The memories never leave.  Yes, they fade--the visual images blur, go together and become faded where they were once vivid.  But if I keep my eyes always occupied, I'm ok.  The sense of touch comes back from time to time, but if I studiously avoid all contact, I'm ok.   The oddest part is smell--I hate certain laundry detergent to this day.  But if I only buy a certain brand, I'm ok.  But the emotions, the feelings, my subconcious are there all too vivid.  There to stay, when I can only hope that one day they will leave forever.

It's something akin to being in prision and let out from jail where you've been ordered to do certain things, eat a certain way, go certain places at certain times and be certain places at certain times.  When your comings and goings have been monitered and so has your diet and sleep.  What you look like has been commented on and it's been made clear to you that you are nothing more than someone's charge and that you're incapable of taking care of yourself.  That is the worst.  Though it is not as traumatic or horrible as an actual prision and locational confinment, it is just as traumatic to the soul.  These things are awful because it is one of the ways he controled me.  At first masked by kindness and concern and in the end merely a way to control when he wanted me and when he didn't.

So when anyone suggests to alter or do anything with any of those things in my life I freak, become closed, become in a shell again.  It's irrational, but of course I know that.  But in order to get back to rational one msut go through the semi-irrational dream state.  Because that's when you're just coping to survive.

I now shudder at human touch.  I wonder why it took so long for that to set in, but it finally did.  I honestly thought I had escaped that horrid affect of sexual abuse.  At the same time you desperately want comfort you run from it, afraid to trigger a panic attack or painful memories.  It's late for it to set in but I think it comes with reawakening from this dream state.  It also doesn't help that those closest to me see this as compassionate love, and I don't know how to tell them otherwise.  That touch for me is now like piercing my nerves with red hot irons.  And I don't want to hurt them.

I hope and pray that the subconcious feelings will go away.  Maybe then I can truly start over, start again, without leaving all of my old life behind.  But if it also doesn't go away, I feel find a way to make a new life for myself, merged with the old one, that enables me to move on.  Of this, I am sure.  Trusting in God, my Savior, I know I will go on, no matter how hard it is. 

The Hijab

It's been three months since I've consistently worn the hijab.  Five and a half months since I was raped.  A month and a half since I've worn the hijab at all.  Three months since I've known for sure I wasn't pregnant.  Two months since I've felt all the coping mechanisms were gone.  And two weeks since I've felt they're coming back.  These days I measure everything--it's one of those coping mechanisms you don't realize you have until you've been doing it a long, long time.  The more time passes, the more I think I'm immune to what happened to me. 

But as I put my trauma behind me and start to re-discover emotion, I realize what the last months of trauma have done to me.  It's like I'm waking up after being asleep for a very long time.  My relationships are broken, neglected for months as I was controlled, and hiding.  People are confused at who I've become, who I was and now who I am.  It's slow work to rebuild these relationships.  Some I know are lost to me forever.

The reconnection is painful and hard yet comforting.  These people are a link to the better, normal days of my past.  Yet it feels like I can never be who I used to be before this.  It feels like I can't live up to their expectations of who Brisa used to be.  But these are the few people--those who stood with me through all of it--so I must fight every day not to shut down to them.

So I slip a little.  I dress different. Desperately want some semblance of normality.  I fight the checking mechanisms, fight the counting, fight the sorting.

Rubbing the necklace was a quick fix.  It doesn't fight the overwhelming tension inside of me anymore.  So it's little things at first.  Eating less.  Picking off nail polish.  And I'm thinking about putting on the hijab again.  But almost like an addict in whatever anonymous, my 45 days without the image is the most tangible sign of recovery I have.  The most tangible marker. So here's to hoping that I take one day at a time, here's to hoping I don't wear the hijab again out of fear, and here's to hoping--that I won't put it on tomorrow. 

Some days I don't even understand how or why anyone loves me anymore.  With all the trauma I have changed so much from who I used to be.  A carefree girl, dancing through life with ambitions and compassion and love for everyone around me.  I was innocent, naive, enjoying life because everything was sunshine and flowers.

But I think that these feelings stem from the fact that it has been difficult for me to love.  Of course I still love those closest to me.  But, inside me it is hard to give when I feel numb and empty.  When I feel like so much has been taken from me that there is nothing left.

I think that time can only fill this back up--this empty hole inside of me.  I am confident that eventually this will happen, it God's time.  But it shows how significant a role love plays in each and every one of our lives.

It is what goes hand in hand with trust and respect and honor.  It's these things that make a true relationship.  He always said I love you.  Way before I was ready to say it back he kept saying it over and over again.  Even when I told him that I wasn't ready for that, it was too soon, I didn't want to say it back he kept saying it all the time, wearing me down, saying he couldn't understand why I couldn't say it back. I told him it made me uncomfortable.  But eventually I said it, to make him happy.  It was backwards--he charmed me into saying this, making me trust and respect him because of his false words.

