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To be reminded everyday that I'm a survivor is difficult. I remember being open with it when I was in elementary school. We were in line coming in from recess and I told my friend who was behind me (loud enough for my crush in front of me to hear) that I had had sex. I guess even back then I was trying to put a positive spin on being sexually assaulted. My openness about it has definitely grown - there was a period in my life where I wouldn't talk about it at all. I still don't internally identify myself as a survivor - it's too painful to admit what happened was rape - but externally I'm all about it. It's almost a bragging right. Oh hey look what I've been through. I know pain. I know suffering because of that. I don't remember the actual event being physically painful. I do know that it taught me that there was something wrong with me. And I've gone my whole life trying to prove to myself that that's right. I really need to go over the notes from the ACCD conference because I think they would absolutely apply. I'm renowned for making promises to myself that I can't keep. I do this often. I do this with people too. It makes sense that I've tried to make myself right all of these years. A 4-year-old doesn't know that the world is capable of such evil, and so I thought that I was the problem. Other four-year-olds did not get rape. Other people my age didn't have that happen to them. What was different about me? What was wrong in me that made those 5 boys want to do that? Even now I don't know. I guess I was just friends with the wrong people. I hope that I have good discretion about who I let my kids play with. I guess there's no idea Mom could have known either. Maybe she didn't think that would happen. I turn it over in my head at least once a day now. I can't avoid thinking about it. It is always there, glaring at me, ready to point out any flaws in myself and use this event as a reason. "Well, I was sexually abused as a child.." "Oh. So that's why you're like that." I've had these conversations in my head many times. I think the scariest part about abuse is that it never leaves you. It is always there in the back of your mind, taunting you and convincing you that you're not good enough for anyone, that you somehow caused it. There are weeks when I think that the sexual abuse is cool - we're cool with that now. And then there are days when I wake up and just want to end it all, because now the problem is my mind. I can't escape my mind when it goes haywire and decides to attach every character flaw to the abuse. I suppose that there is a reason why it happened. I am more self-aware. I know pain. And it is helpful to know that "I am not alone," something I say to victims just about every day. I don't have to suffer on my own. I can talk about it. Most of the time, talking about it serves only to be an excuse for my behavior, a way for people to feel sorry for me. I don't attach it to myself, to my feelings. It is a way for people to excuse me for my failures. It's like a get-out-of-jail-free card. That's the only way I can be open about it. I can detach myself from it readily. I can minimize it quite easily by talking about it. At least then I can get it out and maybe have the other person feel bad for a while. It is hard to sit with all of this. It is hard to dissect a four-year-old brain and realize that I still have part of that brain. It is hard to recognize that there are areas where I seem not to have grown at all. Knowing why I think the way I do isn't helpful. Knowing HOW to change that would be invaluable. My ideas about this change everyday, however. One day I wake up and think that I am lucky to be alive. The next day I wake up not understanding why I was even born. I have no idea if it's normal to feel this way. I'd like to think I'm not the only one who wonders why they're still alive. I kill myself in different ways. I think they have changed as I have come to recognize some as poor coping mechanisms, but the things I am addicted to all serve the same purpose: to allow me to escape. I stay up too late because I think I'm waiting for my brain to change. I'm hoping that all of the junk in this old/young brain would be sucked out and deposited somewhere far away. I have been dealing with it for too long - 23 years. There should be some sort of junk-sucking brain vacuum cleaner. I would buy that for 4 easy payments of $19.95. I was thinking of writing an autobiography. It would be interesting and probably a good healing process. I am beginning to think that this "healing process" takes an entire lifetime. I wish I could forget that it happened. But that would be ignoring 23 years of responsive, survivor thinking. I am constantly in survival mode. I think that is called PTSD. I was gang raped. I suppose that's what it called. Mom couldn't call it rape. She used to say that I was molested. I understand why. "Rape" is a serious word. I think that people have begun to make jokes about it in our culture because they are trying to lessen its power. But it doesn't work. Rape is a powerful tool that's used to control someone. It's selfish. If I could separate the actual act from myself that would be ideal. If I could have not taken it so personally, that would have been great. I think that's why people dissociate. I kind of wish that I had. I wish that I could believe that it wasn't about me. Cat (my new favorite) said something that really struck me tonight. I am who I am. It is not helpful to keep thinking about who I would've been if that hadn't happened to me. It did happen to me. I was gang raped. The prospect of saying that out loud is making me emotional. It takes a lot for people to say that. I am pretty good at controlling people's responses. I can put on my pity voice so that people will feel sad for me. I hate that when therapists do it. I don't feel sad for myself. Too many people have done that. Mom felt guilty and waited on us growing up because of it. That did nothing to help me. I learned that my victimization could be used as a way for people to do things for me. "Oh poor Kristin. She doesn't have a father, and she was gang raped." I hate for people to feel sorry for me. That's why I dissociate it from myself when I tell people. That happened to somebody else in my brain. I was there and I remember it, but I don't connect that to myself when I am vocal about it. I don't want to admit how much it affected me. I want people to see me as strong. "Wow, you have really endured a lot." I have. It's my life. I was not handed easy cards, though I like to pretend that I was. It's so much easier. And I am so good at pretending to be naive. I did lead a pretty sheltered life. I don't think that there's anything wrong with me. I'm just covering all the good. I always do that. I always save the good parts of myself for special occasions. It's like saving a pair of lacy underwear to wear or wearing your favorite perfume only on special occasions. I only let myself come out when it's a special occasion or I think I'm going to get something out of it. I am very good at getting what I want - whether it's a feeling or a friend. I scare myself with this honest talk sometimes. I am capable of being abusive if I want to be, but I think I have too many problems to focus on controlling somebody else. Plus I never in a million years want to be like my father. I am so afraid of being abusive. I try very hard to be accountable for every wrong thing that I do. I need to be accountable for right things I do as well. I am just so used to focusing on the negative, that the idea of switching to positive thinking is mind-blowing. There are some days when I can do it, though usually not about my own life. I can hardly ever put a positive spin on that. I am working on it, though. This is definitely a journey. I feel so glad that I got all of this out. It has been eating away at me for months. There are a lot of things that I am valuable for. It's funny that my jobs are not bringing out any of those things. Maybe I am doing that on purpose. I have always been afraid of seeing what I'm capable of. Maybe I was having a great day when those boys raped me. Maybe I am afraid of that happening again. Maybe I think if I get too happy, I'll get raped. I don't ever want to get too comfortable. I always want the opportunity to escape. I used to tell my brother that he was happy like it was a bad thing. It used to be such a rare occurrence in myself that when I saw it in other people, I felt threatened. It's still a rare occurrence. The wheels are always turning against me in my head.