Invincible.

I learned a really hard lesson recently. 

A few nights ago I was part of a conversation that shattered my sense of reality. See, I have spent years working towards the confidence, personality, and general outlook that I enjoy on a daily basis. I practiced every day until I had convinced myself that I had finally done it. I had finally recovered from enough falls, made it close enough to rock bottom, and been thrown through the ringer enough times to finally be invincible. This may sound silly to you, but hear me out. 

When you've experienced the darkest side of people, it becomes easier to see the good in them. When you've been hurt to the deepest level, it seems impossible to have someone do it again. When you've looked around and found that the only ally you had was you, it's surprisingly easy to love yourself. I felt like I had gotten there. I thought I had climbed the mountain and achieved this sort of untouchable state. I thought I had the strength and the courage and the love I needed to heal myself from anything. I thought I could maneuver my relationships without sacrifice or pain. I thought risks had finally become the choice between an epic story or a memorable lesson. I had foolishly trusted in myself so completely that I reverted back to my rookie mistakes. 

I had honestly forgotten that the people you let in have the most power over you. The closer you hold them to your heart, the easier it is for them to reach out and crush it. I was living blissfully unaware of the fact that all of this incredible healing love I was giving out was giving people access to the most tender parts of myself. I had foolishly forgotten to save a piece of myself. So the other night, in a moment of raw emotion, somebody confided in me. Somebody came to me with advice about something that was making their heart ache. They laid themselves out on the table and asked me to stitch them up. This has happened before, and I have always done my best in the past. This time though, every word cut me like a knife. Each syllable fell like acid rain from the sky and I swear I have never felt pain like it. For the first time ever, I regretted being that shoulder. I wished I could take back every offer for consolation because I was so hurt, so torn, so completely raw, that I struggled and faltered. I removed myself as much from the situation as I could and tried to patch together some helpful advice. I fought to see from their perspective and gave them every ounce I could muster. Then insult was added to injury when I was accused of making it about me and making my friend feel guilty. I wasn't sure what hurt more: the emotional pain of the confession or the fact that I had completely failed my friend. 

I am honestly still a little dazed from it all. My reaction to the whole thing was to immediately throw up a wall. I suddenly did not want this person to touch me, to love me, to speak to me. This person is so near and dear to me, I wanted to uproot them and back them up. I needed them to forget all my vulnerable moments and all my weaknesses because they no longer deserved those things. There is a thick air between us and I feel like I am at war with myself. 

This one interaction has me re-evaluating so many things. I could never turn away my friend when they are in distress. How can I properly care for them when their issues affects us both? In what way can I extract myself from the situation to provide more clear and concise help? Am I being naive by being completely open and honest with those I love most? Maybe I can prevent this in the future by not letting people in so closely. How will this event affect our relationship? I've already felt a bit of tension, insecurity, and fear bloom between us. Things I would have never batted an eye at are gnawing at me. The pure love and comfort we used to share seems tainted and I don't know how to come back from it. Should I approach this person about my feelings, and if so when and how?

Needless to say, I am taking a lot of time to reflect. I have been a bubbling mess of emotions and am a little concerned about how I am going to handle it all. You may know how much I enjoy my day-to-day lifestyle of blessings, fresh air, simple pleasures, and general pleasantry. I want to rush right through the healing process so I can get back to that, but I know better. I may be going back and forth on this for quite some time, but I will try to stay true to myself in the mean time. I will keep my eyes peeled for all the little things that make me smile and try to keep in mind that I can be healing without having to surround myself with endless pain. I am so thankful to have a place where I can jot down all my thoughts and feelings. 

Part of why I wanted to share this is because I think it's a very human thing. I believe many of us work very hard to change a character flaw or to open up ourselves in new ways and it's scary. I know I am not the first person to feel this sort of set-back. It feels so stupid to me, and sort of juvenile. But the truth is that it happens, and I assume it is very common. It isn't always easy being the kind of person who rushes in with love. It isn't always fun trying to bear some of your friend's problems. There's a lot of times when you get a little stung, a little burnt, or a little charred, but it's the healing that matters. I think almost always it's the healing that matters most. 

