A Key to the Jugular

Dear Car-Dwelling-Shouter.

STOP IT.

Do you have any idea what emotions are pumping through my veins as I walk home...in the dark...at nearly ten at night?

As I grip my sharpest, longest key between my knuckles in one hand, a rape whistle clutched in the other?

While I take pains to "walk tall and confidant." Heading -towards- the flow of traffic so that no one can sneak up on me from behind, choosing to tread the tiny, cobbled sidewalk that no one else ever uses because it's too hard to walk on, given it's small width and the telephone poles periodically strewn through its path.

Do you know that sometimes I imagine what the attack upon my person will be like when it finally happens? Or wonder if I am wearing enough layers to protect me so that I can struggle free? Hoping that my clothing is baggy enough that they might think that I am a boy. Are you aware that I am growing my nails out once again not only because they look nice, but because they are a natural-born weapon?

Do you have any idea at all? 

Upon reaching the home stretch (my apartment complex) feelings of safety start trickling in--the knowledge that I am almost home and therefore almost safe.

What joy: I can mark off on my calendar that I didn't get raped or mugged today, I think to myself. Tuesday was safe as well. We'll see about next week.

 

ONLY TO HAVE YOU SUDDENLY SHOUT AT ME FROM A PASSING CAR AS YOU RUSH BY.

NOT. COOL.

You probably think you are funny. And drunk as well, on top of everything else.

But I can't even BEGIN to explain the FEAR that washed over me, the thought of, "OH NO. SOMEONE IS BEHIND ME." My hands freeze up, and all my preparations are for nothing. I can't even blow the darned whistle, for freaking sake.

And then the rage settles in as I march the rest of my way home. Shaking with a combination of anxiety and the desire to put my key to your jugular.

I demand a hug from my roommate and try to cool down (by ranting online. Which brings us to this exact moment).

Then I begin to do what I do best: overthink it.

I hate that we live in a world that requires these kinds of protections--where I know that, simply because of my gender and my size, I am an automatic target. Someone that can be easily overwhelmed. 

No one has the right to assault another person. NO ONE. No man, no woman, no child. And no one deserves to be assaulted. Or wolf-whistled at. Or propositioned. No one is "asking for it."

CONSENT IS CONSENT. NO MEANS NO.

I AM NOT AN OBJECT.

And don't think that scaring the daylights out of someone is funny. It's not. It's horrifying.

ESPECIALLY WHEN I'VE JUST COME FROM THERAPY, AND HAVE HAD TO SHARE MY STORY OF HOW I WAS ABUSED. THE FEELING OF HELPLESSNESS AND HORROR ALL INTERMIXED IN MY HEART AND BRAIN AND CAUSING ME TO TRUST NO ONE.

It's the cruelest thing you could have ever done, at the worst time ever. Thanks for setting my progress back. Truly.

The ironic thing is that earlier in the day at the train station another man tried to "befriend" me after I was polite to him. He was homeless but kept himself up well and he'd been asking people in cars for money, and I legitimately didn't have anything (I had maybe twenty cents on me) so I explained, apologized, and shrugged. He was okay with that...

But then he followed me to the station. 

And started asking my name and how he could go about getting to know, "a little lady like me."

And when I said that I wasn't looking for a relationship he said we could still be friends, and suggested a hug. But I could say 'no,' then. I had the ability to put up my boundaries and say 'no.' Because you better believe I saw him check me out from behind as I was moving over to sit down on the bench. And in suggesting a hug I knew exactly what he wanted--to either cop a feel or search my pockets.

 

I said, "how about a handshake." No question. A statement.

His response was to say, sarcastically, "well. You gotta accept what the lady's willing to offer."

And then he walked off.

Oh, yes. I knew exactly what you were after.

 

And that's NOT okay, either.

And in the daytime I can say no. In the daytime I can tell a creeper that he won't be getting my consent to feel me up. At night I have no choice in the matter--I get yelled at, followed, cat-called. I can say no, even then, I suppose. I can fight back.

