Slaying the dragon of shame after sexual abuse...

I have been trying my best to get around to writing this.

It’s hard to write about something that has so many layers.

So many questions still left unanswered.

And so many fears that tangle you up in madness.

But I decided to write it anyway.

To follow wherever my heart and hands would let me.

Writing seems to work best for me that way.

So today,

Right now,

We venture into the corners and into the dark parts.

We speak of ugly things but we end it in beauty.

For I have felt the disaster of putrid ugliness,

But I have learned to not let the disaster own me.

. . . .

I was taught my freshman year of college that bad things can await you around any corner.

Last year I was taught bad things happen where you least expect it.

Today, I have learned that all that shit is true but I have made the conscience decision to press on in believing good things can happen too.

. . . .

I was sexually abused and drugged my freshman year of college.

My first thought around that instance has always been,

“Why me and why then?”

What was this target on my back and this draw to my body that I believed to not be that pretty of a face, especially not for any kind of longing?

I hid in my car.

I hid in the halls.

I watched every person and I peered through every door, to make sure I wouldn’t see that person again.

I would scrub my body raw in the shower to try to rid the disgust.

I slashed my arms with blades to try to rid my soul of the shame.

I drank alcohol to numb the pain.

But two years went by and I thought healing was finally becoming mine.

Like maybe I don’t have to live in fear.

Maybe good things truly were awaiting me.

But people are people.

And bad does indeed exist.

So I realized first hand, even the safest places are not safe after all.

I realized no one is free from being evil.

No one can be fully trusted.

And church is not always a place of healing.

So I gave up.

The truths I had been trying to settle into my veins,

Exploded and blew away with the wind.

I gave way to every bit of anger and hurt I had been holding.

I left a faith that had abandoned me.

I welcomed the sin I thought I would never find myself drenched in so willingly.

But I wanted control so bad.

I wanted proof that I could choose how I would bleed.

I gave in to a relationship that only longed for control of me.

Though I thought I was in control the whole time.

I was used, but I allowed it.

I drank and I drowned in it.

I slept with him but I gave up on trying to clean my body.

He would get lost in drinks and would forget how he would push me.

He would forget how he would scream at me.

He would forget how he would keep me from leaving.

To feel trapped and alone.

Knowing no one will come to help you.

Because what if your rescue turns out to be a means of harm once again?

So in February I realized how I myself could save me.

How if I only spoke out, if I chose to walk away,

There was strength within me to break away into freedom.

Instead of letting shame and silence break me.

. . . .

Why am I sharing this?

Do I want some pity or concern?

Do I think my story is horrible, perhaps worse than some?

No and no once more.

I have heard stories worse than mine.

I have heard friends weep when words come out for the first time about their abuse.

And I have seen the statistics for how often abuse occurs.

And that also tells me how much more has only been left unsaid.

I hate this fear we have created.

How can something reportedly happening to 1 out of 5 women (at least that which is reported)

Never be spoken about?

Maybe because it’s messy or we don’t know how to deal with it.

Maybe because we don’t want to admit what’s happening around us.

But somehow we are okay with making sure every girl has a thing of pepper spray in her bag.

We create nail polish to notify a girl if some perv has placed something in her drink.

We speak of justice and love from the pulpit,

But we push away the abused and try to put back together the perpetrator.

I don’t know what I wanted this blog to promote.

Not sure how I intended it to end.

Take from it as you wish.

If anything, I want other people to feel okay about speaking.

I want the church to realize the pain so many can be hiding.

And I guess I was hoping, if I could write this, maybe one day I could speak it.

So I’m working on it.

So to the bastards that mistreated me, I wish I would’ve spoken up more.

I only hope justice soon finds you, and serves you well.

But I’m working on releasing the fire of rage I have towards you.

Because while I’m here in the smoke, you are wading in your pool of security.

But I know the secrets you try to keep.

I’m learning how to speak.

I’m learning how to share my words and my feelings.

I’m learning how to fight and push when I start to feel trapped.

I have learned where darkness lingers, even if it seems like a place of light.

And I have learned that life is always a fight.

But it’s a fight I will continue to take part in.

Because I want to break down the walls of lies and of captivity.

I want to serve women everywhere one day in Social Work because I want to help them find freedom in moments of despair.

Shame is a controlling beast.

It wraps us up in chains and stands by puffed up like a dragon, threatening to blast us with flames the moment we try to speak an ounce of the truth.

But I have this sword in my hand.

This weapon that has been tied to my waist the whole time.

It’s called a voice.

And with every word I am defeating that dragon one slash at a time.

So here’s to the dragon slayers,

Keep fighting like hell.