Learning

I sat through my first Rape Crisis training the other day and I learned an awful lot about myself as a result.


I learned that as a survivor I am a much larger risk of developing alcoholism or a dependence on drugs. My past rape makes me even more likely to be raped again before I die. These statistics don't change as I get older. I'm not going to finally ease into old age knowing that now I'm done. Knowing I am safe from all these nasty things that are chasing me around. I already felt I was at a predisposition for alcoholism and drug addiction because of my family history.

I learned that my biggest secret in life is actually one of the number one indicators that a child has suffered from sexual abuse. The guilt and the shame and the horror I internalized was over something that wasn't my fault. The worst thing I have done in my life is because my brain was still traumatized 4 years later.

I read that "not showing outward signs of trauma" was common in cases like mine because children are so damn resilient. They said that when you go into the hospital and a child is getting a rape kit done, they will not act like someone who was sexually assaulted in the last 72 hours. They will want to draw and talk and watch TV. They will tell you about your pretty hair and their best friend and how much they hate the color yellow. They are children and they will be children. I always felt a little weird that I didn't have blatant signs showing. I almost felt guilty that no one knew because my body wouldn't even give it away for me when my mouth failed.

But as we went through class, I learned all about the outwards signs. I learned that when I was 6 and I was more than curious about my body, that was normal. When I would be mean to the cat or the dog and then immediately cry and beg it for forgiveness, that was normal. When I was terrified of my doctors and my dentists and my teachers, that was normal. It may have been 2 or 3 years later, but the symptoms came out slowly and quietly.

When I hit adolescence and I spiraled into mental illness, part of it may have really been delayed responses to the trauma. Yes, I believe I have depression and occasionally still suffer from its effects. I also, undeniably, suffer from social anxiety. It is what it is folks, but I don't think every diagnosis was right. I clearly remember that the first time I harmed myself, it was because I felt out of control. Life had gotten too big and too scary and I felt like I was caught up in the tide. This obsession with control festered though, and eventually they told me I had OCD. I controlled everything I thought I had the power over. Things had to be the size, the color, and the pattern I wanted. They had to be just right because nothing was right. I had to make everything be the way it should be. But these behaviors picked up right along with my flashbacks. These feelings got worse and worse the more I had to dig through my past in therapy. I uncovered a lot of things I wasn't aware of. I had to re-live everything I had buried for 10 years.

Wouldn't you know that a strong desire for control is a very common trait for rape survivors. Rape is all about power, control, submission. The number one thing that they suggest is to give the survivor her/his power back. Let them choose everything. Something as simple as picking what snack they want in the waiting room or if they want one pillow or two can instantly help. Is it really so surprising that I developed this same obsession as I endured therapy twice a week? It makes more sense when you realize that I no longer struggle with this. I am particular, sure, but I think my preferences are more based on my anxiety and less an indication of their own illness.

In training they told me that 46% of hospital calls in our area are for minors. I thought my heart would burst from the pain I felt when I heard that. I thought I would be ill thinking that under the right circumstances, that could be me in that hospital room waiting for crayons and a hug. Then I thought I would lose it when they spoke about a man with a passion for cold cases. They told me about a woman who got to prosecute her rapist after twenty years. That man is serving life in prison and I thought I would break down in tears right in the middle of the room. I had never heard something so beautiful. I know that will never be my story, but I can relate so deeply to how she must have felt. I can almost see the look on her face when she finally knew he was locked up and she was safe.

I went into the center to help others, but those 9 hours helped me more than I could have ever expected. I don't think I have ever felt so normal. I don't think I have ever heard someone say that my outbursts or my nightmares or my triggers were okay. No one has told me that the way I react is okay. That my pain is coming through in all these channels that are so totally normal. That any way you heal from trauma is the right way. When I heard these things, whether they were directed at me or at this made-up survivor, I heard them and I felt them and God, did it feel good.