| T.R | Title | User | Personal
Name | Date | Lines |
|---|
| 52.1 | Credit to the original basenoter | COGITO::SULLIVAN | Singing for our lives | Wed Apr 18 1990 10:13 | 4 |
|
PS. Credit for this note goes to Lee T., note 99 of V2.
Justine
|
| 52.2 | Ten years of Hell | RANGER::TARBET | Haud awa fae me, Wullie | Sat May 05 1990 09:36 | 50 |
| The following account is from a member of our community who wishes
to remain anonymous at this time.
=maggie
====================================================================
It has been 10 years now since 'it' happened. I have always been the
type of person who brushes things off. I try not to dwell on bumps and
bruises. However, no matter how I tried to keep this from affecting me,
it has left it's mark. I have only recently begun to realize the
effect it has had on me. I find I resent deeply any situation over
which I have little or no control. I think this must come from my
absolute powerlessness in the situation. It was not just a lack of
strength to protect myself, there was a drug used which rendered me
unable to move, my body was like a dead weight.If any of you have ever
had teeth pulled while awake with the use of muscle relaxers, this is
the way my body was at the time. I was literally unable to move. I
think that was the worst part of it. If I had at least been able to
fight and then lost, well at least I could have had the comfort of
knowing I didn't just lie there and take it. Because no matter how
many people tell you 'it wasn't your fault' that feeling creeps into
the corners of your mind ready to renew the attack at any weak moment.
It invades many aspects of your life. The most obvious being in the
bedroom.
I had met my husband a few years after it happened. I tried to tell
him about it but I could tell he really didn't want to hear. At the
time I don't think I realized how important it was that I make him hear
it. And now 7 years later, it has invaded our bedroom. I still haven't
discussed it with him. Our marriage started to fall apart when my sex
drive failed to meet his. He would treat me rather shoddily until he
got his way. Not so bad at first, barely even noticeable. Then it
finally got the the point that I would do it just to be treated like a
human being. And finally now it's gotten to the point where I cannot
even stand to have him touch me. It has just become so much like being
raped again. We are seeing a counselor now but how do I explain to a
man I once loved that even his tenderest caresses have come to repulse
me? He has stopped pressuring me for sex and has really tried to make a
big change in himself and the way he treats me, which is great. But in
4 months of counseling I still feel no great change in my feelings
towards him, towards him touching me. It would really crush him to know
how I feel right now. He has been so patient, and it just adds to my
guilt about how I feel.
I guess the reason I chose to respond to this topic is just that I want
anyone who needs to know to know: Don't try to shrug it off, don't be
ashamed, just go get yourself the help you deserve. I think if I had
done that in the first place, I might not be punishing someone I love
now for something that happened before we even met.
|
| 52.3 | | BIGRED::GALE | Ditto | Sat Aug 11 1990 22:10 | 9 |
| Well, the saga continues... I had to admit Becky as an inpatient to a
psychiatric hosptial this week... aparently taking her out of Mass
didn't even do to the trick.
I am confused, upset, not knowing where to turn anymore.
When does it EVER go away?
|
| 52.4 | it does leave a mark... | DCL::NANCYB | all things reconsidered | Mon Aug 13 1990 03:30 | 42 |
| re: 52.3 (Gale)
> Well, the saga continues... I had to admit Becky as an
> inpatient to a psychiatric hospital this week... apparently
> taking her out of Mass didn't even do to the trick.
I'm sorry to hear that, Gale. My heart goes out to you and your
daughter. Between the rape and giving the baby up for adoption
that she's nurtured for 9 months, Becky has been through a very
complex series of emotional wounds in a short amount of time.
Hopefully the doctors will be able to sort out which event is
resulting in the most trauma without jumping to conclusions
before a thorough evaluation.
> When does it EVER go away?
It doesn't (if I understand your question...) You just learn how
to cope with it better. (IMHO)
One way I've learned to cope better with [side effects in
99.29=wn=V2] is to not get upset with myself when I experience a
recognizable side effect. It sounds simple, but it took me a
couple of years to 1) realize that I was getting angry at myself
after (for example) having a nightmare, and 2) learn how to not
get angry at myself afterwards. But that's not a "trick" that
makes them go away (After learning that 2 girls were attacked
where I go biking, I had nightmares each night for about a week
and a half), but I don't feel as bad about myself for having
them... which makes a big difference in my overall state of
being.
Gale, I don't know if that will help Becky now... but maybe it
might. Everything you've described here (in =wn=) that she's
experienced is something that a lot of other real, live,
breathing, flesh&blood, women gone through as a side effect of
rape. So she's _not_ alone in this, and she's not to blame
herself for her reactions [I know you know this, but does she?
