Yesterday while sitting on the train from Vancouver to Surrey, I received a letter, it was dropped in my lap in such a forceful way that it was obvious and hard to ignore….I warn you this letter might trigger some people.
I was raped. I am just realizing this as I am sitting on the train, staring at the Loud Mouth Brown Girl herself, I am not brown, not that it matters, what matters is that I was raped, and it’s someone I can’t write about and cannot talk about
Everyone I have spoken to about it says that I should get help, that I should go to the police, but what if I am not ready to blow up my life like you did? what if I don’t want to talk about it? What if I just want someone to hold me while I cry?
What do I do to get past this soul crushing realization?
An anonymous sister
OKAY SO technically speaking this was not a physical letter – it was a thought, it was me sitting on the train, and me hearing that tiny whisper that says “I was raped” but if I had gotten a physical letter this is what it might say and here’s my response.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT DRIVE BY FEELING OF SOMEONE SCREAMING THOSE WORDS INTO MY SOUL?”
Yeah that is exactly what it feels like to be a fucking Empath and it sucks and all I can say is that I sat on that train and I felt your pain whoever you are.
I know that I personally have been raped, but I also know this letter isn’t about me – it’s important I say that, because I went to the police and I did blow up my life and as you know if you know me, which you clearly do, it meant my friends and I had to tell a well woven pile of bullshit until the truth could come out. We did that using this website, blamed ourselves while protecting the guilty until the police could find the proof they needed to arrest the real guilty parties. I do not recommend it. It was dangerous and stupid and it could have gotten me killed. Literally.
That is the worst case scenario, and I lived it so unless you have to worry about a bunch of gangsters waiting for permission to beat the crap out of you I think you’re good that’s the first bit of news.
The second bit of news, is that the crushing disappointment you’re going to feel when there isn’t anyone to hug you in the middle of the night when the nightmares come, is just part of the process.
Because at this point you don’t really want someone to hug you, because now you’re afraid they might abuse you too, it’s too late, to retrain your brain to believe that not every man is an abuser, because in the world of Me too, every person is capable of being an abuser.
I am sorry to tell you this sister, but knowing you’ve been raped and going to the police won’t make it better, I know this for a fact, the only thing that makes it better is taking time to remind yourself who you are, and what you are capable of. Something even I, Siddha Lee, often feel is impossible.
Often I am reminded of that moment in Sex and the City when Carey asks if anything is ever going to be funny again. That’s what it feels like when you realized your world has been shattered, is anything ever going to feel right again?
No, because now you have to find a new normal, now you have to find a new, “right”, and everything you thought you knew is going to change, and yes there will be laughter, good men and good women in your life, and yes you are going to heal and yes it is going to hurt and the depression is going to make you wish you were dead, and you are NOT going to give up, because you aren’t allowed because someone out there is going to send YOU a letter one day, and then you’re going to have to pass on your experience, so that it makes it easier for them.
When it comes to the blowing up your life and choosing to call the police, the worst that might happen is that people might find out, and then you have to prove that what you say is true, by letting others decide how you are supposed to behave, or you can say fuck it, accept that it happened and fight back.
I would say call the police I would suggest you should reach out and get a counselor, and sometimes you have to work at finding someone whose vibe matches your vibe, and that might take awhile.
I’ve been doing a lot of art therapy at home, painting, and writing letters to hand out at pride, that kind of thing. Less about promoting the site and more about giving my mind something to focus on so that my every waking thought isn’t about the innocent men who are in jail while the guilty men in my life continue to play rapists vs cops.
Don’t think about it as not thinking about it, think about it as taking time to re-wire your brain, by creating something beautiful out of something dark. It doesn’t have to be perfect and you don’t have to share it, but you do have to learn that your body is yours again and eventually that might include meditation, and eventually sex.
Rape is the thing that forces us into this place of believing that our bodies are no longer ours, that violation is so deeply painful that we have to remind ourselves that no one has the right to touch us, unless we want to be touched, except for us as the individual. When that boundary is crossed it unsettles everything we think we knew about ourselves and so I encourage you to find your inner peace however possible. If you need to hold it in do so, just remember that there are people who want to help you when you’re ready, and in allowing them to help, you have every right to say “this is what I need this is what I don’t” and you have every right to expect that these new boundaries you have every right to create for yourself are protected.
There is power in the violation if you are willing to look for it, if you are willing to take the time to face the demon and tell it to fuck off, because what’s left over after rape is in every possible way demonic and dark and nasty and it doesn’t belong in your life.
Your body is yours, and the power that has just been awakened in you is scary and new, but remember, you are alive. You breath, you have your home, you have your job, you do have friends, and you have us, the sisters of Bachante. You are not alone. This happens to millions of women every day and we survive and we turn our pain into something that helps others, and the cycle continues and we are fucking super heros.
I don’t know if any of this helped, but whoever you are, please know I felt your pain in reading your letter, and I know the path you are about to take and you are not alone. I love you, and I am forever grateful that you chose to share your pain with what amounts to a total stranger.
We are strangers no more, welcome to the family,
Siddha Lee Saint James