That horrible night though he said very, very different words.  Words that were horrible and the very opposite of love.  After that he never told me again that he loved me.  He wouldn't say goodnight to me and wouldn't ever treat me well again.

I've learned one thing--trust and respect must come before love.  Because without those two things there is no foundation.  Emotions are funny things.  Right now mine might be based on months-old feelings and logic.  But deep inside I still really know who loves me, I still love them, and I take comfort in this without question.

Sunglasses and a hijab.  It's funny how something that's seen as a sign of oppression in the Middle East is a degree of freedom for me in the US.  To the casual observer I become Brisa--not the person I really am.  Which is ok, because sometimes we all need an anonymous place to go where we can share our true thoughts and feelings without free of emotionally hurting our loved ones or damaging ourselves by sharing too much of what happened to us.  Because oversharing oddly hurts just as much as undersharing.

The shame that comes with being raped is unique to the crime.  I know it is not my fault in any way that this happened to me.  But it is the shame of the crime that keeps me silent and hidden under an alias.

I never wanted to get married early in my life.  I am a career-driven, ambitious woman who doesn't mind being single and independent.  But lately I've had this deep, odd desire to be married.

I think deep inside me I feel that marriage and having consensual sex will somehow erase my shame.
The other day I had a dream that I married someone.  Now.  That day.  At school.  It was the oddest thing.  I have had a thing for that person, I'll admit that, but it wasn't someone I'd ever consider marrying.  But I think it was the fact that my subconscious was alert to one thing--that deep inside I wanted marriage to somehow protect me and cover me from any accusations of "slut" or other words that will be thrown at me in a court or in an investigation.

It scares me how much this assault has affected me.  Physically I can handle it but emotionally I wonder how much is me just maturing and healthily responding to trauma, and how much this is doing to me and affecting me in a way I never wanted to be affected.

But slowly, one day at a time, I sort through everything and figure out who I am--now.  I don't know exactly who I am right now, but I know that I am innocent, guiltless, free, and strong.

It's funny what emotions start coming back first.  You think it would be the primal ones--anger, fear, pleasure.  But it's not.  Instead guilt, sorrow, loss.  Interspersed by euphoria that's horribly because you can't figure out why you'd be happy in life.  Is being happy pushing the pain down and trying to disassociate you wonder?  Or is it just trying to keep on living?

I'd have to say that it's just how I keep trying to live.  In an odd chain of events once I accepted this--accepted it was ok to feel again and decided to face the pain, no matter how hard it was.  Then the instinctive emotions kicked back in, things I was so afraid to express--fear, anger, sadness.  It's almost a relief to start feeling a little angry--because all of my friends were--and I wasn't--and I couldn't figure out why.  But that's what happens when we accept our true emotions.  Things get scary.

I attended a panel the other day on title IX investigations.  There were old professors and a few law students.  The saddest was to see the three young girls there--including me--who were undergraduates.  They asked questions about what to do about their own cases and investigations--because we want to do everything we can to keep ourselves safe.

I've given up on getting justice.  Justice is in God's hands.  I don't think I have the strength to see him ever again.  I cannot see the man who tried to control and ruin my life.   But I will do everything in my legal power to keep myself safe, even if it means facing him at trial.

Rape--especially rape when the assailant is known to the survivor--is not like physical assault.  Someone has shamed you, hurt the most private, intimate part of you.  Assault is about fury and anger.  Rape is about emotional abuse, making the victim feel powerless, dishonored, and used.  Taking something away from someone.

So no, I don't feel bad that I feel so scared to take the stand.  But I can and will stay safe and will fight against any retaliation that I face.

I am beautiful.  Inside and out.  Someone told me that the other day, and to be honest, I started crying.  It's the strangest thing and makes little sense even to me, but I didn't feel beautiful anymore.  I felt ruined, tired, hurt.

But I am beautiful.  I'm by no means perfect, but people like me.  I'm not the type that needs everyone to like me, but after something like this, it means all the world to feel beautiful and loved.

Maybe the way to get over the pain is to feel what others are feeling.  I don't know.  But I didn't know that something so simple could be so healing.  Who would have thought? It's just a word after all.

But words in our society mean so much.  I was called things that I can't type here.  Those words that were told me will be forever engraved in my mind, locked away in a deep space where I pray one day they will not play over and over in my head.  But I've also been called words that have warmed my heart, pushed the hurtful words a little deeper.

