I am a rape survivor.
I am a strong, kick ass woman.
I am worth the pain of feeling my feelings. I am worth the effort of processing my feelings instead of smothering them in gravy or whatever food I put into my bingy mouth.
Brigid save me.
Brigid give me strength to share the feelings so they don’t rot inside of me, clouding my day.
I had a rape dream last night. It is the 2nd vivid rape dream I have endured since beginning recovery.
It really sucks.
You see, I was date raped. At age 16, I chose to go out with a man with a reputation in my small town for assaulting teenage girls. I chose destruction. I was deeply suicidal at the time, my core feeling of unworthiness exhibiting itself in drinking, bulimia and anorexia.
When I introduced him to my controlling, patriarchal father, I expected my father to demand I stay home. To protect me from my own self destructive choice of this evil man. He did not.
So I got in the car, I got drunk. I was willing until the final moment. Then my, “No” was completely ineffectual. My spirit fled in the moment, so thankfully I don’t remember much of the actual rape. I disassociated and swam in a sea of numb oblivion.
As I begin to truly talk about the rape and process the feelings, I begin to heal.
But IT SUCKS. It really fucking sucks. Plus the dreams. The terrible, tortuous dreams.
Both dreams are incredibly vivid. I don’t dream as much as I did in my 20s, but when I do, the dreams are realistic.
I was grabbed by both the men in the separate dreams. In the first dream, the man’s arms were elastic, stretching with me every time I attempted escape. I was helpless. I was powerless. I was a victim. I awoke with a dead heart, sorrowing for my virginity lost so long ago in the date rape. Sorrowing for my innocence. Sorrowing for my choice to go out with the bastard.
The dream I had last night was similar. Once again, I couldn’t escape. He stalked me, coming at me unexpectedly out of the darkness to grab and assault me. Once more, I awoke with a dead heart. Sorrowing for my choice to go out with the bastard who raped me. The bastard who raped teenage girls before me and after me. Sorrowing for the teenage girl who was so self hating she swallowed a bottle of Tylenol PM after the rape instead of reporting it. Sorrowing for the teenage girl who followed the rape with years of promiscuity for my self worth was completely destroyed. My sexual gifts were corrupted and blackened.
As I write this blog, furiously, with pain echoing in my heart, I realize strength from Brigid flows through me. She grants me the courage to share, to vent, to tell my fucking story and oddly feel no shame for it.
Yes, I made the choice to date him. I made the choice to get drunk. I made the choice to make out. Then I said, “No.” His rapist disregard for my choice took from me so many things: virginity, the sole spark of self worth I held and God. God disappeared from me the moment the bastard raped me.
For what God would allow that to happen?
What God would allow his daughter to be made so wrong? To be made with the rot of depression? To be made ripe for a rapist to destroy?
It is with wonder that I also realize I am sorrowing my teenage loss of faith.
It is with wonder that I am grateful and humbled for Brigid’s power of healing and inspiration. She fuels me with the fire of creativity, the burn of self expression, the solace of self care and prayer.
Safe inside my head with Brigid, I focus on my rainbow water self. For “We Are all Rainbow Water”. The rainbow water is a sacrament for my tortured self. It heals me.
I am different from that depressed 16 year old child. No longer would I willingly walk into self destruction. No longer would I attempt suicide. No longer do I engage in self injury. No longer do I blindly feed my addictions to assuage my feelings.
I fucking fight now. I fight the bipolar II nature of my brain. I am equipped with a team that support my efforts in the ring. Psychiatrists, psychologists, a sponsor, the fellowship, program, friends and family and most of all: Brigid. The saint and goddess of healing, inspiration and metalworking emboldens my warrior spirit.
I fight for myself now. Because I am WORTH it. I am a daughter of Brigid. I am human just like everyone else. These gifts cannot be taken from me. Even when I do not recognize my worth, it is there waiting for me to see it.
Thank you, Brigid.