It is nice to see that my blog has been used lately over the past few weeks for downloading of materials for survivors and research of the subject instead of how it’s been the previous year around this month for harassing me.
I have had a hard time getting the blog up and keeping it alive. Discussions with the police spoke regarding my freedom of speech came into the subject last year. They recommended, to stop people from harassing me, to take the blog down, and I remember looking at them on my front porch with comments in hand filing another police report for cyber harassment and said,”But it’s not just about me, it’s not just a poetry blog, its about surviving rape. It’s about recovering from something deeply traumatizing. What about other people seeing how I’m being harassed? What courage are they going to have to recover from rape victim/survivor shaming?” I remember looking at him utterly confused stating the obvious.
The look on the cops face changed then. He understood, “Well keep letting us know, and we will do something about it. You have an excellent point.” He then told me of the struggles the police have in regards to the issue. “If you can get an ip address, we can do more then.”
So I learned how, I kept blocking, and reporting to the local police and to the FBI. I had a few death threats, a few people telling me how they were going to rape me, others calling me a liar and saying awful things, and another few telling me how much they appreciated my blog.
There are sick people in this world, predators and trolls who find it fun to seek vengeance, people trying to find pleasure in creating pain for another person.
And the sickness that comes to victims is the rage, the anger, the envy and jealousy towards others to have their perfect lives without having gone through trauma. They don’t understand having to push through waking up, not wanting to be alive, the first thought is a flash of what happened haunting you for days, even every hour, and just feeling this huge weight on you heart of being one of the chosen for pain. That weight like a cannon ball pulling you to your knees, making it hard to breath, to think, to hope, to love. The bitterness and rage of people knowing and using it against you. It making you feel like you are going crazy. How every dark corner, or something similar to that traua makes you quiver inside, how a flash of someone who looks familiar to the person who did it makes you scream in you mind “Is he back?” and the sheer fear of living.
Living in pain and fear, that is what you have to get through to become a survivor.
But the sweet breath of fresh air when you wake up, years or months later, and you realize, you aren’t thinking about it. That is when you realize,”I’m getting better. I’m not his victim anymore.” When your sense of self and identity isn’t crushed by this thing that happened to you, and it is just a thing, when you wake up inside, and you just feel you in there, your soul, and it’s cleansed of all the hate and pain, that is what you fight for, that is the reward of survival.