Silence

My insides were on fire. The words came up out of my gut like rusty nails, past my throat, across my dry tongue, and into the silence. When I stopped talking, he looked at me wide eyed. Nothing. There was a staleness in the room, an empty bubble between him and I. I surprised myself with how calm I kept my outward composure. He continued to stare at me with an unsettled gaze. In the midst of the silence, I realized that it was true. For the very first time, I began living my story. Rape is different than most other kinds of traumas. It happens to your body and your brain. It's damaging, yes. But even more so, it's mortifying. Self-blame. How could I let this happen? Where were my morals? How was I naive enough to enter the situation in the first place? These are questions I've asked myself for the past five years. Objectification. No other part of me, not my brain, my kindness, my sense of humor, my toughness, or my strength mattered. In that moment, I was an object. Damage. Was I now damaged goods? How could anyone ever love me? Trying to explain the effects of rape to someone who has never gone through it is nearly impossible. It just doesn't make sense. For three years after it happened, I didn't cry. I didn't break down like one would expect a rape victim to do. In fact, I didn't think about being raped at all, and that was the biggest problem. I distanced myself from everyone who has ever cared about me. I stopped caring about my body, my brain, my wellbeing, and I put myself through hell to redeem my worth. I stopped at nothing to be the best at everything. It was the one night, laying in bed to my boyfriend when he told me that he loved me in the kindest and most genuine way anyone's ever told me anything. I love you. And it cracked me. I thought for sure he would change his mind after I told him. I thought he would run. But instead he stayed, silently searching for words to say. The last year and a half has not been without its hurdles, depression, anxiety, wishing and hoping and praying that one day it would just be okay, that I would come to terms and survive it. I'm still surviving it everyday. Because it wasn't just those 20 minutes of torture that destructed my entire world, but the five years since that I continually fight back the urge to stop feeling, stop sharing, stop being the person I was born to be. The truth is, there will always be a before, a during, and an after. In that moment he took a lot away from me, but there are somethings that just can't be taken - my strength, serenity, and kindness, the light of a new day, and the feeling of loving and being loved, unconditionally.