How Could This Happen to Me?

This arrangement is dedicated to the Survivors of Sexual Assault

“[Referring to rape] It already is bigger than everything else. It lives in front of me, behind me, next to me, inside me every single day. My schedule is dictated by it, my habits by it, my music by it.”
― Daisy Whitney, Mockingbirds

On April 10, 2003, I awoke to the sound of the shower. Where was I? Why was I naked? What happened?

How could I report “it” when I didn’t even know what “it” was. That evening I told myself that whatever happened was my fault. I had to put “it” behind me and push forward. It was time for me to focus on my Airman Leadership class; once again I would graduate as a “Honor Graduate.” And that’s what I did. I buried “it”deep down inside.

Over the next year, I felt so much anger. I was so pissed off at the world. And I found myself resenting everything about the Air Force. What happened to the overachiever? The perfectionist? Was I giving up on my dream of becoming a commissioned officer? What was wrong with me?

I volunteered for a 45-day deployment to Rhein Maine, Germany. My hope was that I would remember everything that I loved about serving our Nation. Unfortunately, the 45-day deployment turned into a 53-day, psychotic inducing series of events.

Two days into the deployment, a fellow NCO started to flirt with me. As a female in the Armed Force, it wasn’t anything new. “Boys will be boys”, right? The flirting didn’t feel harmless. And I wondered how many times I would have to deny his request to “give me a massage” in my room.

I did not realize at the time but the “harmless” flirting triggered memories I had buried the previous year. 5,300 miles away from safety, I realized that “it” had happened. I realized that “it” had a name: rape. My acknowledging of the rape was significant. Yet it would not be part of the trauma I experienced in Germany.

I am not a victim of sexual assault. I am a survivor. No amount of inner strength erases the questions that I had when I woke up to the sound of the shower. After the rape and as I endured multiple bouts of psychosis, I often wondered, “How could this happen to me?”

I Can’t Breathe

Today I have a phone appointment with my psychiatrist. Over the past few days, I have contemplated what to say. The obvious is that depression has cloaked itself around me. It’s a struggle to function outside of work. I often escape reality by closing my eyes as I sleep away the day. And then comes the shame of wasting my time. The shame of not being strong. The shame of feeling dead while my body continues to function. The shame of having so much to be thankful for; yet, feeling like none of it matters.
And then we have the medication paradox. When we lower my medication, I feel so incredibly raw. My emotions stifle my lungs and it’s hard to breathe. With medication, I feel so incredibly numb that nothing seems to matter. Is there a middle ground? Is there a way to live without feeling so disconnected from life? Or is this just how I will continue to function as an individual with PTSD? Barely living. Barely breathing.

“Emotional pain is not something that should be hidden away and never spoken about. There is truth in your pain, there is growth in your pain, but only if it’s first brought out into the open.” —Steve Aitchison

Harder

November 7, 2004

Anniversaries are common. Some anniversaries are celebratory; and other are not. Whether or not the date is joyous, an anniversary seldom passes without a moment of introspection.

Before November 7, 2004, the date was a day of celebration. November 7th is my Father’s birthday. However, November 7, 2004, was not only my Father’s birthday but also a date of personal growth.

On this date, I begged God to either end my life or give me the strength to get up off my knees and give me the courage to face my reality. As I stood up, I was not sure how I would navigate my way out of my trauma induced-psychosis. All I knew for certain was that I was ready to fight.

This November 7th, I was feeling depressed and defeated. Normally when I’m depressed, I’ll listen to sad music. Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I decided to listen to new music suggested by iTunes. The first song that played was Harder by Keala Settle. The lyrics of this song resonated deep within my soul.

