31 OCTOBER 2011

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I am still working out the ‘best’ way to tell my story.  I, of course, have many ideas and am constantly writing posts in my head.  When it comes to actually writing them down here, those same amazing, wonderful, oh-so-eloquent words seem to abandon me.  Or they don’t come out the way I was thinking them.  In any case, the entry from the 31st last year is what will follow.  When reading over it, and with the benefit of a year and a year of therapy, it is so clear to me now just how bad I felt.  At the time, although I was writing what I was feeling, I simply had no clue just how much work I had to do and how incredibly hard it was going to be.

One of the instant effects of the attack was not being able to cry.  Oh, my eyes would do what I called leaking.  About 3 tears would leak out, but that was it.  There was no release or relief from it.  I KNEW I was in shock, but I didn’t realize exactly what that meant.  And my thought process was extremely skewed, as will become more and more clear as I copy my journal entries from that time.

About a month after the attack, Bill asked me if it was all right that he take a trip with his friend, Victor, up the coast of California.  My response was, “I’m not the boss of you.”  He said something to the effect of, “I know.  But you’ve been having such a hard time lately that I don’t want to go if you don’t want me to.”  Something like that.  I assured him that I would be okay, that I had Laura close by and that I needed to learn to be on my own again.  And we would continue to talk each evening at some point.   So he left for about a week, returning on Halloween.

31 October 2011

6a –  I seem to be stuck in NOT walking now.  I lie here in bed and will myself to get up and get out and I just continue to lie here.  I cannot make myself do it.  I so want to and I can’t do it.  It is so frustrating.  I am gaining weight.  i can tell because my boobs are getting bigger.  It has been over 5 weeks of not walking.  Since I normally walk a minimum of 60+ miles a week, this is a HUGE loss and how could I NOT gain weight?  I haven’t successfully found any activity to replace it.  I guess this is all a part of the process.  As much as I want to, I can’t just ‘make’ myself do it.  I’m a bit frozen to my bed.

9a – Well, my eyes certainly are leaking this morning.  I also feel like an elephant is sitting on me.  I guess it’s a good thing I have therapy today.  I know this thought is completely irrational and it keeps popping up: I am such a loser.  I can’t even get up and go for a walk.  How hard is that?  Apparently too hard just now.  And I so want to talk to Bill but I don’t want to bother him.

It feels a little like I’m going crazy but how would I know what that feels like unless I’ve gone there before.  Perhaps I have, or maybe I’ve always been crazy and what I’m feeling now is normal.  But what’s normal?  I think I’m about as far from normal as anyone could possibly be.  It feels like I am broken and can’t be fixed.

9:28a – So I broke down and called Bill.  It is just so nice to hear his voice.  It is so reassuring.  In spite of calling him, I still feel like crap.  My eyes are continuing to leak.  I guess this is a good thing, though it doesn’t feel that way.

EVEN MY FACE CHANGED

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Happy and Shiny

This picture was taken at my birthday party 3 months BEFORE the attack.  It was also 3 months into my relationship with my boyfriend.  I look VERY happy!

Not my face

This picture was taken on 1 October 2011, 6 days AFTER the attack.  As someone put it, I was smiling, but the smile was not reaching my eyes.  When I saw this picture, I said, “That’s not my face, that doesn’t even look like me.”  When I told my friend, Kim, she told me to document it by taking other pictures.

Not a happy or shiny person

This is one of the pictures I took of myself on 10 October 2011.  I look so unhappy.

9 months after

This was taken this year on my birthday, 9 months after the attack.  It’s not a bad picture, but if you compare it (which, of course, I do) to the one taken a year before, I still do not look ‘right.’

Latest picture of me, taken 2 weeks ago

Better, I suppose, but still not completely ‘me.’  At least that’s how I see it.  Yes, it is a little over a year since the worse day of my entire life and the stress of the last year is, more than likely, showing up on my face.  One of the things I said a lot right after the attack and throughout the last year was, ‘I lost my shiny.’  To me, I guess, that meant (and still does) I felt like I lost my sparkle, my joy and my happiness.  Those things have slowly, but slowly come back.  I still see a changed face when I look in the mirror and maybe that is nothing more than being a year older.  Something was definitely lost that day, BUT a lot more was gained.  And that’s the real reason I am telling of my experiences.  Everything IS different, and that’s not a bad thing.

