Journal Therapy... Volume II (The "R" word)

 I Said The "R" Word...

It has been said that words have power... for survivors, that is doubly so.

  Tuesday, Zahir looked at me like I had two heads when I used four words together, "...after I was raped..." in a sentence.

  I suppose we should go back to Sunday's session with the Shrinky Dink. There are a lot of professionals in this country who come from other countries, psychiatrist being one of them. Zahir did an incredible amount of research to find someone he would be comfortable letting me be open with.

  My shrink is an older doctor from New York City. I once joked that you could braid his nose hairs, you can also do the same with the tufts coming out of his ears. But there's a disarming sweetness about him.

  I learned Sunday there's one thing he does not have any patience for is "the bullshit of euphemisms." I had just told him that I was different after my sexual assault.

  He looked at me and said, "You keep using soft words, 'sexual assault.' The only way it could get any softer is if you call yourself an 'unwilling sperm recipient...'"

"...What happened to you was not soft, it was violent. Don't you think hard and violent words should be used to describe what happened. You should never let anyone diminish the event. Not even yourself."

  He told me about an old comedian and his take on PTSD and "soft" words. I actually had to Google to find who he was talking about.*

  It was a good session. Zahir gets worried when he sees I have been crying. The doc is not giving him feedback, unless he is worried I could hurt myself again. He says it is up to me to share, as part of my therapy.

  Zahir has been so damned patient. His whole family has. I wondered why his parents were so cold to me at first. Turns out he prepared them in advance. Everyone was walking on eggshells that first six months I was here.  They were afraid I would hurt myself again.

  Z and I have fallen back into an old pattern... When I wasn't going to work with him, I would let Zahir get comfortable then I would sit in his lap and we would discuss our respective days.

  I had been crying again when he picked me up from therapy Tuesday. We had a breakthrough session. The whole way home he held my hand.  He had to head straight back to work. His mama and sister were on me like glue till he got home. They even watched over my dog training.

  When Zahir got home I asked him if I could go first. He pulled me onto his lap and said always.

  I told him about our session Sunday and how after I was raped I thought I was ruined. How terrified I was that what happened to me would be the norm. How I thought I didn't deserve anyone good, at the time I thought even my mother didn't want me. Now I know we ran for our safety, and she left me to give me a chance at a real life. Most of my life had been a series of unfortunate events.

  All that started to change when I was returned to Mohsen and Stacy. Even then I was still terrified of strangers. Afraid of shadows and sudden movements. God forbid someone touched me without announcement. I felt guilty about touching others, as if the filth that touched me would rub-off on them.

  Then I told him the icky bits. When I met Zahir, and he was told I was running the ranch's accounting he was skeptical. He was so intense and vocal with his doubts. I confused his concern over my age, for contempt for me.

  Later as he started warming up to me and was being friendly, my nightmares changed. I started dreaming it was Zahir who was forcing himself in me not my foster-dad. Z was shocked and hurt at this revelation.

  I kissed Z and told him it was just my subconscious mind saying I was not worthy of tenderness. I know I deserve happiness. I am entitled to it just like everyone else. The doc laughed when I said there are times happiness is "some assembly required." My therapy sessions are now dropping to once a week, every Wednesday.

  Zahir agreed with the doc that I am dealing well with all of the changes in my world. I am going to do something new. I am going to attend my first university class in person NOT on-line. Baba has arranged for me to audit a physics class at one of the local universities this winter. I am terrified but looking forward to the challenge. 

***Addition***

  It is a kind of rule in life, crap happens to everyone... Some just get taken too close to the sewer. I know I have a lot of brothers out there, 1 in 6 American men over 18 were sexually abused before they turned 18.

  I am only 18 so take this with a grain of salt. It has been my observation rape victims (straight or gay) fall into three general camps:

•   The deniers: The "It didn't happen to me" guys. They are the repress and drive on crowd. On average boys in America wait twenty years to report and deal with being raped as a child. "Thank you DCF and Officer Mike for not giving me that option." These guys build an emotional dam hiding the trauma from even themselves. Eventually that dam collapses leaving a second wake of trauma behind.

•   The dealers: People who have been smacked in the face with reality and are getting help. Normal is a city in Illinois. We all have an internal point of stability, balance if you will, that WE call OUR normal. Dealers are striving for that balance.

•   The shouters: They tend to be advocates, they carry what happened for the world to see. In my opinion, I am not sure if they are actually dealing with their trauma or just hiding in a different way...

  I am not a shouter, if I was my full name would be out there, and I wouldn't be hiding. I am an advocate of sorts I put my journal out there hoping it helps someone else. Hope is an important thing in recovery. There is a movie Stacy loved called "The Shawshank Redemption" we watched it a lot. My favorite line is from after the escape. Morgan Freeman's character Red says, "Andy Dufresne, who crawled through a river of shit and came out clean on the other side."

  It hurts Moe and Stacy when I say it but, foster care was my river of shit. The rape, the Needys, Candice, the beatings, the crappy homes, and the fucked up rules were all just turds in the stream. I survived and crawled out clean on the other side.

Let's Talk About Sex

  When it comes to sex, a small group will find that city in Illinois (Normal). The rest of us break into two camps

•   The hyper-sexual license crowd. These are the ones using sex as an escape using physical pleasure to mask the original pain. 

•   The monks. The sex was ruined for me crowd. Physical intimacy becomes a "Super blood moon total lunar eclipse" thing.

  I thank God Zahir is in my life or I would be in the second camp. We are trying to get me back to Normal. Still there are times when we are in the act, I am back in that bed in Miami. Zahir knows the look and just holds me until it passes.

***End of Addition***

  *The doc's reference... I had never heard of George Carlin, he was funny and smart.