But should I HAVE to? Do I really have to say to some guy, "sorry, no. My body is never and will never be yours. Don't ever assume that you can touch it or look at. Keep your limbs and eyeballs to yourself."

The worst thing of all is that oftentimes the good guys--the ones that don't act like creeps, stalkers, or cat-callers, are completely oblivious that we deal with this night after night. And, yes, they have to worry about getting mugged. But it's different. So the best thing you can do, you Few Good Men, is be aware, be protective, and put your foot down about change. Do not allow yourself or others to do these horrible things. Because we can only do so much.

I am so, so very tired of living in fear.

I am tired of being treated like an object. A thing to play with. A thing to break.

Because apparently men have the "right" to do so, simply by virtue of being men.

But that will never be right. It has to stop. Now. With us.

 

 

Sincerely, the woman who wants to take a key to your jugular (you creepers and stalkers and car-dwelling-shouters). <3

 

 

Second Daughter: An Introduction

(Welcome to the first installment of me attempting to write a book. I will be posting these "Chapters" on my blog, in between regular posts. Please feel free to enjoy and read in whichever order you would like. Thank you!)



I wasn't exactly sure how I had gotten here, at that exact moment.

Thirty years old. Check. Associates Degree in Illustration, and an almost-finished degree in Animation. Check. A good job with good pay. BIG Check. And plenty of responsibilities at the Singles Ward I attended.* Many checks.

So I wasn't entirely sure how I came to be sitting in the cushiony seat of an armchair in the office of a therapist provided by LDS Family Services.

I had been in an office like this four or so times in my life:

When I was young part of the court proceedings had been to interview each of the children within our family. Even then I'd known that the Lady With the Copper Hair had something against my mother and I played as innocent as I possibly could at the time, utilizing the wide-eyes that still make people think I'm 21 rather than my actual age. I'm not sure if my Act helped or not, but Mom was able to keep custody of us...and the corrupt worker who'd been assigned to the case was put under the spotlight.

The next time I went was when I was in my early twenties. I'd started to notice that I was having problems with things, even then--small flashbacks, difficulty interacting with people and being touched, a hard time creating relationships, and severe anxiety when it came to seemingly common tasks: taking the bus outside of my regular route, talking to people, etcetera. For someone who thought that she'd left the past behind her, these problems left her quaking in her slip-on Keds.

I built up enough courage to talk to my Bishop at the time and, mystified, this young Ecclesiastical leader sent me to see a Therapist, as I'd requested.

But upon telling her my story her response was, "Sooo...why exactly are you here?"

In the drama that was my family's history I was long-seen as a non-victim, and an observer. And at that point I couldn't even allow myself to face the knowledge of what had been done to me--after all, compared to others in my family who had suffered, I'd practically gotten off scott-free--so I continued to remain in a secondary position of trauma.

I realized in that exact moment that if I was to work through any of my problems it would have to be on my own, little by little.

Flash forward to my 26th/27th year. I'd been prompted through personal revelation and prayer to serve as a full-time proselyting missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. But there was a little matter of the trauma that I was still dealing with. I spoke with yet another therapist and asked the question of, "will this get in the way of me serving a mission?" Her response was that I seemed to be handling what had happened to me with perseverance and she saw no need for me to wait to submit my papers.

And for a blessed year and a half, as a served as a missionary for God day and night, I wasn't plagued by the past. It truly was a tender mercy of the Lord.

But as I started getting to the end of my mission the benediction I'd received was starting to sport some holes. Old thoughts, memories, and problems were coming back. As though the Lord was reminding me that I would have to return to The World once more, where distractions and temptations exist. Still, I fought it with all my might.

But a year and half back from my mission and I was back where I'd started at age fourteen. Dealing with the same issues.

It all comes down to the fact that I'm my father's second daughter.

Photos From This Week!

I have NEVER seen one of these Caterpillars in real life before--it's only ever been that I've seen them in pictures of TV. So when I saw this one as I was heading out to visit my Therapy Ladies I, 1. pulled out my phone to take a picture, and 2. picked it up using a piece of paper and moved it to a safer location (i.e. not the sidewalk, and not heading towards the very busy road). It freaked out a little when I did this, one of those, "WHAT'S HAPPENING TO ME?!" moments, but settled down after I safely dropped it off and started walking away.

