So, an interesting thing happened when I posted my last blog. Although I wrote the blog because of the moment I realized that it was kind of silly to have have a loaded gun under my pillow at one time, however; my friends (rightly) picked up on the part where I had to fend off an old perv.
If you haven't read the last one, it was inspired by sitting across from someone, talking about an admittedly traumatic event, but no necessarily one I had filed under "Holy Shit, That Was Fucked Up", more "Meh, That Was Some Bullshit". Specifically what was significant to me about this telling of the tale had little to do with the tale, and all to do with as I was talking about planning to run for my .357 (under my pillow) so I could shoot Mr. Perv before he shot me, was the fact that I started laughing uncontrollably at the epiphany I had. The epiphany was that it never occurred to me to lock my doors (not that locking my door in that particular situation would have helped anything), and instead I kept a loaded pistol under my pillow to keep me safe. Granted I was only 16/17 so my frontal lobe had some growing/maturing to do, but still, my thought for protecting myself at night long before locking my doors was to keep a loaded pistol under my pillow.
Anyway, after posting the blog a couple of folks commented about how horrible the situation with Albert was. And I kept thinking, "It's really not that big of a deal," I just thought I was a dope for keeping a gun in my bed! And I really wanted to respond in way that minimized the situation, but I kept reminding myself that if I minimized this situation, I might be minimizing someone else's situation that resonated with mine.
As I was pondering it a little further during my time on the stationary bike this morning, I started to pick the event a part a little bit, as well as my And here's what I came up with.
1. I think I have trouble recognizing/acknowledging/affirming that i was a really traumatic event. I was terrified, and I was sure for a few moments that one of us was going to die in my house that evening.
2. It was gross. He was a gross, dirty old man, and he was intent on doing no good.
3. Because it only happened one time, AND I got away I stored it as "not a big deal" in spite of the terror I expedience at the time, AND THE FACT THAT I WAS SURE ONE OF US WOULD HAVE TO DIE. He was going to rape me if he could, and I was NOT going to let that happen, so either me or him was going to have to take a bullet.
4. Because I hold it up to other events that didn't go so well for me, I haven't thought of it as a capital "T" trauma. Sucky, terrifying, stupid, but hey, I got away from him before he could do anything to me and he walked out on his own when he knew he would have a fight on his hands.
5. I have no fucking idea how to respond when people acknowledge that I have had a legit traumatic experience.
6. That I always want to spell respond, and "responde" (I had to correct the correct on 3 times even now.
7. I have some (a lot of) judgement about letting him in the house when I already had a sense that there was hinkiness in his intentions. I invited the fucking vampire in...cuz I had to be nice, right? I mean he's a man and from early on we are taught to cater to the men folk; plus he gave me a ride, he gave me food; I have to be nice right, it's not okay to say "no" (and even if you do THEY won't listen anyway)...I can't be rude!
8. Perhaps I need to re-think my perspective on this situation...
I still have some sorting to do to figure this shit out, but I wonder if perhaps part of the not allowing myself to define this as a "big trauma" is due to the self-judgement that I let him into the house (obviously my fault, right?)...and it is my fault, then I don't get to have feelings about it...right? I know to that it's one of those things you force yourself to get used to as a woman...the cat-calls, the inappropriate comments and touch that aren't quite illegal but are definitely and invasion, the attempted assaults that they blow off as "just a joke" when we manage to escape (and suddenly we the one who is wrong, we are the 'bad guy')...then the actual assaults but somehow the perps never seem to have to take legit accountability even if by some alignment of the stars they actually get convicted.