Healing comes from the most unexpected things.  I've found it in things I've always taken comfort in.  I've found it in pounding the sidewalk way too much then is good for my ankle.  I've found it in the people around me, in things I've read.  And I've found healing and peace in God.  Because when it gets tough I need to remind myself that HE is in charge.  HE holds me in the cradle of His hand, under His wings, protected and safe.

And when the going was the hardest, He carried me.  His Word comforted me.  And when I was hurting to badly to be able to form words to pray, I know the Holy Spirit interceded for me as I sat helpless at God's feet.

I don't know what I would do without my Savior.  Though this is horrible and I wish so much I didn't have to face what I've had to face, He is there comforting me.  Giving me healing in the odd places.  And telling me I am made in His image and am beautiful.

And His voice gently whispers to me along the wind telling me to go in peace, because I am His.

"So wake me up when it's all over.  When I'm wiser and I'm older...all this time I was finding myself and I didn't know I was lost."

I never thought that it was possible to feel so much pain and yet be so numb.  So much pain that it's almost what makes you numb.  I'm sorry, I keep saying, I can't tell you what I feel, how I feel about different people, what seems like the best option because--I can't get past the pain.

The pain isn't going away because I'm not facing it.  I ignore it, act happy and bubbly on the surface.  Everyone says you seem "too okay".  Until I say that I can barely attach emotionally to anyone.  Yes, there are people I trust--but because I know it is the logical thing to trust them.

Some days I feel like a robot trying to push all the pain away so I can keep running.  Running from the troubles, just dealing with it when I have to legally.  But I think I'm starting to become ready to face it.

Face that I was physically hurt.  Beat up by someone I loved.  Face that someone had no concern for me, that I was just his object and his to do with what he pleased.  My brain can't wrap around the fact that someone thinks that way.

Face that I was emotionally abused.  That I was disregarded in front of his friends.  That he didn't respect my parents.  That he called me clingy, fragile, weak--and told my friends that.

Face that it's ok that I'm shocked that this happened to me.  That I feel broken, used, tortured inside.  Face that it's ok I'm not the girl I was a year ago.  Start believing that I'm not a mess or fragile or weak.  Because I got out.  I reported it.  I'm protecting myself.  Start believing that I am God's child, created in His own image and made to do something great. Because God has plans for me.  Plans to build me up.  Plans that won't harm me.  Plans that are perfect for me, so I can serve Him with everything.

Because maybe facing the pain will be part of that plan.  God didn't bring this evil into my life, but I truly believe that He can turn the evilest and darkest moments into good use.

And if I face the pain, I can love again.  I can recognize when people love me.  I can start responding to others emotions again.  But most of all--I want to wake up one day, realize this is over, and love again.

Today someone asked me out.  I freaked.  Considering that it was my very best friend's ex-boyfriend as well as a very good friend's brother--the answer was obviously no.

My friends were there when I was asked, and they all had a different opinion on why I should refuse.  The fact that my life was even normal, that I was getting asked out was a shock.

I'm not ready to be in a relationship.  I could say I just got out of one and that's why.  But someone asking one out on a date--well that's not a relationship.  How does one explain that the one reason that I don't want to go out with anyone is that I can't trust.  I can barely be involved with a guy and most certainly not on an emotional level.

But you can't explain to every guy that flirts with you or asks you out that oh, you just got out of an abusive relationship and you were raped.

So I said I was tired.  Didn't want to go out that night.  That I wanted to sleep.

I know I don't owe anyone the truth, but it's pretty awful to have to make up lies and hope that they hold firm.

Cause I'm holding firm.  The wind may be trying to knock me over but I'll just ride it.  As best I can.

Block after block flies by.  My brain is a pile of mush--taken over by anxiety and sleep deprivation.  I'm running fast trying to pound my troubles in the pavement, as if somehow they will travel out through my feet and stay left behind on the cobblestones.  I feel like oobleck, the force of my feet pounding is the only thing that's making me a solid and not a puddle of tears.

I wonder how many more times I'll need to stay up till 3am writing legal briefs, now crafting a case against this or that, then writing support and testimony so I have to avoid being interrogated one more time.  I wonder when I can choose to be up till 3am again instead of having that chosen for me.

Everything in me tries to hold my emotional self together but it's not working.  If I don't let it out, then it comes out physically--the headache that's persistent, the shaking hands as I try to complete procedures in lab while waiting for results from meetings I cannot be present at--because after all I have class--after all I am a student.

The tears that come when I realize a long term flirtation has come to an end are almost a relief.  They're normal; something that I've felt before, that my friends have felt before.  I can't say I'm sad that it ended, to be honest.  It's, like so many of other things, something that's not in my script for life.  But the difference is that I've decided on this script--it's my choice.  Now no one will see the scar, there won't be any covering it up every day.  There's no more pressure trying not to fall for someone or trying to figure out why I'm not falling for this person.  But if there's one thing I've learned, emotions don't come single.  Or double.  They come in droves and it's ok to be confused about any or all of them.

