ugly truth about rape

On Being Vulnerable: The Ugly Truth

I wrote my fairy tale with the intention of focusing on the wolf. And what he did to me. I minimized my experience by calling him a wolf, and calling myself a little girl who cried.I should have called him a man. A man who forged ahead even if I said no. A man who forged ahead even if I said please, or stop. A man who ignored my silent fear, and desperation. A man who thankgod is no longer in my life since that fateful night.

I minimized my experience because my blog is far too public to be blunt about some stuff. I minimized my experience because no matter how hard I try, I still feel shame. No matter how hard I try, I still feel entirely responsible for what happened. I blame myself. I’m ashamed of what happened, and yet, yes I really do blame myself.

Out of shame I waited two days before contacting the police. Out of shame I did not go see them in person. Out of shame I called. From a pay-phone. After telling the purpose of my call, they handed the phone to a male police officer.

He made it very clear, after I explained my story, that it was my fault.

I blame myself.

I didn’t want to put it out there. I didn’t want to bear the victim label. I refuse to wear that label. I choose happiness. I choose it out of a sense of responsibility for myself. And for my mother. She did not make me to waste my life away.

I still blame myself.

But I honor my mother by loving myself, and being happy. It’s mother’s day this weekend. How do you honor the woman who made you?

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8 thoughts on “On Being Vulnerable: The Ugly Truth”

  1. :-( I, too, bear a deep, abiding sense of shame and guilt, albeit for different reasons. I know what it’s like to not feel able to tell anyone, ever. So, I appreciate your willingness to share your vulnerability, and send you virtual *hugs*!

    Liked by 1 person

    1. I did, didn’t I! Thanks for spotting that and pointing it out, I never even thought of it! Now I am feeling even gooder about myself.

      Like

  2. Utterly devastating, and yet – like a palm tree in a hurricane, your fronds ripped off with unspeakable violence, you regenerate.

    You have a courageous pragmatism. This happened. He did it. You’re still alive. You didn’t forget, you don’t deny; you just live. I can’t pretend to understand, but in my feeble estimation, it looks like you win. ((HUG))

    Like

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