What if he gets away with it…?

So my case is going to court. I don’t know when I have to be there, but it’s a matter of public record now so I feel like I can speak a little more about how this process is affecting me.

I am STRESSED. I have to confront the very person who has riddled my nightmares for two years.

I have sought out counseling a little closer to where I’m living which I’m hoping helps reduce my current level of anxiety. It’s a lot to handle, I wasn’t anticipating to be this torn up about going to court.

I started this process with a definite goal and absolute confidence in my direction and plans to pursue charges. I still want to press charges, I want to continue this process. I ultimately want justice.

Up until now I hadn’t thought about the chance that he might get off. Obviously no matter what the outcome is, I have to move on with my life, I have to push forward.

Parts of my life feel like they’ve been in a holding pattern for two years, I’ve just been waiting for news on my case. It comes in waves and then the news that we were going to court came like an avalanche. I think the strangest part has been the fact that my anxiety wasn’t really present until about three weeks ago. I was doing great, taking everything in stride. I guess it’s one of those scenarios where you keep chugging along and not acknowledging your stressors and all of a sudden they all spill out in a two week long panic attack.

I went back to the gym this morning and it has helped curb my anxiety so I think I’ll keep doing that, having an outlet seems to help a lot.

All of that being said, I am 100% ready for this process to be over. I have a life to live.

When it all falls apart.

Part of my recovery has been attempting to construct a life that I feel is worth living. Re-discovering my independence, motivating myself to come back to center after being thrown so far.

I have spent the better part of two years clawing my way through muddy emotions ranging from being thankful to be alive to wanting to crawl in a hole and be ignored for the remainder of my existence.

In some aspects I have achieved some of the goals of my recovery, I am stable enough to be employed full time, I moved out of my mother’s house, I am financially independent for the most part and I don’t cry every. single. day. I also have love, trust and support on an intimate level.

But today, I started out crying. The one lingering piece of my recovery, arguably the hardest part has been developing a sense of self-worth, re-building self-confidence and understanding that this heinous crime does not define me.

I have this habit, like most humans, of approaching my life as a balancing act. My catch though is that everything has to be perfect, house clean, fridge and pantry stocked. I push myself to obtain this false “perfection” and then fall apart when things aren’t the way I think they should be. I have been pushing and pushing myself, grinding myself down, guilt tripping myself because my house isn’t perfectly clean, I don’t always cook dinner and when I do, it isn’t always healthy, I’ve gained a lot of weight in two years, I don’t have the motivation to lose it either. I have picked myself apart from the inside out, systematically attacked myself until I couldn’t take it anymore and lost it this morning.

I have been going through crying spells, quite a lot of them actually. I feel terrible for being so down, like I should somehow suck it up and not cry, not let it be known that inside I am still deeply shaken, still pushing myself to overcome this massive trauma.

It is really hard for me to understand that life is not perfect, dirt exists and houses will always be dirty in some way, there’s no such thing as having and doing it all and it’s okay to fall apart. People will still love you if you haven’t done the laundry this week and have purposefully put off cleaning the shower. Also coming to terms with the fact that my self-worth is not attached to my ability to clean, my weight or my “togetherness”.

I’m incredibly grateful to have someone at home willing to hold me when I’m at my weakest, most vulnerable. I don’t know what I would do without my support system, you guys are my world.


Two Years…

This time, two years ago, I was laying in a hospital bed. I couldn’t move my arms and legs effectively and had no idea what had happened to me. All I could rely on was what had been told to me. Minor details of what would come to have a major impact on my life.

I was being poked, prodded, tested and given a fist full of pills to swallow. All while giving my initial police report. Looking around, I could see blood, bruises and a badly broken piece of my clothing still barely clinging to me. Some things were missing, some were intact.

This is all before my rape kit had even started. By this time I had been in the emergency room for hours.

My poor mother, I can’t imagine what her heart went through when she answered the phone only to hear me on the other end, telling her that I had been raped, was in the hospital and needed a change of clothes.

That day was one of the worst days of my life.

Reflecting on everything that has happened in two years, I am surprised that I’m able to function normally in society. A large part of that is the overwhelming support I have received from my community.

I have to give myself credit in my healing though because I have fought tooth and nail to overcome and manage the resulting emotional damage. PTSD is a strange and unfamiliar beast, it flares up when you least expect it to and it will grip you so tightly you no longer recognize yourself. The nightmares, flashbacks, and extreme paranoia are only a small part of the terror it inflicts.

I have walked through hell to get to where I am today and I am thankful to be alive, to be able to love fully and trust. So many survivors do not make it back to a place of love, trust or stability. Many suffer in silence for a lifetime. Many must confront their assailant on a daily basis. Thousands do not even survive.

