Brave Enough To Be Bliss

Chapter 1 — Freedom to Remember Chapter Dedication: For all those who have suffered sexual abuse and/or sexual assault.

“The brain is the most complex thing we have yet discovered in our universe.” James D. Watson

The easiest way to introduce this part of my story is by sharing a Facebook post. My niece, as I referred to my longtime friend’s daughter, shared the Humans of New York post you’ll see below and my first reaction when I saw it was, wow, she was so brave doing that since so many people don’t want to discuss or even acknowledge such things happen. Ginger Bliss Facebook Post November 8, 2014: I liked this post...fought back the tears...then decided to share it...then after sitting here for a long time decided to share even more. For 27 years my subconscious kept a memory buried so deeply that I didn't know it had ever happened. That memory, though I didn't even realize it existed, affected everything I did and said and was for all those years. When I was a senior in high school, I was raped but I told no one; not my best friend, my parents, no one. Within months, I was so sad that I wanted to end my life, but I remember being confused at the time because I didn't even understand why. I was just so, so sad and didn't see any hope for the future. Because I could see the anguish my parents felt when they learned of my suicide attempt, I made a conscious decision as a college freshman to learn how to be happy. I read self-help books, the Bible and focused on school and my future career. I vividly remember reading this, "What you are is God's gift to you, what you make of yourself is your gift to God." I decided God wouldn't have made a mistake in giving me life, so I needed to make sure I didn't waste it. Fast forward 27 years...when I woke up after the first "dream," or shall I say nightmare, it was as though the rape had just occurred. I was sobbing unlike at any other time in my life. I stood in the shower for a very long time, just sobbing uncontrollably. Then I pulled myself together, pushed the memory back down far enough so that I could get through the day. Sleep became something I dreaded because I never knew when another piece of that night would surface and make me face the reality, I had avoided for so many years. It hasn't been any easier to face the rape now than it would have been then and I have done a lot of damage to myself and perhaps others through the years as a result of not dealing with it when it happened. All these years, I have felt the shame and guilt and disgust with myself, but I didn't know why. I just knew I didn't feel like a good person. When I began to remember the rape, I felt that it must have been my fault; I must have put myself in an unsafe situation; or I shouldn't have been so naive and trusting. I could intellectually understand it wasn't my fault, but it wasn't how I "felt" inside. I had the good fortune through work of being exposed to the Metropolitan Organization to Counter Sexual Assault (MOCSA). Professionally, I had sponsored the organization on behalf of my employer without ever dreaming they would someday be helping me. In a single post, I am admitting to two of the least readily or easily discussed subjects in our society, rape and suicide. Perhaps it is because I have felt the depths of despair that I can share my story in the hope that it can encourage even one rape survivor or one person contemplating suicide to seek help, because help and healing is truly possible. While I wish with all my heart that no one would ever have to endure a rape or attempt a suicide again in this world, I realize that is unrealistic. So for today, I will simply share my story, share the resources below and attempt to offer hope to another. It occurred to me that by feeling ashamed or embarrassed to admit to these things, I would be perpetuating the societal problem not helping to solve it. So, this is a part of my life story, but it is no longer defining who I am or what my defining story will be. http://www.mocsa.org/ (The second referenced resource is no longer operational.) Humans of New York "It happened back in graduate school. For years, I was constantly questioning whether I'd done something to deserve it. I knew I was drunk, but I chose to walk home at night. I noticed he was following me. I noticed that he followed me into a coffee shop, and I could have stayed in that shop, but I chose to continue home. He pulled me into a car at knifepoint. I didn't tell anyone. Not even the police. I was an actress, so I just sort of thought I could act like it never happened. It was hard for me to continue performing, because when you're raped, you feel like you've been seen in a way that you shouldn't be seen, and the last thing you want to do is be seen anymore. You gain weight. You wear baggy clothes. It took me years of being in a rape support group to even get to the place where I can talk about it. But I'm in a great place now. I just finished self-producing a cabaret show. Not a sparkly one. It's a little dark. Well, dark and sparkly." I still remember sitting at my computer that night feeling like I was supposed to share my experience to help someone else, but not really wanting to. I wasn’t bold enough to tell the whole story like I’m doing in this book, but it was a pretty brave attempt for me at sharing real feelings since that was simply not something I had much experience with. I didn’t re ally know why I did it other than I was inspired by my niece, and I wanted her to know I wasn’t ashamed to talk about it either. I figured if she could share information about the topic of rape at her age, so could I, and there was just that nagging feelin g inside that I was supposed to, and I couldn’t ignore it.

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