I wish I could tell her this myself...]
nancy b.
|
| 52.5 | | DCL::NANCYB | Cool is the night, is the morning ... | Wed Sep 26 1990 22:59 | 29 |
|
I just thought of a good answer to a question I was asked
by the defense attorney during the trial:
(warning, explicit language)
Question: Did you experience an orgasm during the
alleged [intercourse? / incident? -
I forget exactly what word he used...]
(warning, profanity)
Answer: When was the last time a cold, _dry_, scared,
bloody, and half-unconscious woman that you were
_f*cking_ had an orgasm?
Of course, this would have really upset the judge, but who cares...
It would have been much better than just saying "no" with no
emotion.
nancy b.
|
| 52.6 | | NAVIER::SAISI | | Thu Sep 27 1990 10:36 | 2 |
| Great answer Nancy. I can't _believe_ he asked you that.
Linda
|
| 52.7 | | SELECT::GALLUP | Walk right thru the door! | Thu Sep 27 1990 11:25 | 6 |
|
>I can't _believe_ he asked you that.
It's a standard question.
k
|
| 52.8 | | BIGRED::GALE | Will 4-Jan-1991 get here quicker! | Fri Oct 19 1990 23:25 | 69 |
| In an update to .3
Becky is still in the hospital. However, she will be getting out this
Wednesday. She has a LONG way to go, but she is so much better than
that night in August.
Some things that have happen.
Digital (John Hancock) is REFUSING To pay for her hospitalization at
100%, (even though I have plan 2), because they say "She is not sick
enough", when asked what is their definition of "not sick enough" since
three medical doctors said she needed to be in 24 hour care, they said
"She needs to shoot a gun through her head first". I have tried to get
my personnel office to fight it though corporate benefits, since the 13th
of September, but so far, they refuse to even give me an answer, and I
don't plan on stopping this fight until I have to meet with Ken Olsen
personally. Meanwhile, the bill keeps adding up at over $1500.00 per
day.
Becky found out that about 4 years of her life, she can not remember it
at all, she is showing classic signs of being a sexually abused child,
but the doctor has not been able to penetrate her "black spot" yet, to
confirm or deny this.
We also found out that she has been raped more than once. She was
dating a guy (or about 6 months after she had the baby) that physically
beat her if she did not have sex with him. This happened when her
father was out, and she had no one to watch over her when she was
living with her dad. She didn't want to tell me, becuase she was too
ashamed of herself.
Her self esteem was not at all. She still has a long way to go, but now
she is smiling, and we are talking, and we are developing a
mother/daughter relationship that we have never had.
I found out that after the rape(s), she started using cocaine daily to
drown out all the nightmares. She has been off cocaine since July.
I really doubt she will ever touch the stuff again. She is REALLY
heavily involved in both AA and CA, and flourishing well in both.
Yesterday during our session together, she handed me a sheet of paper,
with the following words on it. She told me that she wanted to dedicate
this song to me over the radio, but instead, she wrote out the words,
because they mean all the world to her:
It must have been cold there in my shadow.
To never have sun light on your face.
You were determined to let me shine,
that's your way.
You always walk a step behind.
So I was the one with all the glory,
but you were the one with all the strength,
beautiful face with out a name for so long,
a beautiful smile to hide the pain.
Did you ever know you were my hero?
and everything I would like to be,
I can fly higher that an eagle but
you are the wind beneath my wings.
Becky turns 16 tomorrow. I sent her 16 red long stem roses. We both
cried for childhood lost, and friendship gained.
To steal and change a line from an old TV show, "This time, (I feel)
she's gonna make it on her own".
Gale
|
| 52.9 | couldn't figure where else to put this. | DCL::NANCYB | You be the client and I'll be the server. | Wed Jan 16 1991 01:21 | 8 |
|
I have jury duty tomorrow (um, today) and can't sleep.
Hopefully I will be excused. This didn't bother me hardly at all
till this evening.
trying to not be annoyed with myself,
nancy b.
|
| 52.10 | Shawn Colvin | BUSY::KATZ | My Goddess Can beat Up Your God | Wed Jun 26 1991 13:37 | 76 |
| I thought about entering this under "Women's Music" but it feels more
appropriate here. My best friend at college played this song for me
when I was starting my recovery last Fall...we were both in tears.
"Cry Like an Angel"
by Shawn Colvin off her debut album "Steady On"
reprinted without permission
The streets of my town
Are not what they were.
They are hallowed
In anger, bitter and hurt,
And it's not so you'd notice,
But it's a sinister thing
Like the wheels of ambition
At your christening.
So I went out walking
On the streets of our dead
With a chip on my shoulder
And a voice in my head.
It said "You have been brought here
Though you don't know what for.
Well, the mystery train is running
Right to your door.
I can hear you calling,
Don't have to call so loud.
I can see you are falling,
Don't have to walk so proud.
