Inhumane: The Reality

Rape.

Yes. You read it right.
Why would I start off with such a horrible word?
Because it's just that. Horrible. It's taboo talk.
Everyone knows about it, but do we talk about it? No. And there's a reason for that.
But there's also a reason we should.
Because I started off with such a horrible word for understanding.

I've thought my whole life that saying sorry was enough. Or maybe it wasn't enough. I wasn't really sure. My parents talked about how I should always be careful. And the worst part is, I thought I was.
So, yeah. I know what your question is. Was I raped?
Yes. Yes I was.

The past year and a half I've been afraid. I've been so afraid to live my own life. To speak up. I've lived in constant fear of almost everyone around me. Wondering what their real intentions are. Why they're asking me how I am. What we're going to do when we "hang out".
I'm not going to give you a play by play of what happened. That's not what I'm here to tell you. But I will say that rape is horrible enough to leave you drugged and drunk, left on the curbside in the middle of the night.. on your second day of school. I'm not asking for pity. All I ask of you, is to try to understand those of us who have had to literally change our whole lives because of one person's choice.

"You were asking for it."
"You should have known better."
"You shouldn't have even taken that drink."
"What were you thinking?"
I've heard it all, unfortunately, through other people. I was blessed enough to have parents I could open up to, a therapist calling me every week, and great friends who supported me. I told my mom that next night, "This is something I've never wanted to tell my mother." And the fact of the matter is, no one wants to have to tell their parents that they were raped. They don't want to tell their friends, their family. They don't want to tell anyone. Because those comments and questions come up. We hear "I'm so sorry.." all the time. Don't take this as we are unappreciative of your sorrow for us. But I think what I've realized is that we don't want to hear that you're sorry. We want to hear that you promise you'll never be that kind of person.

What I thought was that I could put on a fake smile and continue with my life. I was sorrily mistaken. I laid in bed for three months, trying to find reason to live. I'd receive texts, but not want to even respond. I thought I could handle it and get past it. That's what we all think. "It was a mistake. I know better. It'll never happen again." went through my head every day. I thought it was enough reason to get out of bed and go to class. But I couldn't. Friends would come over, help me out of bed and watch netflix with me until it was bed time. I had teachers emailing me asking what they could do, how they could help me get to class, or do the assignments at home. I'd call my parents and cry. And a lot of times, I couldn't tell them what I was crying about. 

I grew up with people who I knew were raped. I said the "I'm so sorry. Let me know if there's anything I can do." I didn't understand the strength of these people. I didn't understand the horror they'd experienced. Rape is something we're too afraid to talk about. We're too afraid to write about it and post it on our social media. The thing is, we need to talk about it. To warn others. To educate them about the signs of rape and how to get to a safe place. I wish every day that I knew better. To not take that open drink from who I thought cared about me.

The reality of rape is that it ruins your life. It changes you. It breaks you down to the point where you don't even feel like a real person anymore. You're broken to pieces that you end up searching for for the rest of your life. You have to rebuild yourself as a person. You change your whole life. You have to wear different clothes. You can't go to certain places anymore. Your friendships change because you are. People stop understanding. They don't know who you are anymore. You don't know who you are anymore. You find yourself not able to talk about certain things. You're afraid. And fear can take you over. It's something that will unfortunately, never leave you. And although it's something you can work through, there will always be that piece of broken trust inside you. 

A year and a half ago, I was not the person I am today. And as much as I hate what happened, I took it on as a lesson and an understanding. Because that's all I could think to do. When someone rapes you, they take away your body. They're taking your control and your self away. It is by far the most inhumane thing to ever be on this Earth. Gaining my self confidence back has been the hardest thing I've done. Trusting others is a challenge. Life becomes just that. A challenge.

I could write about this for hours. But I'm not going to. Being raped was the most horrible thing I could ever imagine. What I've learned from this, is that it's made me the strongest version of myself I could possibly be. I would have liked to become strong from other ways. But the fact of the matter is that this is real. We walk around people every day and would never guess they were taken advantage of. It will never make sense to me why this happens, nor will it ever be okay. The challenge is what we do about it. Are we going to just sit here and pretend that this is okay? Are you going to be that kind of person? Or are you going to be someone who isn't afraid to hold someone and let them cry? I isolated myself from the world for too long. I'm finally starting to live again. 

