Two Years: Unsure of What to Say

Content Warning: Sexual Assault / Rape.

For those who have not read Perfect Moment(s) or It’s Been a Year, I was raped about two years ago, the night of December 4, 2019 or the early morning of December 5, 2020.

It’s been two years since the night of my assault.

I am not entirely sure of what to say, yet I wanted to start by sharing what I did.

I spent the day being kind to myself however I could. I woke up, laid in bed, played Fortnite, did my skincare routine, and had brunch with friends; new and old.

Yet, if I am being honest, I was out of tears at this point.

The week leading up to the anniversary were difficult. I spent hours lying in bed because that was all I could do. Then, moments when I would cry, unable to move, stuck in-between the past and the present.

All I could do at this point was remind myself to feel; to let myself experience these emotions and hope for the best.

There was a moment though, a moment that I want to forget but cannot allow myself.

December 4, 2021 – 1:31 am MST

Who could love something broken?

Used and tossed to the side?

I could…I could love something broken, but why must I?

Why must it always be me? Why must I always have to do everything and be in the right side of history?

Why can’t I be happy and selfish? Why can’t I have the kind of love that movies and tv shows are known for?

I’m so…angry, and sad. Exhausted. Everything hurts.

I feel so alone, and yet I know I am not. I want to feel needed and that I can change someone’s life. I want to love and be loved; I know I can. But why does it hurt? Why does it hurt to want something I know I cannot have?

Help me. I feel like I’m drowning

A few years ago, and in a previous blog post, I quoted something that Suzan Shown Harjo said; “historical trauma is like a bruise that masks a broken bone that never quite healed right.” An amazing quote from a phenomenal individual. This quote has been on a loop inside my head, yet I have started shortening it to trauma is a broken bone that never quite heals right.

I feel broken. In the 1 am thoughts, that is how I refer to myself, broken. This may seem like a negative aspect of myself, yet I know that there are parts of myself that never quite healed right simply because I am a traumatic being; one who has inherited trauma and one who continues to accumulate trauma because of these varying colonizing social systems.

Unfortunately, that is my reality.

–

It’s 8:34 am, and at this very moment, I’m lying in bed, and writing, and reflecting.

Healing is not linear – that is one out of four advices I gave last year to other survivors of sexual violence, and it is very true.

One moment you feel like the past is behind you and the next you’re re-living the entire thing.

I have been asking myself lately, will I ever feel not broken?

That’s the thought that invaded my mind days before. I mean the proof is the note above.

As yesterday became closer and closer, I lost sight of reality and time-traveled back to the night of my assault; co-existing between memory and feeling of the entire catacomb.

A part of me wanted to save the person in my memories before the assault, but I can’t.

I cannot stop the entire thing from happening, no matter how much I try, no matter what I do…I cannot save myself.

–

This is not the first time that this happened. But a few days ago, it was the most real and I could not stop myself from crying.

For so long, I have held back my tears and stopped myself from thinking about yesterday, just to feel a sense of normalcy again, but I think I did more damage and good.

I cried because I blamed myself. Even after two years, I still blame myself. I should have stopped myself from going out that night. I should have stayed in my room and never left. I should have gone to bed and slept.

I should. I could. These are the thoughts that take a hold onto my mind. I cried and I continue to cry because I know that I will never be the same person I was before I was raped.

Did you know that I was only four months in my doctoral program? It was still my first year.

Did you know that my grandfather left this world in October 2019? I was two months into my program and a month later, I was raped.

Did you know that three months after I was raped, we all began to survive a global pandemic together?

You probably did not know this, and that is fine. No one really knows what goes on in the lives of people, and so it was just me.

No one knew how broken I felt and how I continue to feel so to this day.

–

At least the tears released themselves and today I feel a little bit better than I did before. I’m still in bed. From time to time, I lay in bed for hours, and I let myself slip into the memories of that night; there’s an emptiness I feel that has become a companion of mine. It’s familiar, and I don’t know if it is a friend or foe, but it lets my body exist without me. Just for a moment, a moment to breathe and come back.

–

You know, it is a bit funny that I started out this reflection unsure of what to say, and yet I have shared so much. It’s a bit fragmented, but that is ok.

These last few days, and today, I am learning to be a little bit more kind to myself, and that it is ok to cry and to feel.

I may have quite a few broken bones, but I’m healing.

Things will be ok.