Pretty cool. It was a little longer than the length of my palm.

I've been trying to be more involved with people lately. For one, it's healthy to make connections with other human beings. Two, my Therapy Lady told me to. XD

So! I set up an account on Meetup and signed up for a whole bunch of groups. Then, when I realized how obnoxious getting all those updates is, I narrowed down the groups and settled on a few that I like. One such group meets at my local library, making their activities easily accessible. The first time we did painting, then the next was yarn activities, and today there was dancing. Quite a wide array of events! And I've had the chance to meet some really wonderful people!

However, at the yarn event I was the only person who showed up. XD So the organizer and I just basically sat down and chewed the fat. At one point two children showed up and asked us what we were doing and I tried my best to teach them how to do it (+2 points for me, a beginer, trying to learn how to do crocheting left-handedly when I had only just learned that day...and I'm right-handed. But you know what they say about how the best way to learn is to teach. *shrugs and smiles*) before they headed off to take over the computers they had put on hold.

As for myself, the project I was working on was an old one. While on the mission one of my favorite companions, S., was suddenly inspired to make some baby hats that look like acorns...only for adults. A very, VERY patient member of the Japanese Ward we worked with set aside some time for a week or two to try to teach us. I didn't get very far, honestly, but it was a lot of fun even if it was a bit difficult for me.

Long story short, the yarn sat around for over a year and a half after returning home from my mission. The project itself I decided to scrap (I know my own strengths and weaknesses), but I have a fondness for the material. So I opted to start over again with the hopes of creating a muffler-style scarf. This (the above image) is my current amount of progress. But my hope is that it will continue to grow until I have a nice muffler for the winter. :)

Aaaaaand ramen! Because WHO WOULD HAVE GUESSED that I would not only make ramen, but take a photo of it? Shocker, right? ;-) In any case, I'm trying to eat more consistently, and make sure to have water. So ramen is my usual solution. This batch was made using bean sprouts, a thin type of mushroom I liked in Japan, tofu (my one true love), green onions, and zucchini. No eggs this time, as we are running low on them.

Welcome to the excitingness that is my life! XD

My Father

Well! Now that it's basically been two months since I last posted, let's see how things go this time! *rubs hands together*

Don't get too excited, though, this may be a slightly depressing, thought-provoking, philosophical venture. You've been warned.

So. After about ten-and-a-half years (that's a real number, by the way) my father is being let out on parole from prison. As in, yesterday. Literally yesterday. 8/5/2017

He entered jail when I was thirteen-ish, was incarcerated by the time I was fourteen-ish, Mom fought against DCFS for the custody of us, and then by the time I was fifteen we'd moved to the city.

Sometimes people are puzzled by the lack of linear events in my memory, but, honestly, there was a lot going on in that time frame. I was trying to actually live a normal life, and as a teenager at that! Going through teenage drama and boys and friends and also acting as a secondary parent during a time when all heck was being let loose and things were falling apart around my ears.

So time is a tad...

Well. Like the above gif.

Of course, when you're in the moment you're just sort of trying to survive, day by day. It's more the after-effect that gets you, especially after the betrayal of a parent that you love.

You just hurt. You feel broken.

And after a while you think that you've healed enough to move on.

You clamp down on your emotions, build a wall, and focus on things like work and schooling and friends and believe that there's no poison running through your veins, boiling beneath the surface of your heart.

After a while, the dirt you buried the pain under starts to solidify, and you feel like you can build on it. Like the rubble they threw into the bay after the 1906 San Francisco Earthquake. :|

For a long time I tried to put behind me what he did to me and my family. To remember the good that he did as a father.

But there's a part of you that's always affected. It alters your ability to talk to people, to judge correct behavior, to have healthy relationships. Trauma does that to you, either consciously or unconsciously.

How do you, for example, react to people in social situations when you, yourself react strangely to things? Things that you don't realize are off until others look at you oddly, and then your guilt complex takes over once more...

