Feelings

This post contains information of a graphic nature.

Please do not continue reading unless you understand that sensitive content about rape is contained below. That said, please support this brave woman as she shares her story.

Rape is more that just physical violation, it also has devastating mental and emotional effects.

This is her story.

What is it about rape that is so hurtful?

Is it when someone actually reaches for and enters the inside of your body you feel like your whole self - inside and out - is being exposed and violated? Is it the fact that your dignity is taken away as you are forced to stand or lie there naked, as you are stared at and calculated in a public area while being spied upon?

Is it that you're forced into feeling things you have never felt before without being asked just so they can watch your reaction? Is it that they knew you were extremely vulnerable yet still forced you into things you weren't ready for?

You didn't know enough to realize the impact of these actions.

Is it that your friend left you alone with seven guys, two of whom abused you? They had very little consideration for your needs. Is it the physical pain as one of them jams his finger inside of you causing some bleeding? Then he penetrates, not caring if you're sore, not even speaking to you except when telling you what to do or trying to make you react so you can be heard.

Is it being forced into positions you were uncomfortable with and being treated like a rag doll? Is it the fear or the shame because you're too afraid to resist? Is it the what ifs, like what if you gave the message to them that you wanted this even though you didn't know what was going on?

You thought it was a normal thing to do at 14 because your friend was doing it. Is it that the same friend was inconsiderately shouting about what you did that day? You denied it all and have been ever since until now. Even now you have to try and make yourself stop denying it so you can heal and move on.

Is it the fact that after you did walk away from the first rape he molested you and attempted to stimulate you in front of the rest of the gang? Your privacy and trust mocked? Is it the fact that only sheer luck meant you weren't forced into a situation of being a parent at 14? Is it the fact that what happened that day tainted what should have been a good life experience? Your trust in people is gone, especially of men.

Yes, it is all of those things and probably more.

But most of all it is the fact that I have lived with this as my life slowly ground to a halt. True, I did have a lot more going on that contributed but what happened that day made things an awful lot worse. They made me feel worthless - a feeling that grew with time as I kept that day locked away for nine years. The guilt because I didn't do anything to resist. The shame at the memories of having to strip in a public park. The guilt because I didn't run. The shame of the things I did and how it was broadcast to peers.

When you hear of someone being raped you never think of all these feelings that are attached. But they are, and it hurts.    

Rape is a trauma that lasts with you a lifetime.

This is her story:

About a year ago, my best friend was really into this older guy, and I didn't want to be around him; he gave me the creeps. But she always said, "Come on! I don't want to go alone," so I'd give in and hang out with them.

She'd always been a horrible friend, but I suppose I didn't care (don't worry, because thanks to my current wonderfully supportive, long- term boyfriend, I've since gotten her out of my life.)

She'd accused me of wanting him, which, for some reason, made me want to prove her right. He suggested, through text, that we have sex. I thought, "Hell, she deserves it," and went with it, even though I knew it was wrong.

He asked to hang out with me alone, and I said "sure," but to make it abundantly clear that I didn't want to have sex, I followed that up with, "I DON'T want to have sex with you."

He replied, "Okay, I don't have sex on Sundays anyway; it's a sin."

I'm so stupid - why would I believe such a bullshit excuse? I don't know, I'm young and naive.

We were watching the movie Saw, just as friends, so I wasn't expecting, or hoping for anything sexual. He was.

He started kissing me. I was semi-unsure of what was going on, so I went with it for a moment. Then, he rolled on top of me and started to unbutton my pants.

I was confused.

I pushed up on his chest and asked as quietly and calmly as I could, "What are you doing?" He ignored me. I must have asked at least five more times getting more and more anxious when he didn't reply.

Things got a little blurry - after he put on a condom, I accepted what was about to happen.

I knew no one else was home and I was afraid to run home and telling my parents because I didn't want to get in trouble. So I just laid there with my arms at my sides; I didn't really know what else I could do.

I thought I was okay. I really did.

I felt guilty and for a while I convinced myself that we'd just had sex. Soon, though, I began to feel ashamed and disgusted. The tears came and I realized, I had been raped, violated, assaulted.

After I realized I'd been raped, I went into a very deep depression.

I managed to keep both the depression and the rape to myself, though I came clean to my friend. I was happy that she believed me, because she's the type who thinks people get what they deserve. Soon, though, she began to use the rape against me in arguments. That hurt. A lot.

I told my dad about the rape.

We talked about the rape and decided together not to report it to the police as my rapist had just been arrested for raping and statutory raping a number of girls, so he was in jail for over twenty years.

I became suicidal and I didn't believe it had anything to do with the rape

I went to the psychiatric hospital for a five day stay. Now that I understand the stages of grief after a rape: depression, regret, anger, and guilt you go through it makes sense.

I'm currently working through the guilt stage following the rape. I know logically that the rape wasn't my fault; that he should have taken no for an answer the first time. But still, I feel I need to go back and change the past; like it was all my fault.

I'm scarred.

I was raped.

But I have a voice and I intend to use it to help myself and anyone else who has been through a rape.

Every day in the United States alone, 26 babies are stillborn.

