My Dirty Laundry

It is funny that someone would comment on my strength to air my "dirty laundry", yet I have been a writer for many years and my story has been heard often. I am not ashamed of my past, nor do I let it dictate my future. As I said before, I refuse to fall and stay down; I will claw and fight my way back to me. It is the only way I can live.

Part of my childhood I did not mention was the fact that I was sexually abused by my great grandfather from the time I was seven until I was ten. I did not even understand the term "victim", I just thought I had done something very wrong and it was never to be discussed. Well, at twelve, I decided it did need to be discussed and went to my aunt and uncle with my story. They cried for the little girl, hurt so badly in so many ways, so young and innocent. I remember looking at them as they quoted words of encouragement through their tears and believed something would be done and he would pay for the pain.

This never happened; instead it was hushed and never talked about again. At least not until I took control and began to shout it from the rooftops. Finally my family began to listen, and hopefully I stopped some of my younger cousins from ever feeling the shame and filth that comes with that violation. It was not much longer after I fought those who loved him to believe in me that he passed away. But the point is he died with everyone knowing the horrible things he had done and it was all because I refused to continue being a victim. Somehow I knew, even at that young age, I had the power to change things, to destroy the demons and to restore my power over me. It was during this time I began a prayer I pray to this day. "God do not ever allow anyone to take away my ability to love and to trust another, no matter what they do to me, grant me this one gift, and I can survive all." He answered and has until this day.

At twenty eight I was looking for some new volunteer work and went to the Catholic Volunteer website. Searching through the site I noticed a need for RN's everywhere and suddenly became aware. I had found my calling and knew what was meant for me in this life. It made sense; I am a caretaker, taught at an early age. I have a voice that people hear and a strength that can bear all. I was studying social work and immediately changed my major. I applied to the RN program at NOVA and somehow made it through the waitlist, getting accepted immediately.

At first I became leery at my decision; I was an English major, not a Math or Science major. How was I going to defeat my weaknesses in this area, I couldn't do it in high school. Once again, the answer came, just do it. Believe in yourself and fight. So I did, making it through all of my science prerequisites with a 4.0. One girl asked me how I got it and I said, "I don't know, I just do". I sailed through and grew more confident with every class passed. It was exhilarating, feeling as though I had finally come into the light of me.

I began nursing school in the fall of 2003 and all was going so well, but He had other plans. On September 14th I was pushed into my apartment and raped, violently. I remember the beginning, dark hair and a grayed face, and the end, waking covered with semen and urine, bruised and bleeding. I then did everything I knew was wrong. I took all of the clothing I had been wearing, including my jewelry, put them in a plastic bag and threw them in the dumpster. I showered for so long my skin was raw and red and then I scrubbed the place I had awoken.

After of all of that I entered the darkness. I did not return to school, dropped all of my classes. I stopped answering the telephone and did not leave my apartment. I began taking Xanax constantly to try and breathe, but even that was not helping. For two days I lived in the dark with the Xanax and myself. Finally on the 16th, I called my work hotline and just cried. I was pretty incoherent and she referred me to the Prince William County CSB to talk with someone in person. I still had not said what happened to me.

I drove to the CSB office and met with a counselor, again completely incoherent and unable to speak the words. She was so worried about me that she TDO'd me to Prince William Hospital. (Temporary Detainee Order) A sheriff drove me and I was still popping the Xanax like candy. Once at the hospital I decided I wanted to smoke, the Sheriff had other ideas. I ended up fighting a 200 pound man to the point I was put in handcuffs and carried into a private room due to my escapades in the main waiting area. A nurse entered the room to take my blood and urine, cleared me medically and I entered the psychiatric facility. I still did not say a word about what had happened.

Later that day, in the psychiatric ward, I was throwing another fit because they would not let me smoke, until the psychiatrist wrote the order. I guess he figured it was the only way I was going to quiet down. It worked. Well until they told me I could not wear my own clothes, then another fit, another order, and I settled back down. It was the last of my temper tantrums for the time being. I met with the psychiatrist that evening and still refused to repeat what had happened to me. I simply said I did not know what was wrong.

