Today is a hard day, but yesterday was harder.

A woman I know from a few years ago is getting a divorce, while this is old news, her reason's for leaving were revealed to me by a third party yesterday. I've been dying for some genteel dinning, so to try and satisfy my needs, Gee decided to take me to a neighbourhood restaurant.

Our server began chatting about this women, as we were all acquainted with both her and her husband and let it be known this woman, left because he had repeatedly tried to impregnate her without her permission.

I heard my server say "She says he raped her," and lost my breath, the following description shocked me to the core.

I may have even whimpered, or cried out loud, it's a blur.

I clapped my hands to my face and ears as if trying to block out the sounds of her words, but couldn't. I heard myself sputter, too loudly,
"Of course it was rape! Yes yes definately yes that was rape!" And proceeded to peel my hands off my face, turn and fight tears, concentrating on drying out my tear ducts, and settling for surreptitiously wiping the few salty drops from the corners of my face.

I have PTSD, or for the more fortunate out there who don't know what that stands for,it's Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. This particular story brought on a flood of unwanted images, sounds, and memories, hence my psychotic babbling and clasping of my face. I know I embarrassed both my husband and the server, but to tell you the truth, I don't give a damn. And I told him so when he brought it up. I also said I question the sanity of anyone who wouldn't respond in a shocked manner, I'm shocked that anyone could consider casually discussing someones rape over lunch. Needless to say, I lost my apetite and will never dine there again.

Today, I saw this woman, gave her a book that helped me, suggested another one, that she confirmed she already has, told her which chapters I think would be most helpful for her particular situation and finally, councelled her to call the rape crisis center.

After she left, I reached for the phone and called WAVWA women against violence against women.

I Spoke to a crisis councellor and am on the waiting list for some councelling to try and get over the rape I experienced ten years ago that left me pregnant and near death.

I was raped by my live in boyfriend after I told him I was leaving him. That night, he killed me, my baby and parts of my body. That day, he stole my peace of mind, my ability to trust others and my own judgement and worst of all, he stole any future children I may have been able to birth.

He stole my future when he stole my consent.

But this, this terrible story isn't why I had to call the crisis line today. The reason I had to call is because I am sick to near death of the apathy towards rape victims. I'm sickend that the media keeps referring to rapists as offenders, and rape as molestation.

There are 6 billion people on the planet, just over half of them are female, one in four women in Canada (two in four for my province) are raped before the age of 18, extrapolating those minimal numbers gives a minimum total 750 million female's between the ages of birth and death worldwide who have experienced rape. This doesn't include male victims, or even touch the number of slaves worldwide currently not recorded in any census books and who are tbeing bought and sold for a variety of reasons, including sexual slavery.

WHY IS THIS ALLOWED TO CONTINUE?

I called the crises line today because of the casual way this woman's rape was discussed. I realised then and there, all those people I told about my rapes in hopes of getting some assistance, advice, compassion never did me any good. I never got help, but not for lack of trying.

When I was little, I was told by teachers, police officers, various parents, doctors, anyone and everyone, to tell. The telling, I was taught, will make the abuse stop. The telling, I was promised, would prevent other little children from living through what I went through. Telling, they told me would protect me.

I told.

Nothing happend.

I told again
again, again, again, again.

Still nothing happend. Well almost nothing.

With hindsight, I see now that people judged me, I guess it makes people feel safer thinking I did something to deserve it, so they can point their fingers at me and say,

"Don't be like her and you won't get hurt."

Other kinds of people found me. Predetors, the kind of people that would gut their own mother and sell her blood on the black market kind of people. Psychopaths, like the one that stole my future.

My husband hates me to wear make up, he hates me to wear tight clothing, he hates me to go braless, a particular favorite freedom I've enjoyed off and on my whole life before marraige. This drives me to distraction because he thinks he's protecting me, he terrifies me when he tells me he knows how men think and that by looking good, I am enticing them to think dirty thoughts. It terrifies me because by telling me what other men think, he's really telling me what HE thinks, and I wonder who or what he's really trying to protect, my rights? Not likely.
It's rediculous but he doesn't get it, that by restricting my personal expression the bad guys win.

It is a man's responsibility to NOT be a rapist, not the woman's responsibility to deter one.

The scariest thing I think was reading over the 27 or so common myths and misunderstandings about rape. Number 7 chilled me to the bone.

myth 7: Men who sexually assault women are either mentally ill or sexually starved.

reality: Studies of rapists show that rapists are "ordinary" or "normal" men. The majority of convicted rapists assaulted for the emotional gratification they received from the violent act, not out of sexual frustration. (Helen Lenskyj, "An Analysis of Violence Against Women: A Manual for Educators and Administrators," Toronto: Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, 1992.)

Anyway, I told the stranger on the phone I was initially calling because I just found out a friend had been raped, and it was bringing up tough memories of my own. In response to her questions, I told her when it happend where and who (no names). She wanted to know if there were any other things she should be aware of to add to my file. I simply told her I was an exploited child to the age of twelve, She softly told me how sorry she was. Her compassion almost hurt as bad as the insensitivity I encountered at lunch yesterday.

Bolstered by her kindness, I told her my childhood set me up to be extrememly vulnerable to predators and that my teen years were no better for me than my early years. Again, softly "I'm so sorry."

I told her that at the age of twenty three my boyfriend raped me, I was hospitalised and my organs had to be reconfigured due to the brutality of his attacks, there was more than one rape, but the last one nearly killed me, and left me pregnant. I told her I lost my baby and the chance for future pregnancies, and had serious memory problems around these incidents. She said of course you do, it called dissacociation. I know. :(

She wanted to know if I had any current contact with him or anyone who knows him, no to the first question, yes to the second, was I safe, yes, who've I tried to get help from, I gave her the long list, then dropped the bombshell.

I told her I have a very difficult time trusting anyone even councellors, that contacting a rape crisis center was terrifying for me, because the people who took me and exploited me as a child met me through a rape crisis center back in Ontario.

Saying so was the scariest thing ever.

She met me with pregnant silence, let the statement wash over her, again so softly she told me how sorry she was, then assured me nothing like that can or will happen at her center, she gave me a personal guarantee.

How is it that the softest and simplest words can cut so deep?

My heart hurts, and my throat constricts just writting those words. The back of my neck shakes violently, I feel like my skull is going to pop right off my shoulders in a violent convulsion. It hurts. I hurt. And I want it to stop.

I'm posting WAVAW's rape myths below. Please read them, I can't tell you how many people suffer needlessly addictions, sleep disturbances, nightmares and terrors, persistant harmful thoughts, self loathing all due to being raped, and not even knowing it.

Think that's impossible? Think again, if you are unaware what your rights are as I was, being raised dysfunctionally, and with regular conditioning to be quiet, compliant, you develop a dysfunctional view of yourself, the world and your place in it, including your right to exist and control your own boundaries.