the rain

you are the madness that splits me in half

wrapped in your arms to burn eternal

a monster you’ve become

infected in the visions of me poisoned

never again to fly… I shall lay dead

inside myself, thrashing in my death throws

the rails against your ear as I die

rain falling, flowing down this window

like your sweat against my skin

I rose that day some living dead

blank stares melted into the rain

your shovel leaning against the house

moving forward as if it ever happened

the smell of rain is deadly

the sound beneath the wheels

the body twitches inside me

nerves awakened

it knows, and yet refuses to tell me

the reason she lies dead

it was something that you said

the voice remains mute in memory

I can feel your breath against my ear

but no sound…no sound

it is too awful to hear.

The painting and poem are about domestic violence and partner rape

“Katherine?”
I nodded.
“Come on in”

I walked into the office and he turned on the white noise machine so no one could hear us then shut the door. For the first time, I was nervous about talking to him and I realized that I wouldn’t tell him what I needed to that day. I didn’t think I would ever be able to tell anyone.

Eventually, I was able to tell my psychologist about it. I told him about how the man I had been in love with, the one I lost my virginity to, raped me three years ago and how I had suppressed my feelings about it for years. I was seventeen when it happened. Occasionally we would park behind a building near my house to have sex because my mom was at home. We parked there one night and had sex for a little while before he decided he wanted to try anal sex. I told him no over and over because I wasn’t comfortable with it but he wouldn’t leave me alone so eventually gave in. We were in a little old sports car and I was on my stomach with the front seat leaned back. A few seconds into it I told him to stop. He told me to “give it a chance” and kept going. So I decided I would to try and make him happy but a few seconds later I decided that I really couldn’t take it and told him to stop again. He said “hold on” and kept going. It hurt so bad. I was crying and I tried to get away. I wiggled up the seat to get away from him. For a moment, I got him out of me but he followed me up the seat and got back in. My head was touching the ceiling of the car and I had no where to move, no way to get away. When he was finished he held me close and tried to comfort me and get me to stop crying before dropping me off at the house. He hugged me and said he was sorry again before driving off.

I cried myself to sleep that night but the next morning I just told myself that he had just made a mistake and it wasn’t that big of a deal. I started making up reasons as to why it didn’t matter and within a day or two I had “forgotten” that it had happened. For years I kept it inside and pretended like it didn’t bother me. There were days it bothered me. A special ed kid came up behind me and put me in a headlock joking around one day at school. I started yelling at him telling him to let me go but he wouldn’t. I was about to elbow him in the ribs when he finally let me go.  I had to run to the bathroom to avoid hurting him and get my heart to slow down. When I got to college, the band had a trip to Disney World. A line for one of the rides was in the dark and crowded. A guy in my group was right behind me and I started freaking out. Not visibly, but my mind was racing. I wanted to run out of the line screaming.

My sophomore year in college I ended up having sex with another man. He was (and is) an amazing person and to this day I don’t think I will ever be able to thank him enough. He was never persistent about sex. If I told him to stop, he would stop with no questions asked. I didn’t tell him about the rape until months after we first had sex and months after I jumped away from him one night out of instinct. I’ll never forget the look he gave me that night. That is what made me want to start talking about it. He looked so concerned. It was then that I realized what the rape had done to me. I felt like I had a disease, I still kind of do. Sometimes I still feel guilt for giving my rapist permission to do it in the first place, but after therapy I am able to change that thought process when I get it.  I was diagnosed with depression (from the rape and from emotional abuse from part of my family). I still have the depression but I don’t see a therapist any more. When I feel depressed I write about it or whatever is bothering me at the time and it helps a lot.  My biggest problem has been the anger and confusion I still feel. Sometimes I get mad at myself for not turning him in and wonder why I didn’t and if he’ll do it to someone else. Then I get mad at him because sometimes I think that things didn’t work out with the other guy because I do still have some problems from it. I haven’t had any problems with having sex since that first night I just still have questions about how the rape affected me and I would ask him what he thought. Not a lot, I only asked questions about it once or twice but I think that just screamed “she has problems” to him. It makes me feel like I have a disease I can’t get rid of. It makes me so angry that I have to deal with this because of someone else doing that to me.

Despite all of that, I still believe that everything happens for a reason. It made me a stronger person and made me realize that I need to follow my instincts and never let any guy push me around. I already had a passion for law enforcement before it happened but the rape just inspired me even more. Even though I can’t change the past, I hope that one day I can make the difference in someone’s life whether it be arresting a rapist or doing paper for burglaries or other crimes.

I’ve decided after thirty years of suppressing my feelings of shame, guilt and being afraid,  that it was time to break the silence of my abuse. I am sharing my story as a healing process for myself, but to give other survivors a hope for recovery.

If I had a chance to go back in time and redo any part of my life, would I?  Or If I only knew back then what I know now would I change any part of my past?  My answer would be no.  Although I would never willingly put myself through the pain and trials again, I wouldn’t change the outcome.  If I wouldn’t have gone through these times, I would have never become the stronger person I am today.  My wounds have healed, but the scars remain as a simple reminder that something good can emerge from painful situations.