14, 21, 27 OCTOBER 2011

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***A quick note before I get to my post:  It is has been brought to my attention that leaving a comment is not as easy as it should be or as easy as it is on other sites.  On WordPress, there is a little bubble to the right at the top of the posts.  If it is empty, that means there are no comments yet.  It there is a number in the bubble, that corresponds to the number of comments that have been left.  All you do to leave me a comment is click on that bubble.***

The following post is three entries directly from my journal.  I didn’t write nearly as much as I would’ve, could’ve or should’ve, but, at the time, simply putting one foot in front of the other and doing my best to deal with all that had happened was more than I could handle in any given day.  The fact that I managed to get anything down is amazing to me.

14 October 2011

I think I’ve finally found the therapist (Susie Morgan) who will actually be able to help me heal from the trauma I’ve suffered.  I’ll see her on Tuesday at 11:30a and then see Eve at 2p.  Eve is definitely more conveniently located.  Susie is in Encinitas.  Oh, well.

I told Bill that I need (it feels like something I just really HAVE to do) him to take me surfing.  He told me to bring my wet suit and we’ll go on Sunday.  Yikes!

21 October 2011

I’ve been thinking that this whole thing was for cockroach boy to get the help he needs, that I ‘agreed’ to participate for him, not me.  What if, however, this whole situation was the only way to get ME into therapy to deal with the last several years of my life, all of which have been fairly stressful, even if I chose not to see it?  Maybe it is about ME.  Well, crap.  Didn’t see that coming…

27 October 2011

I had another epiphany this morning on my walk/run and that is that’s it’s okay for me to feel happy, in spite of what’s happened and even though I have a lot of work to do on releasing (and actually dealing with) this trauma.

***Another note —  some clarification —  I refer to my attacker as cockroach boy.  I am sure at some point I will use his name, but, mostly, I do not wish to give him that honor.  (Yes, I know that I need to forgive him, not for him, but for me.  And no, I haven’t gotten there yet.)  Bill is my boyfriend, who has been unbelievably loving and supportive and encouraging through this whole process.  I was very lucky in that I had a VERY strong support system in place before the attack and he, along with several key friends and family members, were extremely important in getting me through this.  I know that eventually I would have made it through, but, honestly, I don’t think I’d be where I am now if not for him.

Again, if you’d like to leave a comment, and I’d love it if you did, please click on the bubble at the top right of this post.

BACK FROM THE EDGE

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The following is a post I did on my blog (www.alittleofthisthatandtheother.blogspot.com) before I launched this web site.  I said some important things that I think need to be included here.  I am still figuring out how best to proceed with the story of my last year, so thank you for bearing with me.  If you have any suggestions, feel free to leave me a comment.  You just click on the little bubble that appears at the top right of this post.

BACK FROM THE EDGE – LITERALLY

It has been nearly 9 months since my last post.  At the time, I had every intention of continuing to blog and carry on with my life like nothing had happened.  Trouble was, something very traumatic had happened,  and it was much harder to heal from and took far longer than I ever imagined it would.  In fact, I am still in the process.
On 24 September 2011, I was sexually assaulted.   This coming Monday, which is the one year anniversary of the attack, I am launching a new project called At Long Last Heard.  The statics say that every 45 seconds someone in the United States is sexual assaulted.  If this is correct, then that means that NO ONE I know has had that happen to them?  Seems impossible.  To me, this means that people simply do not talk about it.  (That has changed a little; I think maybe 5 women I know have told me of their ordeals.)  In our country, there are still two subjects that are very taboo:  sexual assault and suicide. I think the time has come to change this.  I am only one person, but I truly believe that the good that can come from my attack is to, at the very least, begin to change the attitudes and thinking about these subjects.
My new web site will tell the story of my journey this last year:  the good, the bad and the really ugly.  It is a little scary opening up my entire life so much, BUT I think it is very important.  If I can help even one woman understand the process she will go through or make someone feel like she isn’t alone, then it will all be worth it.  Let me say right now that I understand sexual assault happens to both women and men, but as I am a woman, that will be my focus.  (If you are a man that has been sexually assaulted, I suggest you start your own web site to help other men.)
At Long Last Heard will launch at 12:01 am on Monday, 24 September.  I also have a Facebook page set up and next week, will set up a Twitter link.  (It is now set up:
@TamerieShriver).   If you, or anyone you know of, would benefit from this, please check it out.  And I would be forever grateful if you would copy this post and put it on your own site.  Or your Facebook wall.  If you would prefer to contact me directly, please write me at: atlonglastheard@gmail.com.