When I was in that place
I’d look in the mirror wishing she could go away
Never thought that I would still be here today
I’m still fighting but I’m stronger every step I take along the way

I was reminded that I‘m still not ready to give up. I am a testament that a person can be lost and find their way back. If you’re in a bad mental place, please don’t give up. Let’s fight harder together.

https://youtu.be/gGekzcDVmmY

Resisting My Thoughts

Today was a day full of self doubt as I fought against my thinking. How can I explain the lure of an imaginary world created to help me survive my traumatic experience while deployed? For me, there is a thin line between sanity and insanity. I fear this line more than anything. For me, finding my way back to reality was a two year struggle. The day I boarded the plane to leave Germany, my grasp on reality seemed to slip away in an instant. Betrayal. Mind games. Relentless harassment from my brothers and sisters in arms. Where did I go wrong? Why did they turn against me? Why did they pretend to be my ‘friends’ to my face; yet, call me a traitor behind my back? Why? The day I left Germany, I felt as though a part of me was dying. In order to survive, I created an imaginary world. In my imaginary world, I was safe and everyone I came into contact with was sent to help me. So many unreal beliefs helped me survive. I can never explain the comfort I found in my delusions. I can never explain that while my delusions were comforting, there was always so much fear beneath the surface.

Over the past 14 years, the memories of my imaginary world fill my soul with shame. So many times, I wish I could explain to people who abandoned me after Germany. I wish I could explain that the person I became in order to survive wasn’t really me. Somewhere and somehow, I had become someone lost in delusions and paranoia. While there are individuals I wish I could apologize to, there are also those that I wish I could seek vengeance against. When I needed help the most, I found myself alone and pushed out of sight. Betrayal. Who knew it could cause so much anguish?

Today, my thoughts were deafening. I had to fight off paranoia as “ideas of reference” tried to take over my thinking. While I love my job, I have experienced a great deal of harassment from management. I’m not the only employee who is constantly under the radar. In truth, we all are as drivers. However, there are certain individuals that management tries to “break” into bending the rules to make their unrealistic productivity goals. I am one of those individuals. The thing that management does not realize is that the harassment hits me a little differently. It triggers my PTSD. When my PTSD is triggered, I doubt myself. I often wonder if I am fighting the current situation or the inescapable memories of yesterday.

While I found myself fighting my past today, I also recognize that I still possess the strength to challenge my thinking. It is because of my past that I am able to find the courage to stand up for myself. While I may not make their numbers, I am a good employee. While I maybe “slow,” I try to give my customers the best service possible. I don’t take shortcuts. There is a right and a wrong way to do my job, and I will always pick the right way. I will always put integrity first.

Even though I felt myself stumble on my thoughts today, I pushed past it and made it through the day. So in many ways, I’m strangely grateful for my past.

July

“You have too many anniversaries.”

I wish I didn’t have to fight the calendar and the memories associated with certain dates. I wish I had a delete button to erase the the trauma associated with the summer of 2004. I cannot forget.

Many times, I just need to talk it out with someone. I remain quiet out of shame and fear. I’m ashamed that I haven’t been able to forget. I’m ashamed that I still feel the anger, confusion, and the pain. I’m ashamed that I still wonder what I did wrong. The question of “why” haunts me day and night.

It is out of fear that I remain quiet as I try to hide my internal conflict. I’m afraid that I will be a burden by sharing my present struggle. I know I sound like a broken record. The past plays over and over again. How can I expect anyone else to tolerate this repetitive dialogue?

Get Back Up!

I’m up here
I’m looking at the way down there
I’m staring through the I don’t care
It’s staring back at me

The beauty is
I’m learning how to face my beast
Starting now to find some peace
Set myself free

Over the past three months, I have undergone many transitions. Transitions in life are stressful for most people. For me, C-PTSD makes change extremely difficult to embrace.

One of the ways I cope with stress is avoidance. With the distractions of work, it was very easy to put on a smile and hide behind a mask. Unfortunately, the distractions aren’t there when I’m on vacation. Reality has finally hit me.

Sadness, regret, guilt, and self-doubt have pushed me into back into the grips of depression. I have felt enveloped by fear; essentially paralyzed for the past two weeks. HOWEVER…I will emerge. I’ve come too far to give up now. It’s time to “get back up!”