I could never have envisioned that my life would be forever changed by various experiences . At the age of nine my parents divorced. A girlfriend of mine, thinking she was being comforting, molested me. This happened on several occasions and deep inside I knew it was wrong. I did not understand the complexity of the issue, so it was easier to stop being friends with her. If we were not friends, than it would stop and go away. I was confused and ashamed, so I told nobody. I wanted to forget, so I buried those feelings deep inside. At this point, I was forced to grow up at the age of nine.

Not only was I sexually abused, I was also emotionally and physically abused by my family members. Because of the abuse, I had low self-esteem, which led to having trouble fitting in at school, and I eventually became rebellious. I began using alcohol to cover up the pain. My life continued to spin out of control, and at one point I had thoughts of suicide, even threatening to kill myself.  I was crying out and thought my actions showed all my pain. But because I was so good at hiding my feelings everyone thought I was fine.

My abuse did not stop, but continued into my adulthood. A month after graduating from high school I attended a party with a friend of mine and was raped.  What was left of my spirit died that night, along with all of my dreams. To make matters worse, when I got home my mom yelled at me because I got back late.  I cried for months afterwards.

At this point I decided that no one cared and that no guy would ever want someone like me. The one thing that made me special was now gone. I felt abandoned by everyone. For the next six years I functioned in the world, but mostly without feeling; merely surviving. I relied only on myself and I trusted no one.

At the age of 23 I married my first husband and soon afterwards he began being abusive. My self-esteem was so low that I stopped caring about myself and others. Now at another low point in my life, I contemplated suicide. But somehow, I dug deep down and found the courage to pick myself up. We tried counseling with no results, so after two years of marriage it ended in divorce.

I decided to try counseling again, this time with a woman who was a Christian.  Not only did she help me see all the things I needed to work on, but most importantly was a great witness to me. For the first time, I saw that I blamed God for letting all these things happen to me. Why would a loving God let these horrible things happen to such a good person?

I knew my built up anger and resentment was from never dealing with all the pain from my experiences.  I went through a period where I wanted vengeance on all the people who had hurt me.  It was their fault and I wanted them to pay for what they had done.

As I grew from my experiences, I decided that it was my choice to be the victim or I could be victorious over my trials.  I finally decided that in order for me to ever be happy I needed to let go and forgive the people who had let me down and hurt me so tremendously.

Forgiving them seemed easy, because I knew they would eventually have to go before God and be judged for their wrongdoings.  But the hardest part was forgiving myself.  I still harbored some self-blame and anger for putting myself in those situations.   But I finally realized that no one has complete control over every circumstance, and that it was not my fault for the other person’s bad behavior.

In the last ten years I have made a lot of progress, but I am far from perfect.  I struggle from time to time remembering my experiences.  As a result, I suffer from depression and anxiety, and it has taken a long time to trust and love again. And though I have dealt with a lot of my pain, the scars remain and are a reminder of the past.  Because of my experiences I find it hard to make friends, as my basic response when someone gets too close to me is to push them away.

I have learned that with God all things are possible.  Without my faith, I would probably not be here today.  I now understand that bad things happen to good people, and it is not as a punishment from God.  I feel that it’s not what happens to you, but how you react and deal with the trials in your life.  You can let them consume you, or you can decide to overcome the adversity.

Writing this has been the hardest thing I have had to do in my life.  I have known for years God has wanted me to use my experiences to inspire others.  Doing this has given me a great amount of healing.

Just recently, God is teaching me that my experience was not just about me.  It was so much bigger than my pain and hurt.  It made me see that I needed to make a stand for all the people who can’t speak out.  I know there are many people out there who need to know that they are not alone and that there is hope for recovery.  My heart hopes that from sharing my experiences I may inspire someone else.  For if I help just one person then everything I’ve been through has not been in vain.

My heart feels such sadness and passion for people who have been affected by such  horrible injustices of the world.  There are a lot of people who have been sexually abused that you may know, but they are so ashamed, powerless, and damaged from the experience that they are unable to share what happened.

In a sense, my healing process has just begun.  I’ve had to look back on my past and see how my experiences have effected me and my relationships.  And I realized that I became  this unlovable person to protect my heart from letting anything hurt me again.

I am also learning what the true meaning of love is.  Now I understand that love isn’t so much a feeling, but a choice.  The perfect example is how God loves us even when we are undeserving of his love.  This means loving other people unconditionally.

Though I’ve made much progress I still have a ways to go in my journey to heal.  I don’t know how long it will take, and I might not ever fully get over the tragic experiences.  My goal is to continue sharing my story giving all the glory to God.  I believe He will give me the strength to stand up and speak for survivors of abuse so they can see there is hope for the future.

This work represents the time when I was raped at 16 by a dirty grown man who pretended to be a friend and benefactor.

One of Many

I Cry…