How to (never) get over your rape

   I was raped. I was actually drugged and raped. He was a pastor. We had met, become friends, and started hanging out in the evenings. One night he offered me a Coke. I drank it. I was paralyzed. I lay there unable to move as he raped me. The saddest part? He was only the second man I had ever been with. The worst part? The part that hurt my soul? I would have gladly slept with him, willingly. I liked him. He never asked me to kiss him. He never asked me to spend the night. He never hinted. We were friends hanging out. He even did Bible study with me. He was not a part of my community. He did not live in the same county as me- before anyone lets their minds run wild.
      I was really confused and did not understand. I was young and I did not know about being drugged. I never knew that was a  thing.The part  that confounded me was that I liked him and willingly would have spent the night. I did not call it rape for a long time because I felt like maybe I would have given consent. Maybe my crush on him kept me from acknowledging how badly a violation this was. I blamed the victim. The victim was me. It took me a long time to figure out men drug women. It took me a long time to come to terms with why it happened.    I did not give consent. I do not do drugs. I do not drink alcohol. I did not deserve to be violated. It took a long time to say the words.
     I was more upset about him not "liking" me. I was upset that he would have me and then leave never to be seen again. I assumed we were building a real friendship. We were not. He left the next morning. He was in the middle of moving back home. Fun fact: he had a wife. I found this out years later. Yes, children, I cyber stalked my rapist. I was older and so very curious. I was still so very hurt. I don't think anger ever entered the picture. I was just hurt.  Months before,  I had left a marriage of pain. A marriage of anger and fear. How did I wind up being used? The hurt was unbearable. That's when I realised my real worth. That's when I let it all sink in. I was worthless. I was ugly. I was gross. I was less than nothing. Stupid. And that is where I lived for years. A psychic once told me that my parents had been good to me. She stated, "They let you live." It was the nail in my coffin. People who allow me to live are good to me. The husband was good to me. My rapist was good to me. The boys that hit me were good to me. Look at the long list of people that let me live.
     I lived for a long time. Lonely, depressed, fearful.
     I met someone. He looked at me. He looked me in my face. This was new. He spoke to me. On purpose....he must have a special mental disorder. Or maybe he's a serial killer. Maybe he's just making fun of me. Whatever. I ran away. I ran away so fast. Why  would he even be near someone like me? He must be confused.
     I met him again. And again. He was nice. He was funny. He was sarcastic. He looked at me. He looked at me one night and held my hand. He didn't stop holding my hand. In that moment I willingly chose to lie down beside of him. I willingly accepted his touch. He was so gentle. So quiet. There was no awkwardness or fear. There was no mirror reminding me that I was ugly. There was only me allowing myself to melt.
    Did I  cry afterward? Sure. Did I spend the next week living in fear of what I had done? No. I let myself trust a man. Completely. And nothing bad happened.
     Rape convinces you that even if a man makes love to you on your terms that something bad is going to happen afterward. Rape convinces you that you will never be touched gently again. Rape convinces you that men can't just touch you, they have no reason to touch you. You are ugly. You aren't worth touching. You are worth raping.
   Do I romanticize what happened that night that a man wanted me? YES. It was wonderful. And a little of my pain subsided. Not because a man found me worthy, but because I got through a whole night not thinking badly of myself. I spent a whole night allowing my body to be touched. It was mutual. I was given a choice. And I said yes. And yes...he did ask my permission.
     I will probably always see myself in a poor light. I allow a mirror in the bathroom of my home, but nowhere else. I won't have one in the bedroom. I put my makeup on without a mirror. I rarely brush my hair. I don't look at myself. I don't like it. I deal with body issues. I binge eat, I throw up. I cut. I am everything that a good mom is not.
     For one instant I was treated so badly. For one instant I was treated so well. I have to weigh out these things. And because one man was so willing to look at me, I got a little bit of myself back. Not because I got the approval of a man, no; but because I allowed myself to receive kindness without looking for an ulterior motive. I allowed myself to say yes. I allowed sex to be mutual.
     I allowed myself the freedom not to punish a man or fear him just because of what another man had done. I allowed myself to heal a little, because I allowed myself to see myself the same way he did if only for a little while. And it was worth it. Being vulnerable, not just in the bedroom, was worth it. Rape causes very large walls to be put up. I allowed a little of myself to trust another human. What happens after that is a reemergence of this thing called emotion. Emotions are horrible wonderful hateful beautiful things.
   We have a choice. We can see ourselves as our rapist sees us or as our lovers see us. Trying to navigate that  is the challenge  a lot of women face.
   
