Sometimes I struggle to put on a brave face for fear that the less than perfect pieces of my life as a survivor will be unwelcome in a space I've created for others to be safe, to rally, to live. The truth is that every day is not so perfect, every safety net has failed me more than once, and I am not free of physical and psychological wounds. They are gashes to the bone that reopen and bleed. Tattoos of bravery, ugly scars that that oftentimes cover the brave face I share. Last week I was in the hospital for cyst that burst open. After seven hours of testing, they couldn't find the source as they do not have medical equipment to see the quietest and most invisible crime tear one's insides out.
Two days from now will be fifteen years of being a victim of a crime that has no voice save those who survive it and the few who take notice, the fewer who fight wars for change, one small but significant step at a time. Did you ever think of your life, or a part of your history, as a story? Does it make sense that the rape is your "story", like a confession, a cautionary tale, a crime that wants to crawl all over you and define you then and now? And those who read or hear "your story": the dissection, the doubts, the what if's, the maybe if you just's, the blame, the blame, the blame.
To deliver an unwavering, eloquent, soul crushing and inspirational story every time you speak like you've been training for the Olympics is not honest. It is not real. I know, you know, sometimes words fail and silence screams from your lips. If we are going to change and call for a course of action for a human crisis, we need to be brutally honest.
I can promise that I will be nothing but real to you which is to say that I do not wake to song birds every morning nor am I lulled to sleep every night by the sound of the ocean. Many nights it is the sound of silence that is deafening. Many mornings the sun looks like someone's else's morning, someone else's story to tell.
On this fifteen year mark, I am writing down the silence page by page, and slap a hard cover on to the book ends. That is to say I am writing a memoir. I am creating a kickstarter account on November 18th. Let the flood gates open wide. Let me give you hope, let me be the change we so desperately need by talking about the real.