It was only when my Godfather came to visit me the next day that I finally told him what had happened and only because he thought I had an abortion and tried to kill myself because of it. I could not let him think that. He held me for awhile and the pain eased a little. Too soon he had to leave. It was my birthday and there was no celebration, I was too empty to even care.

Finally after a few groups and some private sessions, I began to wake, and the darkness receded. It was then I reverted back to the old me. Help those around me and I don't have to think about me. That is exactly how I spent my time there. I threw all of my energy, my passion and my love into the people there, which I knew might never experience light again. I don't know who I touched and who I didn't, but when my time was done, I left hoping for them, forgetting me. I went back and dropped off cigarettes to those who could not afford them, a calling card to a woman who had no one to help and some cash for a man leaving with nothing.

Some may look at my ability to throw myself into others and leave my pain behind as an escape, but there is no escape, all that happens still remains inside of you. The thing is you don't have to let it stop you from being what you are meant to be, who you are meant to be. You don't have to concentrate on your pain, your circumstances, your anger, your hurt... You find a positive outlet which deals with each of these but in the right way. By wallowing you are simply staying the victim, forgetting creation. I don't escape; I create, allowing me to dictate the circumstances, how I handle them and where they lead me.

Arriving home was terrifying and again I felt as though I could not breathe, so I escaped into sleep, yes this was escape. The only time I functioned was when Am was there, she was staying with a friend during this time, yet I still managed to do what was necessary to keep her going and not let her know just how great my sorrow was. I thought about it every day and every day became weaker and weaker. I lost my job and didn't care. I did not open the mail or the door. I closed out all of my friends, my family, my life. I existed in hell and only the fire kept me alive.

Finally one day I woke up and knew I had to do something or I was going to die, not literally but spiritually. I guess my strength was too strong to allow this to happen. I contacted a rape crisis counselor and pulled myself from my created haven and went to see her. I only saw her a couple of times before realization dawned yet again. She kept pushing that I remember the rape, the man, the nightmare. This did not feel right and something in me decided on a different path. I would not spend my days or nights remembering him. I stood up and took back the power he had stolen from me. I would not give him another moment of my life. Outside of telling my story, this has remained true.

He took possession of my body for a night, leaving me powerless. I was giving him no more power over me. Once I grasped this, I began to live again. I found another job, brought Amnesty home returned to school and left him in the dark from which he had come. Dreams bring him to me every now and then but otherwise he does not inhabit any part of my day, my mind or my soul. This is the way I chose to deal with the unthinkable and it has been my way of dealing with other horrors in my life. I have not forgotten, I just don't pull it to the surface to look at or try to understand. I am not a rapist and I cannot understand one. I am a woman who again became empowered and continued on my journey of creation.

I took a position as a volunteer for a rape crisis hotline. I speak with women who have been raped, whether it was in the past or just happened. I give them hope for survival. I attend their sexual assault examination, if they ask, and sit behind them in court feeding my strength into their quivering backs. They know I am there, that I understand and that I made it. With most, hope is renewed because of me and my ability to empower them, to make them fight, to make them win.

Not every woman will survive to the point of living again, yet I will continue to touch each one I am able for as long as I am able, and if just one can take back the power stolen in the night, then I have done my job. My job as a human who has suffered, my job as a woman, my job as a creator.

This is what empowers me, my gift to take from my life and give to another. God granted me this and He has tested it in every way, yet although I fall at times, His strength embedded deep within me, pulls me up, teaches me and at times carries me with love. Neither my mother, great grandfather nor this man has been able to take that from me, and there is not another who ever will. Yes, they may steal a moment but they will never steal my life.

Today people find me confident in who I am, strong and seemingly invincible, if only they knew just how that came to be. The greatest part of all of this is that I still have so much life left, so many to touch, so much to give, and I would not know any of this, had I not lived the life I have. Good or bad, we are given the lives chosen for us, with this we can live as victims or we can stand up, empowered, as women and create.