Rape and Trust

[kimkali]

I am feeling very throughtful.


I have become more thoughtful recently. Quiet, withdrawn, perhaps even isolated.
Sometimes I like to think things through, and sometimes thoughts take over.
I am not depressed. I am not bouncing around either.

I am not a secretive person, but there are some things I'd prefer to keep private. These things are most commonly my notebooks, and my writing generally. I expect my need for privacy to be respected. If it is not, I am left bewildered, somewhere between dissapointed and enraged. When I am ready I will share what is written.

My mother read my dairy when I was 14. I had written six months perviously, when still 13, of beign abused. I was going through the coming to terms with it internal drama. Not something I wanted read. But it was, and the roof, the fan, everything was hit, turned upside down, and thrown into the open (baby, bathwater, everything (almost)).
It is common to ask "Why didn't you tell anyone?" of those who have been abused, or raped, or *suffered in silence* in any manner. But so often it is one of those close people so ferquently recoemmended as a source of solace, advice, or help, who is the abuser.
Trust can be fickle. I still really loathe anyone, ANYONE, looking though any of my notebooks or writing for ANY reason. It feels like the highest betrayal. Yet it is so hard to express Why.
It is because when someone does that, when someone betrays me, for whatever purpose, with whatever intent, I am 14 again, cornered in my bedroom, terrified fo what will come next, of what has been discovered, who will find out, and what they will do to me.

So I can be a little highly strung.

The later rapes all merge into almost the same thing; that questionable fear and helplessness. I didn't need to be drugged, or beaten, I was incapacitated by memories, by first hand experience. These then added to my stock of reasons to be silent.
And that took a lot to break.
It is not that I have ever denied any of it. But being blasé is one way of avoiding the real issues, of preventing sensitive discussions. At the same time, others have told me their experiences assuming (on my own assurance) that I'm okay with it all.

A great deal of what I write is about the abuse, or later rapes, or the huge trust issues I have from the direct and indirect consequences. Most of the time it does not appear so. I do not even know myself what it is I am actually writing about. I'll take some tiny gripe, and throw all this weight, this private emotion, behind it an *wham* there is something that sounds hateful or hurtful or as though I am about to go and end it all.

I am private because I don't want to be afraid to explore how I feel about these things. I still am. There is so much I do not write (and I invariably have to think of the thing, and then write the thing, to understand it to be able to discuss it (see here) later). There is so much I need to. I want to be the first to read it when I have written it, and there is much I have written that I have not reread. I need to know what it is I am dealing with.
The diary my mother read I had looked over. I used to trace the indent of the underling with my forefinger. I could feel it, it was real, it was true, it was more than fear and I could do something about it (writing it was doing something). I had started to try and say no, to try and stop it. It just got more certain, more aggresive. I was looking for a way.

Loss of privacy and rape are intertwined here. I am open, but on my terms. Consent is everything.

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It seems wrong to just leave this without saying I'm back online Monday (considering the *wham* potential)! X Kim X

Comments

[laumiere.livejournal.com]

I took 10 years to be able to talk about ONE incident calmly. You're doing fantastically. If you ever want to do something on a more professional footing (like writing an anon witness account to help other women) I'd be more than happy to help and support you.

*send cuddling*