This is Ruth's story:

umm, hi.

i don't have any leather pants to strap on, as i have been invited to do on the homepage, but i'm gonna share my story. i'm 37 years old, happily married, and the proud mother of three (living) children.

last year, almost this exact time of year, i found out i was pregnant with our fourth child. the news came as a bit of a surprise, as i was on the pill, and we'd thought we were "done" - our kids are 12, 10, and 8.

after the initial shock wore off, we were thrilled. it was going to be so much fun this time around, knowing what we already know about having kids and whatnot. all the stress of just keeping the little buggers alive and well until they started school was behind us. we could relax and just enjoy having a little one to hold and snuggle.

at our 20 week ultrasound, we discovered that it was a girl we named ruth, and her umbilical cord had only two blood vessels instead of the usual three.

the doctor explained the problems this could cause, and after educating ourselves about the risks involved, we felt confident that we could handle whatever GOD chose to bring our way. her due date was set for january 11, 2013. because mine was considered a high-risk pregnancy, i had weekly ultrasounds scheduled for the last two months of the pregnancy.

on january 2, just nine days before our due date, my ultrasound revealed that there was no heartbeat. ruth was dead.

i headed to labor and delivery to be induced. early the next morning, I delivered my baby girl who had already left this world.

the pain and shock have been enormous. i am so grateful to my husband for being my strength over these last 4 months. he lost a daughter too, but somehow he manages to rise above his grief when i need him.

our families have been wonderful, letting me grieve in my own way, never judging, always loving. we never did find out what happened; why she died. now the big question is, do we want to try for another baby? we know we can't replace the one we lost, but it just seems so sad to end our baby-making years with a tragedy.

if anyone reading this is interested, Jason Collins, MD of knoxville, tennessee is an ob-gyn studying the causes and risk factors for stillbirth. i was able to get in contact with him after losing ruth, and discovered that this tragedy is all too common: every day in the united states alone, 26 babies are stillborn.

i'd become concerned during the last few weeks of my pregnancy that the baby wasn't moving enough, but when i contacted my doctor, i was told that it was fine; babies slow down as they get bigger.

listen up, everybody! babies DO NOT slow down. all pregnant moms: do a kick count. be a pain in your doctor's ass. drive the nurses at the hospital crazy. do whatever it takes for that little one.

s/he is counting on you.

GOD bless all of you who read this. GOD bless ALL the unborn babies.

thanks, the band, for letting me have the floor for a moment.

love,

bean

Serenity from this surreality

I want freedom from my mind,

But the clock keeps ticking and tocking,

Destination? Destruction!

My thoughts being the cuckoo that never shuts up,

Smashing the side of my skull,

Scraping away at any hanging hope.

It never shuts up!

For you see the world is a stranger,

Callously creeping from a deep chasm in the darkness of a desolate alley,

Silently stalking,

Watching, but never comforting.

My cuckoo is the only thing I have,

As I desperately delve deep down

For any unconsuming consciousness or concupiscence.

The only thing I have!

Hitting like a hammer, on and on it hounds, hating and hurting,

Thump- You don't want to be

Thump- You'll never make it

Thump- You don't belong

Thump- You shouldn't be,

I am a big square box squeezing into a small circular bucket,

I am a person.

But not as I should be!

It would have been simpler if you had just hit me with your fist. 

It would have hurt less had curled your fingers up and slammed your fist into my gut.

No. Oh no, you would never hit me. You claimed you would never give in to the urge to physically hurt me. You denied that the urge was there, but I could see it. Please. After nine years I can read you like a book.

On the good days we inspired each other, brought out the best in each other. On the bad days we would stand, six inches apart, applying the verbal lash over and over. Flaying one another to the bone, stripping defenses down until nerves were raw and exposed. 

Even after all those years, all those fights, all the pain, I never threw that kind of insult at you. I never said anything that literally took your breath away, never dealt you a verbal sucker punch. Don't get me wrong, I'm certain that I hurt you. Intentionally or not, I know that it's true. I know we both bear scars on our hearts. But I never spoke to you the way you spoke to me. I never poured salt on the wounds.

You took every single self-doubt that I had, every aspect of myself that I hated, and threw them all at me. I sat there, wounded, in shock, seeing the rage and pain blaze in your eyes like wildfire.

If you had just made a fist, punched me in the gut, maybe we'd still be together. 

No. You had to wound me and then grab the salt and just rub it in there, didn't you? 

Fat. Lazy. Selfish. Mean. Bitch. 

Those words hurt. Can't deny that. But I've heard them before. 

Do you want to know what the last straw was? The word that hit me like a fist to the gut?

Barren.

BARREN.

How dare you?

How DARE you throw that in my face? 

You. You of all people. You who knew how I struggled with that diagnosis, who saw me weep every month, watched me grieve for another lost chance every time I bled.

Four years of a thousand tiny deaths. Every birth announcement, every baby shower, every happy family in a grocery store: they all left a scar.

Countless appointments, driving back and forth to clinics to undergo tests and invasive medical procedures. Always alone because your work schedule wouldn't allow you to join me. Trying to reign in my crazy mood swings from the drugs so that I didn't take everything out on you. Slogging through life on a second-string antidepressant because it would be safer during pregnancy. Drawing fluid into a needle and shooting myself up with hormones in the bathroom, alone, because you're afraid of needles. 

If those scars were physical instead of emotional I don't think I'd have an inch of pristine skin left at this point.

You condensed all of that pain and anguish into one little word.

Barren.

It took my breath away. I felt a chill ripple from the tip of my skull down to my toes.

And it was over. Over. In that moment, we were over. No going back. No patching it up this time. 

It would have been simpler if you had just hit me with your fist.