What about when you're awkward? Or overly loud or childish or delving into your book/art/writing rather than interacting with others? What about when you ask strange questions at the wrong time, or laugh at inappropriate things?

How are you supposed to...alter your behavior or your remarks? How do you even do that? What is it that you are supposed to say? I certainly have no idea. *helpless shrug* I've been told off for talking too much, for not having a filter, and for saying things that I thought were funny, but they weren't. And then I inevitably get treated like an immature pariah. But I'm just not sure what I'm actually supposed to do, instead. :S

And how long does it take to simply accept that those eccentric traits are a part of you--that they always have been and always will be?

 

I know that for years and years I tried to get to a point when I thought to myself, "well, I'm wierd/a nerd, but I like myself the way I am. And I am okay sitting on the outside and being on my own." But it doesn't exactly afford you many friends, and after a while it gets kind of lonely.

That's not to mention problems with boundaries. What are you supposed to do when one of your love languages is touch...but only with those that you COMPLETELY trust? Making you actually averse to touch, to people hanging off of you or entering your personal space? So you want it and hate it at the same time?

And have you any idea how painful it is to go to an activity or a dance and the leaders there try to PHYSICALLY get you involved (as in, arm around your back and on your wrist and trying to propel you forward), but that just makes you want to cut and run? And possibly hit things.

(This one happened recently, by the way, at my Stake Dance on Friday. 8/4/17 I'm thirty years old, for heaven's sake. I DO actually know how to dance and I will dance when 1. I am ready and 2. there is a handful of people I'm comfortable allowing into my personal space bubble).

Sometimes there's just too much noise. Or people that are clingy; emotionally needy individuals that attach themselves to me because I'm nice and kind, yet I keep trying to subtly edge away because they make me claustrophobic and I start hyperventilating a bit. Then others, watching the scene, think that I am being unkind and uncharitable. But honestly, what else are you supposed to do when being around a person gives you anxiety? :S

Not to mention how being around "normal" people feels awkward. That you feel unconnected to their normalcy.

Or with just men in general, because every man reminds me of my father sometimes.

And I'm caught in this endless loop, because men with a sense of humor and confidence attract me, but 1. they definitely aren't interested in me, (you're too immature and "young" and silly, never mind that you're thirty years old).

And if you say that this isn't true, and to give myself some credit, and "surely men don't think that at all!" then you haven't seen the sheer amount of awkward I can bring to a single conversation. :|

 

And 2. if they were interested, they're too much like my dad for me to get close to, anyway...

How about when you get in a relationship? I don't know about anyone else, but when I start to get comfortable, and feel like I might actually begin to love them--suddenly anxiety tidal-waves into me. Irrational fear of being hurt keeps me from creating any sort of foundation and, with time, it even keeps me from having many deep friendships for fear that they might get too close. That they might see what's wrong with me or straight-up hurt me. It's an irrational anxiety but it's there, it's real, and it's pressing into my chest.

What about when it's worse than that? What about the realization that your parent hasn't just betrayed you, your family and your loved ones. But they have also treated you in such a way that you deal with the side effects of abuse--a PTSD that you had never recognized as PTSD until now. Too willing to shy away; to pretend that your parent surely didn't do what you remember them doing. Because if you forget about it then it's like it never happened...right? It's like the scars aren't really there...

Slowly the wall gets chipped away, until you can only see the aching exposure of your bones.

The timing of all this is ironic, because it's been recently that the wall's been coming down as I've been dealing with problems, anxieties, sorrow and old coping behaviors I thought that I had done away with back when I was fifteen or sixteen. 

Instead loneliness has pounded into my chest cavity as I am reminded, again and again that I am thirty and still single. I am fearful and lonely and have...issues. I wish for love but I can't seem to let anyone get close enough to me for it to happen. And I'm TRYING to work through them, I really am, but it's hard. After all, it's not like I do these things on purpose!

That's not to mention anxiety brought about by being thrown into new situations, being forced to talk to people I don't know, taking paths and buses I don't normally take. Much of that was taken care of by serving as a full-time missionary for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in the Tokyo, South, Japan area. But that anxiety is still there, even if I've largely conquered it. It likes to show itself whenever I have to take an airplane or teach a Sunday School class.

