Wow.  I am one lucky lady.  Lucky, lucky, lucky.

I have so much to be thankful for.  I suppose it’s the best time of the year for that.

Every relationship in my life has been tested and proven in the past month.   When someone goes through a major trauma people either shy away or step up.  That’s it.  There really is no middle ground.

I was raped.  Plain and simple.  It was not on a damn boat you psycho and all the proper measures were put in place and action was taken so stay the fuck out of my life (you know who you are), it was a month ago and the details are horrid and painful and nobody’s business but my therapists. I’ve come to terms with that.  I’m not angry, I’m not scared (although I do want to list my phobias for you tomorrow.  Turns out there are quite a few and I’m “quirky” but they have nothing to do with this) and I do NOT feel sorry for myself.

What happened was I went through PTSD.  Lucky for me I’m brilliant.  I did everything right.  I Googled trauma and PTSD and saw that every emotion I had was natural.  It sucked and I hated every second of it but it was natural.  Sure I wanted to kill myself but you know what I did?  What I really did?  I went to a hospital.

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You piece of shit pussy bitch motherfucker.

YOU PIECE OF SHIT PUSSY BITCH RAPIST MOTHERFUCKER.

Does a man know what he does to a woman when he takes what he wants from her?  Does he know that even after the minutes to hours of torture a woman is put through the pain continues?  Does he know that injuries sustained cause her to get on loads of medications that make her so sick to her stomach she can’t eat for days and what is eaten is quickly disposed of in one form or another?  How those medications are causing other complications health-wise to a woman who is already ill and suffering?

How a family becomes shaken and friendships tested and performance at work and at home falters because she is just taken back to those horrid moments over and over and although she is told to “ground” herself, she can’t find any ground to stand on?  She is simply outside of this world wanting nothing more than to escape the pain and misery that keeps piling on by any means necessary.

But she isn’t.  She isn’t escaping the pain.  She doesn’t drink.  She doesn’t smoke.  She stays sober and she is feeling every fucking emotion that comes along with such a horrid trauma clinging to the two strings of life that give it any meaning – her children.

She has therapy, AA, friends, family, coworkers – all who say that in time this will pass but she still has to wait for the fucking time to pass!  How much time?  How long?  Days?  Weeks?  Months? People have suffered years from traumas.  She intellectualizes it.  Researches post-traumatic stress disorders and what they mean.  Reaches out for help and finds it and sometimes finds comfort and solace but she is essentially alone because this happened to her and her alone and she can’t face herself in the mirror.  She is ugly, she is full of hate.  She is scared of everything, unable to trust anyone.

She screams, she cries, she sometimes laughs at the absurdity of having to go through life ill needing therapy from traumas past and the pain of infusions monthly and shots weekly and now she has to suffer the image of a man groaning on top of her, having his way as she can’t breathe or get help.  She’s left alone, shaken and furious with herself for being unable to stop him.

I can’t write.  I can’t talk.  I can’t work.  I can’t live.  I can only hate.  I can’t even speak in the first person.  I need “her” to be someone else but she isn’t.  That’s me.  That’s who I am right now.

Help me.

This is what I looked like tonight only it’s a completely different day and place than where that picture was taken.  Ironically enough (not really) it was taken in a bar and I wore that exact outfit again tonight to my one month-aversary of not drinking to my AA meeting.

Here’s the thing – I’m immensely depressed.

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I’m grieving and I was asked to not talk about it so I’m not going to talk about it.  I’m going to talk about me.  I shut my Facebook wall down for a few days because I really didn’t want to talk to anybody and I realized that save for three people, the only way I communicate with the world is through this blog, Facebook and Twitter.   I use Facebook and Twitter for work.  I post funny shit and I really don’t like expressing genuine feeling on there.  Make sense?  I do have one thing I’m going to rant about.

Facebook grieving.

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So Tuesday night at work I had a panic attack.  I have them ALL THE TIME but while I was having it I thought to myself I should write one out so that’s what I’m about to do.  I’d like to thank my buddy Jessalyn for being a rock star by telling me to take a Xanax (I already had) and let her know next time so she can love up on me.

Okay so here it goes.  This is exactly what happened to me Tuesday night.

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