You Are NOT your trauma

I have decided to journal because I hope to help one person during their struggles or the feeling of less than. I am sure that some won’t like it, and that is ok. However, if one person relates to my thoughts, we can feel less lonely in avoidance and distractions.
As a single woman in the 21st Century, I have overcome numerous obstacles and struggles that I believe would crush the ordinary American. Yet everyone faces different struggles, and life is about how you meet these obstacles and how you become a phoenix rising from the ashes. I have read self-help books and attended cult-like programs to understand what was wrong with me. It wasn’t until I removed the outside sources that played to my defects that I began to realize my true self, the good and the bad. Through this process, I lost friends (if they ever were), I heard my voice for the first time, and I began to define my goals, aspirations and face the dark demons that I was told made me fallible. Am I perfect? NO, and thank goodness for that. Am I broken? No, and thank goodness for that. During this journey, I reflected on what went wrong, how I can make it better, and finally decided who and what was suitable for my present and future.
For years, I struggled with alcoholism, and for years I was told that I was the problem. However, this was false! I was a victim of trauma that had nothing to do with me but with the people that took it upon themselves to harm me. In the 90s, I was a young teenager that was naive and thought the best in people. However, I quickly learned that people in the World do NOT have your best interest in mind. I was raped, beaten, and pleaded with the five men not to kill me as they plotted ways to get rid of my car and what to do with my body. I can remember thinking this can’t be how my life ends; I can remember just succumbing to their desires to save my life. The problem was they were not able to start my car, which I believe saved my life. I was forced to shower to remove the evidence, and for one split second, one of the captives turned his back, and I ran; everything was black and white, and behold, my keys were right by the front door. I grabbed them, ran out the door, and I could feel the man chasing after me. I jumped in my car, locked the door, and instantly my car started. The captive at that moment was at my window and said, “Call the police on me, please send me to jail.”
I remember driving home to my small town with the hood slightly open where they tried to fix my car to get it to start, and Fleetwood Mac’s Landslide was playing on the radio. I cried the whole way home, in a daze, and at that moment, “My life as I knew it would NEVER be the same” I would never be the same. That little girl that prayed every night for the World was gone. For years, I drank my life away, looked for ways to numb my pain, and even attempted suicide to end the pain. My poor grandmother (mom) tried to put me in counseling, and with every question the therapist asked, I would respond with a question for her. I was judged, and the small town I lived in wouldn’t even let me walk the stage because of my antics. High school friends stopped talking to me. The police where I reported the rape didn’t believe me and even suggested that I was a willing participant. I lost everything, and more importantly, I lost myself. I did things that, to this day, make me cringe and wake up in a cold sweat.
I divulge this story because I hear about the #metoo movement and the numerous cases displayed on national television because of the famous people involved, and I get mad. Maybe I am wrong to think this, and I don’t care. For me, numerous women across the country have been victims, and do they get national news. Do they get monetary settlements and their five minutes of fame? No, they are healing from traumas that are hidden from the public view. They look at themselves in the mirror every day and not knowing who they see looking back at them. They are the forgotten.
However, these women are my heroes; they show up for life and act as if even the anniversary date approaches. They take steps and actions to better themselves and their families. I see YOU! For me, it took years to overcome this pain and grief. I picked numerous bad men in my life. I made bad choices and had numerous years of wasted time. Yet in 2010, I was contacted by a cold case detective in Tarrant County with a DNA match to one of the assailants who was currently in prison. He admitted to the crime and gave the names of the other individuals, and at that moment, I felt heard. For the first time, someone stood up for me when I couldn’t stand up for myself. There wasn’t a press conference or front-page news. There wasn’t a cash payout settlement or hashtags. Yet, at that moment, my life changed. That little broken girl who tried to eliminate herself was seen and validated.
I write this because I want women to know that I understand. It is a personal, intimate, and destructive action that can destroy you. People will judge you, ostracize you, not believe you, but there is hope. You can overcome anything because you are not a victim but a warrior. I placed too much weight on the views of others, and even my distorted perspective had power. I got through the 14 years of self-destruction by staying true to my underlying values and hoping that it would be better at some point. In reality, this tragedy made me stronger, and I can read through people’s BS. I can quickly spot toxic people and behavior, and I can choose to engage or avoid because I have a VOICE! So if you are going through this, I believe you, and I know that it seems like the pain will never go away. It will, I promise.