 

95 degrees with a chance of Westerns

    So, I have roughly 2 days left and then the children will be mine for the summer. I don't have the  theme days that we had last year, but I have a decent collection of stuff for them to do. I relied heavily on Netflix to help me through this summer. I have 2 good books lined up so far and am hoping for at least one more. The summer vacations won't start for us until September and then flow over into October.
   I like it when the school turns the kids back over to me, but I feel a lot of pressure to keep them as interested as their teachers do. I feel pressure to push them through to more mature, adult conversations this year...and more thought provoking material. There are so many things I want to show them, but as in the past I will probably repeat some of what they have seen at school. I got a great video on Darwin a few years ago, one I had watched in college, and we sat down to watch only to have Lilli say, "We watched this at school." It made me sad, but thankful that the school was on the same wave-length as me. I realize I have to think out of the box, and throw in some things that are new as well as the tried and true love of my life: the periodic table.
   This year I hope to introduce the kids to music. Music has started revolutions, religions, and rights of passages. I hope the kids can grasp what the Beatles did for history, what American DJ's did for history, and how music changes with each generation and in each country. I hope not to be American-centric.
   I also want to get their hands a little dirty and explore art. I want them to see artists for  who they are and dig a little to understand why art is created, not just look at it. I hope they will be willing to jump in and cut, draw, glue, and tape. Graffiti is still not off my list, so be prepared if you wake up to a colorful driveway one morning. Art  for art's sake is not what  I want, I want them to understand the  emotion that goes into pieces. I once asked a friend if it was wrong that I priced  my favorite piece so high that nobody could afford. He replied that he did it all the time. Art is a piece of you that you sell. It's not always "fun".
    Michael's favorite movies are war movies, but this summer I am going to try to get the kids to watch some westerns...not  my favorite genre, but looking at America through someone else's lens might be okay for  awhile. I cannot promise that I won't sneak off while the movies are on. I think what I am really looking for in these movies is the historiography: what did the filmmakers get right? Did that really happen? Was that really the attitude?  American history is re-written every day, I might as well join in.
     I am also hoping to do some religious studies. A few of them are getting old enough that they ready to see some other cultures, other choices, other lifestyles. I had thought of having some friends come over and speak to the kids about their religious choices, but then I wondered if they would present truth in their talks as opposed to the "I am soooo happy" version you get fed at the airports.
    The hardest part of the next 3 months will be the menu. I usually have a menu laid out far enough in advance that I am secure, but feeding them and keeping it interesting may be the toughest hurdle for me this summer. There won't be many meals out, or fast food breaks. There will be a lot of Kool-Aid and some grilled cheese, but I hope to teach them to enjoy food, cook food, and appreciate it....no matter how bad you don't like it.
    This past year we experienced many of our friends move away. My kids are now the only kids left on this block. In all honesty, summer should be a time for playing, but there is a really selfish part of me that is glad that there won't be any distractions. I want my kids for the next 3 months.  Summer is my time to teach them what I love, what I find funny, what I see when they aren't here. It's my turn to give them a little part of me.
   It's like Christmas when they are home and I lock the doors and have real family time....all the while  hoping they don't notice they outnumber me. A mutiny at my age would be terrible.