Or when I feel like I need to move to a new place, or attend a new college, or try something scary. Yep. I might be dealing with all of those thoughts right now.

Meanwhile, people around me say flippantly that I should, "just give life a chance!", "get over your fear and bite the bullet!" "Your fear is all in your mind!" "Why are you having problems?" All because I've done such a great job of hiding the rush of fear I feel and putting on a brave face. But really, and honestly, that's like putting a bandage on a broken bone. Things are better-ish, but still not quite healed yet.

Or, even worse: "just get laid--you'll feel better."

No, I won't feel better.

Because my insides are a mess of shame and sorrow and addiction and piercing solitude and the desire for love mixed with an inability to understand what healthy relationships are made of.

(But I'm still trying. You really have to give me points for that. But what I'm trying to say is that "hooking up" with someone is entirely counter-productive and just makes things worse. Whereas healthy, developed relationships actually help me conquer that part of people that's a little chipped.)

I'm willing to make friends with anyone (after I pray for bravery and give myself some stiff encouragement) and also to give any guy a chance to date me if he builds up the courage to ask outright (I have to give him points for facing the same fear I'm facing). But more often than not they don't even get that far, because I don't feel comfortable enough to let them in so that we can develop a friendship that might actually lead to love.

And then when they DO get the courage to do so! Well, that's a whole other matter--a date or two is nice, but four or five or six is just plain overwhelming and if he just keeps asking and asking and asking, especially when I try to say no, then I just get anxious and don't want to do anything with them or near them, because just being near makes me feel like he's wrapping his future around my throat.

 I can't break free without breaking his heart--because I've done that before already, more than once, twice, or always. (Pretty much every single time I've been the one to break things off. Except for one or two heartbreaking times.)

(And I'm a Hufflepuff and an INFP, so my favorite pastime is feeling guilty about hurting someone's feelings.)

But all I really want is someone that will fight for me. And not a physical fight, either, but an emotional one and a spiritual one. That they will stick out the hard times and be willing to give me love when I need it...and space when I need it. Because you better believe that my issues have some wide hips.

But I don't need some super-hero of a man to fix all my problems.

I just need someone who will sit and talk things out with me, so that I can fix my OWN problems.

Someone who is just genuinely good and kind (and who loves kids. It's not too much to ask, really it's not).

 

And many people ask what my relationship problems have to do with my "daddy issues," but they don't understand that they are one and the same.

Because it's all about trust and hurt and pain and also not wanting to be touched, but also actually wanting to be touched while dying on the inside because you want to make human connections with others. To love and be loved in return.

And yet also this eternal hope that happiness will come, whether or not I find an eternal companion. That I can be happy even on my own.

 

I've chosen to participate in happy activities, focus on being creative, and lately have involved myself in therapy to deal with these, the things that I thought that I conquered. Just trying to relearn the lessons I thought I had figured out over a decade ago:

But

And when you feel all alone, like no one will understand, you have to keep hoping. And keep praying. Relying on Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ and His Atonement. That, in the end:

"And I heard a great voice out of heaven saying, Behold, the tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them, and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them, and be their God.

And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."                               Revelation 21:3-4

Which is why, in wondering about my father's return to society, I can't help hoping that he doesn't try to contact me. Because with how messed up I am already, who knows where I'll be if he tries to come back into my life?! Especially when he hasn't tried to contact me in over a decade, and those siblings of mine that he has contacted he's either been verbally abusive towards or manipulative.

Sooooo...

And yet...

I'll just keep trying to be emotionally healthy, to learn to interact with people in diverse situations. And I will try to focus on being happy...even as all these thoughts are constantly being tossed like salad within my brain. We'll see how things go.

Finding Courage to Talk About Child Sexual Abuse | Jill Tolles | 

TEDxUniversity of Nevada

 President  Dieter F. Uchtdorf:

General Women's Session, General Conference, October 2015. "A Summer With Great-Aunt Rose."

A video of a life-well-lived despite loneliness and heartbreak.