To borrow the words of my friend CW, "These fuckers couldn't care less that their inability to control themselves impact us for the rest of our lives". And we are left as the walking wounded carrying our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual traumas with us like basilisk fangs pierced through every fiber of our being, and trauma after trauma gets heaped upon us, day after day. And yet we still have to be nice, we have to take care of everyone, we have to make sure everyone else's needs are taken care of-and if we think about our own needs we are being selfish. And we always have to be a lady...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=86&v=QmJAwsrMQIk&feature=emb_title
If you haven't read the last one, it was inspired by sitting across from someone, talking about an admittedly traumatic event, but no necessarily one I had filed under "Holy Shit, That Was Fucked Up", more "Meh, That Was Some Bullshit". Specifically what was significant to me about this telling of the tale had little to do with the tale, and all to do with as I was talking about planning to run for my .357 (under my pillow) so I could shoot Mr. Perv before he shot me, was the fact that I started laughing uncontrollably at the epiphany I had. The epiphany was that it never occurred to me to lock my doors (not that locking my door in that particular situation would have helped anything), and instead I kept a loaded pistol under my pillow to keep me safe. Granted I was only 16/17 so my frontal lobe had some growing/maturing to do, but still, my thought for protecting myself at night long before locking my doors was to keep a loaded pistol under my pillow.
Anyway, after posting the blog a couple of folks commented about how horrible the situation with Albert was. And I kept thinking, "It's really not that big of a deal," I just thought I was a dope for keeping a gun in my bed! And I really wanted to respond in way that minimized the situation, but I kept reminding myself that if I minimized this situation, I might be minimizing someone else's situation that resonated with mine.
As I was pondering it a little further during my time on the stationary bike this morning, I started to pick the event a part a little bit, as well as my And here's what I came up with.
1. I think I have trouble recognizing/acknowledging/affirming that i was a really traumatic event. I was terrified, and I was sure for a few moments that one of us was going to die in my house that evening.
2. It was gross. He was a gross, dirty old man, and he was intent on doing no good.
3. Because it only happened one time, AND I got away I stored it as "not a big deal" in spite of the terror I expedience at the time, AND THE FACT THAT I WAS SURE ONE OF US WOULD HAVE TO DIE. He was going to rape me if he could, and I was NOT going to let that happen, so either me or him was going to have to take a bullet.
4. Because I hold it up to other events that didn't go so well for me, I haven't thought of it as a capital "T" trauma. Sucky, terrifying, stupid, but hey, I got away from him before he could do anything to me and he walked out on his own when he knew he would have a fight on his hands.
5. I have no fucking idea how to respond when people acknowledge that I have had a legit traumatic experience.
6. That I always want to spell respond, and "responde" (I had to correct the correct on 3 times even now.
7. I have some (a lot of) judgement about letting him in the house when I already had a sense that there was hinkiness in his intentions. I invited the fucking vampire in...cuz I had to be nice, right? I mean he's a man and from early on we are taught to cater to the men folk; plus he gave me a ride, he gave me food; I have to be nice right, it's not okay to say "no" (and even if you do THEY won't listen anyway)...I can't be rude!
8. Perhaps I need to re-think my perspective on this situation...
I still have some sorting to do to figure this shit out, but I wonder if perhaps part of the not allowing myself to define this as a "big trauma" is due to the self-judgement that I let him into the house (obviously my fault, right?)...and it is my fault, then I don't get to have feelings about it...right? I know to that it's one of those things you force yourself to get used to as a woman...the cat-calls, the inappropriate comments and touch that aren't quite illegal but are definitely and invasion, the attempted assaults that they blow off as "just a joke" when we manage to escape (and suddenly we the one who is wrong, we are the 'bad guy')...then the actual assaults but somehow the perps never seem to have to take legit accountability even if by some alignment of the stars they actually get convicted.
To borrow the words of my friend CW, "These fuckers couldn't care less that their inability to control themselves impact us for the rest of our lives". And we are left as the walking wounded carrying our physical, mental, emotional, and spiritual traumas with us like basilisk fangs pierced through every fiber of our being, and trauma after trauma gets heaped upon us, day after day. And yet we still have to be nice, we have to take care of everyone, we have to make sure everyone else's needs are taken care of-and if we think about our own needs we are being selfish. And we always have to be a lady...
https://www.youtube.com/watch?time_continue=86&v=QmJAwsrMQIk&feature=emb_title
No comments:
Post a Comment