Ironically, I am one of the lucky ones.


If you want to read the rest of my story, visit consentiseverything.BlogSpot.com

Letter to the Stanford Survivor

Dear Sister,

Thank you. As I patiently wait for my case to unfold, reading your statement has given me renewed hope. I knew I  had a voice, I knew I could tell my story. What I doubted was whether I had the strength to face the future. Would I survive whatever the defense will throw at me, I work in Sexual Assault now and I know what they say. I know what they do.

You have shown me through your penned eloquence that yes, I can and will survive. I can make a statement, tell my story to the one person I most fear. I will do it and I will make my voice, my experience, our collective experience heard.

You and I have had the same nights, the sleeplessness, every single lamp turned on and every door locked two, three times. Make it a fourth just to be sure. Wanting to tell your story but not wanting to tell it at the same time. Not knowing whether you could face another day of crying, of utter despair for your personal losses. The days where you stop and look at the sky in absolute awe, realizing that you are lucky to have made it to another sunny day. We cry tears not only for ourselves but for those that weren’t so lucky, how close we came to being a part of that statistic.

We have been tasked by the universe to champion our fellow survivors, to send out the call that we will no longer tolerate rape culture, we will no longer accept alcohol as a “motivating” factor, we will no longer stand for the lack of accountability. We must use our strength to let our voices be heard, to be strong for those who are lost in that darkness.

Know that you are strong, beautiful, worthy and exceptional. You are my idol and will be my strength as my case progresses. We are united in our fight and survival. I will forever be grateful for you.

All of my best wishes and deepest thanks for you.



image credit: ethosmagazine.org

Reflecting on Fear and Strength

I have strayed pretty far from my original intent of regaining control of my physical health since my last post. I guess we’re always hopeful in the beginning but I lacked the long lasting determination. I have gotten myself somewhat back on track despite some stressors as of late. I think I need to take it slow and focus on establishing a healthy routine for now.

As a forewarning, this post may contain triggers.

Lately there have been some pretty heavy developments in my case. Great developments but they’re the kind that bring up all of those initial feelings. The fear being the most present. I know what happened to me. I know that I was raped. I have acknowledged my losses in personal security, gains in paranoia, diminished confidence and increase in overall unsteady feelings. I know I am a survivor…not a victim. I have power over my circumstances, not the other way around….but why am I still terrified on a daily basis?

There are moments when I am so scared that I cannot get out of my car at night to make the short walk up the stairs to my apartment. What am I afraid of? That he has found me and is watching me, waiting, plotting some sort of retribution for being reported. That somehow I am at more risk now than I was before, that it will happen again, that I might be killed for telling. These are real thoughts that I have and they are rattling. Rape does that to you, it makes you question all of your surroundings. Even makes you check behind the shower curtain or the closet door twice because you’re not sure if no one is there.

My nightmares are coming back, they’re worse than before and they haunt me the entire day following. Nightmares filled with demented, disgusting, degrading and paralytic scenes no human should ever witness or dream of.

There are two sex offenders in my community that have gained attention recently. One has been arrested for a recent offense but he wasn’t arrested in the woods where I’m sure most people thought he’d be hiding, no. He was a block away from where I work. Now, I don’t know this man and I am not his victim. Still, being a survivor and finding out that on any number of mornings or afternoons on my walks to and from the office, I could have encountered a known offender…it’s unsettling to say the least. The other offender cannot be arrested because he has not committed an offense as of late, only attempted to lure women from the main drag. Clearly the intent being to re-offend. I have upped my measures of personal protection but what if I can’t react in time? I definitely couldn’t outrun an adult male, I can scream but what if nothing comes out? These are things that most people don’t consider on a daily basis.

I can’t pass a male stranger on the street without holding my breath and hoping that I make it far enough away that I’m safe. I don’t have any issues with the males known to me that I have established relationships with (friends, family, etc.). It’s the strangers, the unknown that causes so much turmoil.

All of this is to say that just because I’m a year and 8 months out doesn’t mean that I’m completely healed. It will take years to work through and process all of the damage. Even the simplest of things will bring it all back. Thankfully, I am not alone. I have an incredible support system and a world of fellow survivors. I was strong before this happened and my strength was not diminished because of it. I am not stronger because of it, I am stronger because of who I am as a person, I am stronger because of the people who have continuously supported me, I am stronger because of the millions of people that face the same battle.

If you or someone you know have/has been raped and are seeking help please call the RAINN hotline at 800.656.4673 . Help is available 24/7 and healing is possible.

#FreeKesha #RAINN #NCCASA #NoMore #ItsOnUs #SurvivorStory #TilItHappensToYou