I’ve been thinking about this, a suggestion a commenter made a few days ago.
1.STOP THINKING ABOUT ANYTHING THAT IS NOT IN THE MOMENT AND 2. I’VE FOUND YOU ONLY GET DISAPPOINTED WHEN YOU HAVE AN EXPECTATION. 3. FIND SOME WAY TO CHANNEL YOUR ANGER (OTHER THAN A BLOG THAT PROMOTES THINKING AND INDULGING YOUR THOUGHTS-TRY SOMETHING KINESTHETIC).
When I read it, I couldn’t decide how to answer. I was grateful for the comment and the food for thought. I still am. It has helped me arrive to one important conclusion:
I try to never dismiss others or their suggestions, so I’ve been wondering for days, is Negrita, the commenter’s suggestion a valid solution for me, as it appears to have been for her? Soon after, I started questioning if I was a survivor at all. And if not, how do I become a survivor, instead of a victim? I thought I was. I never considered the two ideas might be polar opposites. The therapists say, remember. The books say, remember. The people around me insist otherwise, citing the seeming adage, “leave the past in the past.”
But where is the evidence such a thing is possible? I consider myself a Buddhist, albeit a struggling one. If the idea of living in the present, an idea that reverberates throughout this entire religion, were such an easy one to implement, then what need has there ever been to form a religion that aspires toward this very accomplishment? Buddhist monks and nuns in the Himalayas spend their entire lives striving to live in the now. If I ever achieve that level of enlightenment, I think then there would be no reason to look back on my life. But I doubt I’ll achieve that in Jersey.
—which only brings up the lack of good instruction on the matter. Negrita suggests I do something more kinesthetic. Well, it’s always good to be moderately active, but choosing activity over words has never served me well. I only have time to do so much, and words serve me better. For instance, I used to workout at the gym several times a week. I would run on the treadmill, staring at the mirrored wall watching me, remembering the mirrored wall in the room Andy raped me in, remembering who watched me then. I knew I was working out to make sure I was strong enough to fight the next man off. The heart palpitations from high anxiety levels were the only thing that ever made me slow down. Finally, I stopped using exercise as a form of self-punishment. I stopped running toward—and away—from my past, and I started going to therapy. My therapists taught me I needed to have expectations, other than my then low expectations toward men.
After years of therapy and psychopharmaceutical aids, I’ve replaced the voices telling me to stop indulging in these thoughts and memories. Now, I struggle to replace others’ expectations with my own. At once, I’ve learned to demand certain expectations of others—like respect. I’ve learned to listen to my own voice, even when I’m screaming.
So I tell myself the things you read here. Some of them are good. Most of them aren’t. At the end of the day, however, writing about all these terrifying thoughts and feelings makes me feel a little more normal, a little less terrified.
Perhaps all this writing is a bit indulgent, as Negrita suggested, but I can’t believe victims shouldn’t be proud of themselves for managing to respect their thoughts enough to seriously consider them, as many of us do by writing about our lives. Nor can I believe that living in the now is something that can be done without first learning the lessons of the past. At the risk of sounding overly-philosophical, I argue, there is no now to live in without the past that created it.
Then again, maybe all Negrita meant was that I think too much. If so, there’s an irony to this post, to the amount of thought I’ve given her words.
It’s because she’s brought to light a fear I have. I’m circling forward, but am I progressing too slowly? How much time is enough time to recover? What defines a survivor? Who?
I’ve asked these questions before. My thoughts feel like a widening gyre. I’m writing toward my very center, hoping in doing so, I’m strengthening it. Perhaps I’m bias, but the evidence seems to be in my favor. Even direct criticisms don’t cause the damage to my self-esteem they once did.
I’ve been thinking about this, a suggestion a commenter made a few days ago.
When I read it, I couldn’t decide how to answer. I was grateful for the comment and the food for thought. I still am. It has helped me arrive to one important conclusion:
I try to never dismiss others or their suggestions, so I’ve been wondering for days, is Negrita, the commenter’s suggestion a valid solution for me, as it appears to have been for her? Soon after, I started questioning if I was a survivor at all. And if not, how do I become a survivor, instead of a victim? I thought I was. I never considered the two ideas might be polar opposites. The therapists say, remember. The books say, remember. The people around me insist otherwise, citing the seeming adage, “leave the past in the past.”
But where is the evidence such a thing is possible? I consider myself a Buddhist, albeit a struggling one. If the idea of living in the present, an idea that reverberates throughout this entire religion, were such an easy one to implement, then what need has there ever been to form a religion that aspires toward this very accomplishment? Buddhist monks and nuns in the Himalayas spend their entire lives striving to live in the now. If I ever achieve that level of enlightenment, I think then there would be no reason to look back on my life. But I doubt I’ll achieve that in Jersey.
—which only brings up the lack of good instruction on the matter. Negrita suggests I do something more kinesthetic. Well, it’s always good to be moderately active, but choosing activity over words has never served me well. I only have time to do so much, and words serve me better. For instance, I used to workout at the gym several times a week. I would run on the treadmill, staring at the mirrored wall watching me, remembering the mirrored wall in the room Andy raped me in, remembering who watched me then. I knew I was working out to make sure I was strong enough to fight the next man off. The heart palpitations from high anxiety levels were the only thing that ever made me slow down. Finally, I stopped using exercise as a form of self-punishment. I stopped running toward—and away—from my past, and I started going to therapy. My therapists taught me I needed to have expectations, other than my then low expectations toward men.
After years of therapy and psychopharmaceutical aids, I’ve replaced the voices telling me to stop indulging in these thoughts and memories. Now, I struggle to replace others’ expectations with my own. At once, I’ve learned to demand certain expectations of others—like respect. I’ve learned to listen to my own voice, even when I’m screaming.
So I tell myself the things you read here. Some of them are good. Most of them aren’t. At the end of the day, however, writing about all these terrifying thoughts and feelings makes me feel a little more normal, a little less terrified.
Perhaps all this writing is a bit indulgent, as Negrita suggested, but I can’t believe victims shouldn’t be proud of themselves for managing to respect their thoughts enough to seriously consider them, as many of us do by writing about our lives. Nor can I believe that living in the now is something that can be done without first learning the lessons of the past. At the risk of sounding overly-philosophical, I argue, there is no now to live in without the past that created it.
Then again, maybe all Negrita meant was that I think too much. If so, there’s an irony to this post, to the amount of thought I’ve given her words.
It’s because she’s brought to light a fear I have. I’m circling forward, but am I progressing too slowly? How much time is enough time to recover? What defines a survivor? Who?
I’ve asked these questions before. My thoughts feel like a widening gyre. I’m writing toward my very center, hoping in doing so, I’m strengthening it. Perhaps I’m bias, but the evidence seems to be in my favor. Even direct criticisms don’t cause the damage to my self-esteem they once did.