting at the scars on my arm that remind me when I used to cut.

It makes me sad. I called some places today about getting help for the PTSD. They are closed so I’ll call them back Tuesday. When I was talking to the lady from the rape crisis center I broke down. I’m sick and need help. I broke down and started crying. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. It hurts too much. The tears hurt too much. I’m just lost right now…

Monday, January 14, 2013

Because it turns out the nature of rape has changed. We can now meet them in circles we frequent for companionship. We see them at the coffeehouse with someone else we know. We could even have them over for dinner and get raped in our own houses by invitation, a friend.

I don’t want to be touched by another man again. It’s just something about men that just turn me off completely. I don’t like them. I don’t really care too much for women either. But when it comes to men it’s like I’m not attracted to them at all. There’s nothing really about them that I find appealing. I don’t want any of their hands on me and just thinking about it really turns my stomach in the worst way.

It’s like every time I look at a man the first thing that pops into my head is, is he going to hurt me? How many women has he raped? How many has he had sex with while they were drink? Would I ever trust you to be around my daughter? It’s like a million questions running through my head at the same time.

I don’t want to date; I don’t really feel like talking to anyone. I’m not in the position right now to start over. I know that if I do decide to start talking or dating again eventually I will have to tell them about my past because of the panic attacks and flashbacks and the issues with sex. It’s like healing a wound and having to open it back up every time you want to get close to someone. I mean really how many times you can expect of that person to keep getting hurt over and over again. I’m tired of people not wanting to talk to me because of what happened to me. I’m tired of getting blamed for what someone else did to me.

I don’t want to have sex again. I don’t like it and it’s disgusting to me now. I felt like this after I was raped too. Like just the whole act of isn’t appealing to me because always in the back of my head is Frank on top of me raping me and I still can’t get that thought out. Being raped is what I think about when the word sex comes into my head. I think I might have pushed myself to like it just to be normal. And it’s not even the fact that I didn’t like it, it’s just that I haven’t completely separated sex from being raped so.........

I don’t want to have sex again but I want to beheld and feel like I’m loved. I deserved to be loved and be held. It feels really nice and it would make me feel happy and wanted. It’s like every man wants sex and I just don’t want it at all. So I’m deciding to stay away because I don’t think it’s fair to me or the other person to be in a relationship with someone if you can’t be intimate with them. After I’m healed I just want to be healed without worrying about having sex. I just don’t want to do it.

Like I want to be alone but I don’t want to live my life alone, or die alone. That’s been my fear since I was in elementary school. When Justin molested me I started having nightmares. I remember it because in middle school I had a crush on my neighbor but he didn’t like me but I loved him and in the nightmare someone was trying to kill him and I saved him and he still wanted nothing to do with me. I had my own house a really big house with no kids and I was just living there with cats and that’s how I died, alone. It’s my biggest fear is going through this world alone.

I’m just so worried about hurting other people again that I put myself second and I need to stop doing that. It’s just that when I do actually start to lean on people when I need help they walk away and I’m alone…. again…

Mrs. Golden Rays

My name is Golden Rays, I am a survivor of molestation, domestic violence and multiple rapes which has led to Vaginismus. Vaginismus is a condition where intercourse is extremely painful and sometimes impossible. I advocate for other victims of sexual assault to spread the awareness of the problem. It is an epidemic and no one is doing anything about it. It is said that 1 out of 4 girls and 1 out of 6 boys will be assaulted before the age of 18. In the United States every 2 minutes another woman is raped. The myths behind rape are so damaging, especially when people actually believe in it. Most rapes aren’t reported. Most rapes do not go to trial. Majority of acquaintance and date rapes are committed by men the victim know and they are the hardest to prosecute because often times it’s the woman’s word against the mans. A lot of acquaintance and date rapes involve alcohol and drugs and NO it’s NOT THE VICTIMS FAULT. Ever

I am also the daughter of a Malignant Narcissistic Mother, Narcissistic Sister and Enabling Father. I’m also a survivor of a Malignant Narcissistic Mother. For those of you who don’t know Narcissism is a personality disorder that few people don’t recognize and don’t understand. People who suffer from NPD (Narcissistic Personality Disorder) are like vampires (or parasites). They use you to suck the life out of you. Most victims don’t notice anything wrong because of how it can be undetected. They are very manipulative people who will do anything possible to gain control of you. If you happen to hear of one, run fast the other day. The effects of this disorder on the victim are very deadly.

I’m writing this blog because I’m tired of holding my feelings in without people asking me if I’m ok. I’m writing this blog because even though I am a survivor of all the things listed above, I am also a black woman. When I went to find people to talk to about my past, I couldn’t find one black woman who was willing and open enough to talk about the secretes that we hide. We are dying; we are killing ourselves by keeping pain inside. This blog isn’t just for black women but it’s intended to be directed towards them.