I’m moving on
Oh god just move on
Today
I don’t have to fall apart
I don’t have to be afraid….
Get back up
Get up

20 Minutes of “action”

Brock Turner was convicted on 3 felony charges of sexual assault on an unconscious woman. Yet his father and more importantly, Judge Aaron Persky do not feel that his actions merit the possible prison sentence of 14 years. Turner’s father has said his son should not have to go to prison for “20 minutes of action”. Judge Aaron Persky, said positive character references and a lack of a criminal record persuaded him to be more lenient. Judge Persky said, prison would have a “severe impact on him.” Turner, a convicted sexual offender, is only expected to serve 3 months of imprisonment. Yet the victim is sentenced to a life of mental imprisonment. I know the questions which will plague her FOREVER. I am a survivor of a rape which I also cannot remember. In April of 2003, I was raped by a fellow Airman attending a military training in Knoxville, Tennessee. I will never know what happened to me.

I remember fighting to stay awake as he touched me and undressed me. In my head, I was screaming “no.” Why didn’t he stop? Why was I just laying there? Why couldn’t I move?

I awakened to the sound of a shower. Where was I? Why was I naked? Who was in the shower? I grabbed the stranger’s red t-shirt to cover myself as I fled the room. Panicked and afraid, I didn’t realize that the room was next to my own assigned dormitory room. Realization of where I was, revealed the stranger’s identity. The “stranger” was my classmate, a fellow member of the US Air Force, and someone I thought was my “friend.” His identity only confused me more.

In the safety of my own room, I removed the only protection I had: his red t-shirt. I will never forget the smell of it. It smelled like cigarettes and him. Disgusted. I threw it into the empty closet. After shutting the closet doors, I laid down on my own bed and tried to shut off my racing mind. I couldn’t make sense of what happened. Why couldn’t I remember the minutes or hours before I woke up naked? I immediately blamed myself for whatever happened. I told myself that I must have “asked for it.” I told myself to just forget it. No one would believe me if I reported it. Why? I went to the bar with my “friend” and bought the only drink I remember consuming that night. All had was questions and unaccountable lapses of time.

Unlike my “friend,” I didn’t have the energy to take a shower. I wasn’t able to wash away my memories. All I wanted to do was and forget the few details I could remember. Forgetting, unfortunately, is impossible.

The next morning, he approached me and asked, “Did I do something wrong?” Shame filled me. I didn’t know the answer. With my head down, I replied, “It’s just me.” Why didn’t I stand up for myself? Why didn’t I ask him why he took advantage of me? Why didn’t I say, “YES! You raped me!”

For the next 6 weeks, I slept in the room next to him. I saw him every day in class. At graduation, I had to sit next to him as we were sitted alphabetically. After graduation, he introduced me to his wife. I was embarrassed as she shook my hand. Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.

Later that night, I packed and prepared to return home. The last thing I emptied was the closet that contained his t-shirt. I’ll never understand why I felt the need to return it to him, but I did. As I left the dormitory for the last time, I hung it on his door. Perhaps it was my way of saying that we both knew what happened. My “friend” had raped me.

It would take 14 months for me to tell someone what happened to me. It took me 14 months to be able to admit that I had been raped. I never reported the incident formally out of fear. I was afraid that no one would believe me. At times I regret my decision to remain quiet. I let a rapist remain aynomous and unpunished. And then cases like the Stanford Sexual Assault Case seem to only reinforce my decision. I made the decision because I felt it was the only way to survive and be safe. It was my only way of regaining control of my life and ultimately my body.

Turner will never know what it feels like to have a part of your soul shattered. He will never understand that his victim will replay that evening over and over as she desperately attempts to make sense of it. He will never know how it feels to be completely empty.

Turner destroyed his own reputation and future. He was not confused. Turner deserves to have his life “severely impacted” for his “20 minutes of action.”

My hope for Turner’s victim is that only day she will see the truth. She is not a victim anymore. She is a SURVIVOR. The memories and questions will remain; this spiritual revelation will reveal the tremendous amount of strength she possess. She is a fighter! I admire the courage and bravery needed to face her rapist.

Till It Happens To You