I have to emote.  It's necessary.  It's helpful.  It's normal.  And I'm starting to learn that too.

You would think that the thing that pains me most was my rape.  Those minutes where I was made helpless and hurt, body and soul.  I thought it was those that would stick with me forever.  The incident that caused me for several weeks to involuntarily rub my wrists together to try to forget the feeling of my wrists being pinned down--it's a trick my therapist taught me in dealing with post traumatic symptoms.

But no.  The rape doesn't hurt the most.  It's how it has affect my future, from big to small.  There's the friends who say I should start dating again soon, those who say I shouldn't date for another semester, those who question old crushes that are coming back.

It's affected how I deal with the deluge of emotions that are coming back all at once.  I was numb for so long but now I feel everything at once: anger, fear, annoyance, joy, sadness, freedom, hope, despair.  Sometimes it feels as if my skin will burst, other times a quiet peace takes over me.

It's affected my relationships.  I don't know how to explain to my male friends that this happened to me, and i'm not ok, but at the same time I am oddly--ok.  Everything I say, do, write I must make sure will not be used against me.  Cause no matter how many times someone tells me it's the 21st century, I know someone can still call me a slut in a court case.

It's affected how I think of myself.  Sometimes I wonder...am I a slut?...did I do something wrong?...was it because I decided to be alone with him?...was I being a tease?  None of these questions should even be in my head.  I know what happened, I know I am innocent, I know I am a good, respectful girl.  But that doesn't matter.  I live in a culture where it is totally appropriate and the norm for one to ask oneself these questions--and also to have others ask them of you.

Except for my scars, I am physically well.  I am one of the lucky ones--I suffered no permanent physical damage, to my knowledge.  But my psyche has taken a bad beating, one it may take a while to recover from.

This is part of my story.  I will float on whatever breeze it keeps sending my way.  But I will not let things within my control be controlled by it.

My life has always been fragmented, separated into many pieces that are each distinct and do not invade each other--that is the ultimate sin.  There is home life and school life and social life and each of these are fragmented in many pieces.  No one knows all aspects of these groups.  The only thing that I allow to permeate through all groups is my faith.  Privacy is worth something to me, but how I do it depends--I believe sharing my story gives strength but my anonymity is important.

But my assault has permeated everything.  Some days when I walk down the street I feel that I'm labeled on my forehead--victim written in red letters.  Like I wear an embroidered scarlet V on my chest.  Telling my story didn't remain my choice--countless administrators and officials, his friends, my fellow students.  Sometimes, my only hope was to preemptively tell my friends--before he or his friends did.

I remember the day someone assumed that I had never been through trauma.  You think I'd be offended by the fact that someone would assume that my life was all rose petals and rainbows.  Instead I was grateful--it made me feel that maybe after all I had a shred of privacy left.

Privacy in rape victims doesn't mean them shutting down and never telling their story.  It means allowing them to truly have control of the process of telling their story.  When, where, and how they open up remains up to them.  It may not be the timing that someone wants, it may not be when or where that someone wants.  But it is the survivor's trauma, their own to decide, share, and explore.

Assault doesn't stay contained no matter how much we want it to.  But others can help by allowing it to be the victim's survivor's choice on how and who they tell.  First amendment rights are important, but isn't human decency more important?

I am Brisa.  I am a university student.  I am a young woman.  I have friends who I care deeply about.  I have family I love very much.  I believe in a God who loves me, cares for me, and has saved me.  

I appear to be a typical girl.  I am organized, a good student, and a creative researcher.  I have a supportive family and have been given every chance at life. 

But under the surface there is pain.  I'm not perfect.  I'm not whole.  

I was raped.  I was in an abusive relationship that last four months and that resulted in a rape.  Nothing in me was prepared for this, nothing in me wanted this, nothing in this was my fault.  I am blameless, innocent, broken, but slowly trying to put myself back together.  

This experience is not what defines me as a human being.  It is not what defines me as a woman.  It is not what defines any part of me, from all of me to the tiniest cell.  It does not define my sexuality or how I decide when and how to use it.  I am more than this, bigger than this.  It is merely a gust of wind that has swept me off my feet for a moment.  I will get back up.  The gentle breeze will come again and bring good things--it's all ready starting to.  

This has become part of my story.  It may not be of my choosing, but if there's one thing I've learned--it's if the wind blows, ride it.  

So this blog is dedicated to me learning to ride the wind--when it gusts and when it's just a breeze.