To those of you out there who may stumble upon this, there is something my mom said to me that will never leave me. "Chloe. You are no longer a victim. You are a survivor."

We can survive. So why don't we do it together?

My (almost complete) Pill Journey

I remember the day I walked into the doctor's office.
I was wearing a brace on my right wrist, due to the recent surgery I'd just had.
I sat down on the table and my doctor asked if I wanted to be in there without my mom.
I hesitantly said yes.
"Anything special going on lately?" She asked.
"It's my birthday today."
"How old are you?"
"I'm 15 now."
We continued on, talking about these feelings I had.
The ones where I didn't want to get out of bed, and that I didn't even want to be in this life.
I explained how alone I felt.
How badly I just wanted to feel normal, just like everyone else.
She stopped mid conversation and asked why I had that brace on my wrist.
I told her why. But she gave me this look.
"Is that really why you're wearing it? I've seen the marks on your body.."
Yes. It was.
But no. I hadn't stopped marking my body with something I'd never be able to rid.
I went home that day to set up for my birthday party.
Happy birthday, you've been diagnosed with clinical depression.
It started out with one medication.
Three months later, we changed it.
I waited, patiently.
Nothing was working.
My mom would hand me my pill every morning, and I'd walk back into my room and put it in a jar.
I never wanted this.
I stayed in my bed, blocking out any light that would come into my room.
I didn't want to be here.
I was suggested to see a counselor.
"Why do you feel this way? Why do you harm yourself? Why do you feel the need to die?"
I stormed out of there faster than a torpedo, enraged at the fact that I could not answer those damn questions.
I was never able to answer them. I still can't.
Months go by and I'm changed meds again.
"Add this to your other med. Take it with food."
I don't want to effing take it.
Five years later, four new diagnoses, and here I lay thinking of this video.
How someone finally said what needed to be said.
I cannot list off every medication I've been on or what it's for.
I can't say which one helped in what way or what the horrible side effect was.
All I know is that currently, I'm on what helps keep me alive.
You see, people don't really get it.
We aren't just handed one pill and everything is magically okay.
Every day is full of unexpected bull shit.
Like being kicked out of class, or your parents separating.
Then, you have to add on another pill.
Oh, a car accident?
Here's a very addictive pain medication that you can't sleep without.
Medication has never been what I've wanted in life.
I'd never wish it upon anyone.
But what I've come to realize is that even though I hate swallowing seven pills every night,
it's what keeps me alive.
So, if you're someone who has struggled, know that you're not alone.
If you're someone who hasn't been through this, take a second to try to understand those of us who need a pill to feel somewhat normal.
I'm not sure what point I'm trying to get across here, other than the fact that every time I watch this video, I cry.
For once, I feel understood. I don't feel alone. And neither should you.
There are strength in numbers.
And we should all stand together.

https://www.facebook.com/SOML/videos/775924189218664/?pnref=story

I Dreamt

I dreamt you called.

To come over and eat my birthday cake, that was the same colors as the pills I pop in my mouth every day.

Blue.

For depression.

Yellow.
For false happiness.

Green.
For the greedy want of life.

White.
For feeling like a blank piece of nothing.

I dreamt you called.

To take me out to dinner.

We laughed and we loved.
Like nothing had ever gone wrong.
I dreamt that you left me a voicemail.

Crying, pleading for me to call you back.
Because you needed me.
You didn't have any yellow pills left.
And I was the closest thing to it.
I dreamt you kissed me.

It felt so real.

Is this what love feels like?
A sudden urge to just.. jump and scream?

I dreamt you left me.

Because I wasn't good enough anymore.
That I wasn't who you thought I was.
That you saw all of the different colored pills I take.
And you finally knew the real me.

I dreamt that you still loved me.

For who I am.
For the pills I take.
The tears I shed.
And for not giving up.

I dreamt that I gave up.

There was no hope left.
I've amounted to nothing.
I am nothing.
I dreamt that I woke up from this nightmare..

But I can't.