You can run all night.
We can take you there.
You can cry like an angel.
There were high school night dances
Where we played stump the band --
We were raising each other
In a strange land.
There were hard pills to swallow
But we drank them all down.
Well the nights were too short
And now they're a little too long.
I can hear you calling,
Don't have to call so loud.
I see you are falling,
Don't have to walk so proud.
You can run all night.
We can take you there.
You can shout out in anger.
You can laugh like a fool.
You can cry like an angel.
(instrumental)
So look homeward, babe,
Keep your eyes on the sky.
They will never forgive you,
So don't ask them to try.
This is your party,
And though it's not your ideal,
May we all find salvation
In professions that heal.
I can hear you calling,
Don't have to call so loud.
I seen you are falling,
Don't have to walk so proud.
You can run all night.
We can take you there.
You can shout out an answer.
You can laugh like a fool.
You can call up to heaven --
We'll be listening to you.
You can sing Hallelujah.
You can fly like a bird.
You can cry like an angel
When there are no words.
|
| 52.11 | anonymous reply | LEZAH::BOBBITT | sailing around my soul | Thu Jun 27 1991 14:27 | 62 |
| I'm posting this for a member of the community who wishes to remain
anonymous. Please remember that this topic is for survivor accounts
only - please put replies in topic 53.
-Jody
------------------------------------------------------------------
Separate your mind from your body,
and watch the pain drain away to nothing.
Step outside, and away from the pressure,
burning, and dark heat.
Remove yourself from the tearing, clawing,
and tares in new flesh that you had not
before known you had.
Walk away...
When you pounded for your protectors to
hear you, to sense the danger that you
knew whas building, they did not come.
They were not there. So go with them,
Away,
To where they are,
away from the blood, and the scraping,
and the grating of depths you hardly
knew were there before.
Out of the weak, throbing with pain,
oddly contorted body that you thought
you owned, which now you gess belongs to him.
Which he molds to his sick, hatefull
pullings, yankings, and tuggings.
Do not use any part if it.
Not even a scream for him to stifle now.
It is a simple thing.
Let him have it.
It did not save you anyway.
He can not have your mind.
At least that you can keep from him.
Come back,
once he is done,
and gone,
and your body,
for the moment is yours again.
Then shower the aching muscles free of pain.
Soak the blood from the strange breaks in
your skin free of drippings. ... and
then return.
You will be fine.
He could not take ALL of YOU.
You saved one part from him...
Your mind was safely tucked away.
It remained yours.
... and your body would be yours once again too...
If you could only get it clean.
|
| 52.12 | anonymous reply | LEZAH::BOBBITT | sailing around my soul | Fri Jun 28 1991 11:55 | 153 |
|
I am posting this for a member of the community who wishes to remain
anonymous.
warning: It is very touching, and very honest, and very powerful,
and not for the squeamish.
-Jody
----------------------------------------------------------------
Fact Of Life
There she is: a small, naked body lying quiet and
still. She looks like a doll whose
owner, tired and bored of its plaything, has thrown
her down in a frustrated temper.
I stand in the doorway, staring. Can't stop staring.
It feels as though our world
has ended and this stark, motionless tableau will be
fixed in stone on eternity's wall.
Fear. I want to turn away, to leave this room,
pretend I've never seen it. My body
protects me, becomes heavy, challenging my will to
move. But that's my love
who's been hurt.
Scalding tears; let them drop. I want so much to
give in, to break down and scream,
kick, punch. At this moment, I could kill. Yes, I
could kill with my soft bare hands.
But then, a barely perceptible moan. I'm forced to
face the horror and find the
courage to go on. Vision blurs. I can barely utter
a sound, the pain is so great.
Instinctively I suppress my grief. I've got to be
her strength now, as she has been
mine. So beautiful, kind, courageous, intense. I
love you. I know you. I am as
close to you as to myself, as no-one else. I love
you. Sorrow envelops me. I can be
strong for you, my love. But I can't hide my
sobbing.
I kneel by her. I can see only one side of her
lovely face, distorted by the weight of
her head on the blanket. And the swelling. She
can't open her eyes, she can't see
me. I don't know - does she know I'm here? I must
let her know I'm here.
Helpless faced with this torment, it enrages me. If
someone, something could change
our places now, I would lay myself down before them
and beg. I want to do
something! I want to comfort her, to soothe away her
pain but she looks so broken,
I am afraid even to touch her. Pathetically, I just
stroke her hand as gently as I can.
She can't speak - it would be too painful for her to
open her mouth; it has been
ripped and torn as though someone was desparate to
steal something that was hidden
inside. If only the savage enemy had known, as I and
others know, that the real
treasure lies in the words which spill freely from
her lips like sparkling gems.
Her whole body is
swollen. My love's soft, brown-skinnned beauty has
been buried
under the colours of a battered corpse! Dried,
dirty-brown stains on her buttocks and
thighs. Suddenly, the horror of the degradation and
suffering that has been inflicted
senselessly on a loving, kind, passionate human
being, is driven into my mind like
stabs from sharp, jagged blades.
The sorrow and rage
that had, for an instant, lulled
to a constant, deep, dull thud while I looked at my
love's still beautiful face, is
intensified to an unendurable degree. Mustn't
scream. Choke it back.
Even as I
look, black-red blood is still oozing slowly. Oh,
God! She's moaning. The pain.
Tears, somehow escaping from bruise-sealed eyelids,
streaming down her cheeks.
It hurts too much and I'm so afraid that this hurt
will never end. Shiny wet face,
but there's no expression. There's nothing there;
just blank. She doesn't try to look
at me. She does not want to move, nor speak, nor
see. Not now. Not ever. She just
wants to be left here alone, hidden away in a secret
place where no-one will ever be
able to touch her, to look at her, to disturb her
peaceful solitude.
Strangers are trespassing as I knew they must, but I
am comforted for now by the
knowledge that she has placed an impenetrable barrier
around herself. Nothing more
can affect her. These strangers, who have already
seen so much horror, cannot
completely mask their compassion; it clouds their
eyes even as they speak
monotonously, according to duty.
Sitting in a sterile place alone with the strangers.
All my energy is channelled into
thoughts of you drifting off into a silent sleep at
last. Will you ever dream again?
I'm lonely and frightened. I'm afraid for you. With
the strength of our love we built
a rich and beautiful world to live our lives
together. Now the malice of the Outside
has invaded to destroy it.
What if you can never
leave that lonely place? What am I
to do alone? Without your love, strength and
integrity, our world is gone and it's the
only world we ever wanted to live in. If you do come
back to me, how will you
heal? I am desparate for us both to heal. Am I
strong enough? I'm shaking with
fear because both our lives depend on it, and I don't
know what to do. I just don't know.
The tormented sobs of anguish burst their
banks. I weep. I can only hope
there will be a day when we can weep and scream
together, because then, maybe one
day, we'll be able to smile again.
|
| 52.13 | | BUSY::KATZ | Lambkins...we will live! | Wed Jul 03 1991 13:25 | 92 |
| FAMILY SECRETS
When I hang up the telephone receiver,
I know that I have lost another opportunity
to tell my parentys what really happened
on an unlit, gravel path that night
and why I fear men my father's age.
And so I will have to wait another week,
hope that some path of conversation
will lead to that story, open my mouth,
and explain the night I must remember --
how I plunged from the shadow
that reached for my arms and legs,
to force me open, until I freed myself
and staggered back to close the doors again.
So I must look down to the other stories
that we have buried below ourselves,
hiding their sharp edges and anger
that have shaped our usual calm
with a bursting fury, and I know
these were the stories we never told,
how my grandfather's brother disappeared,
to spare the family, he had said,
or how my cousin was taken to a doctor
who did things that were not done then;
there are my twin brothers buried
outside a military hospital in Athens.
I see my father above me, his face purple
in a way that would have made my mother laugh
if she had not been crying instead, and I,
with shallow, rapid breaths, backed away
from the dull thud of his hands on my shoulders
until I curled into the chair and locked
the door behind me again, learning nothing
of the costs for opening and closing.
As we stood back from that wreckage,
my mother watched her husband and son
stand off; my nails bit into my palms,
my eyes wide, glistening, fixed on the thin
wrinkles around his eyes. Mother knew
she could lock that night within her, not knowing
even what in his face had terrified me,
but I remember in glimpses of unlit paths
and the squinting eyes I see in every
man's creased face with shocks of gray hair.
There are footsteps, slow grind of heel in gravel,
rustle of leaves and the rasping cough
that make me quicken my pace,
shut the door behind me and curl
in front the fire and it's warmth
where I shut my eyes and stretch,
amazed and terrified that thin walls
can blunt the horror of course, groping
hands that wait beyond doors at moonrise.
Mother called them my goblins,
and she let them rest, buried deep
within our family secrets which I,
just this time, will remember for my life.
copyright 1991 by Daniel S. Katz
A LETTER TO HARRY
Harry, i have wanted to kill you,
reach down and pull out your fat
heart and laugh at your dying.
I wonder -- do you have children,
little ones who have never
known why the fear you?
Children know what is true, Harry.
I have given you that name
for the unknown shape of hands
and arms that flash in red
darkness; it is how I know you.
At the playground, the parents
don't call their children away
when you arrive to pull them close,
keep them. That is your power.
They have no instinct to know, as I do,
what red mark should be branded
onto your sweet, creased face,
naming the children's fear.
copyright 1991 by Daniel S. Katz
|