THE STORY OF MY ATTACK

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The following is the letter that I wrote to friends and family, with the idea that I would also submit it to the Coronado Eagle Journal (local newspaper.)  I soon realized that, first of all, I couldn’t have it in the paper until AFTER we had gone to court and everything was settled; and secondly, the newspaper would never print it because no one wants to know or believe that bad things can happen on our idyllic little island. I wrote this on 11 October 2011.

On 24 September 2011 at approximately 5:55am, my life changed in a way that I never expected.  But let me back up first and give you a little background.  I walk.  I don’t run, I walk.  And I walk many, many miles a week.  Most days, usually 5 mornings a week, I get up early, and by early that usually means somewhere between 4 and 4:30am, to walk.  I generally walk alone, though sometimes I meet a friend and we do a very quick 4 miles.  When I walk alone, I do anywhere from 5-6 1/2 miles a day during the week and Saturday is always my ‘long’ day when I would walk between 8 and 10 miles.  The week of Sept. 19-24 I didn’t set my alarm (wanted to see what time I would wake up) and was waking up each morning at 5:20am.  I thought I’d awaken at the same time on Saturday.  Instead, I woke up earlier, maybe around 4:40am.  In any case, I left my house right at 5am.  When I first woke up, the thought that entered my mind was, ‘Go back to sleep.’  I considered it for a few moments and then told ‘my lazy self to get my butt out of bed and go walk.’  I told myself I didn’t have to walk 10 miles, but 7 would be good.  I didn’t have to be in La Jolla until 11:30am, so I would still have plenty of time to get ready and pack for our weekend getaway to Santa Barbara.  I cannot tell you how many times I have wished I had listened to my first thought and just stayed in bed.

I went down to First, to Alameda, to Sixth, to Coronado Avenue, to Ocean Blvd.  I didn’t see anyone until I was in the middle of Ocean.  A guy passed me (he was on the sidewalk, I was on the street) and I said, “Good Morning!” Just as I do to anyone I see on my walks.  He did not respond or acknowledge me, and though this is not the norm, it does happen.  My impression of him was that he looked like a rat.  His face seemed to be very pointy and he was smallish and just looked like a rat.  He had a baseball hat on and his hood was pulled up, so I really only saw his face.  Still, I didn’t get any kind of a negative vibe or feeling from or about him.  Some people simply are not friendly in the morning.  I walked a little further and then stopped to stretch my shins on the curb.  When I turned to stretch I noticed that the guy had turned around and was heading back in my direction.  I thought nothing of it.  I finished stretching and continued on my way before he got all the way to where I was.  Again, no warning bells went off in me.

About 5 minutes (maybe a little longer) later when I was in front of the Beach Village condos, almost to the Windsor Cottage on the boardwalk between the beach and the Del, I heard someone running up behind me.  I thought it was a regular runner.  Instead, it was the guy I had passed, coming at me as fast as he could and with all the strength he possessed, he hit me in the center of my back with both his hands and slammed me into the cement.  I went down and hit both my hips and hands, but as I hit the ground, he flipped me over and most of the injuries I sustained were on my right side.  He had me on my back and my underwear and skort off in 1 SECOND.  Three thoughts went through my head simultaneously: 1. I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS IS HAPPENING TO ME.  2.  I gotta get some tighter clothes, and 3. I cannot believe how FAST it happened.  Mind you, the entire time I was screaming my head off as I was literally fighting for my life.  I was also determined that he was NOT going to rape me.  The only memory I have of the attack is the initial hit and the end when I remember seeing his fists getting ready to knock my lights out because I was not shutting up and I was fighting him so hard.  Luckily for me, before he was able to hit me and knock me out, God sent an angel to save me.

A guest at the Del, a Radiologist from Alabama, was going out to take a run and heard my screams.  It did not register what he was seeing at first and then he noticed I was naked from the waist down and he knew it was bad.  He ran over and was yelling at the guy to get off of me, to stop and, idiot that my attacker was, he continued to try and subdue me.  Finally, my angel got him to stop and my attacker ran away.  My only concern at that point was to get my clothes pulled back up.  My angel then walked me into the hotel and got security, who then called the police.

The whole experience was surreal.  I love watching CSI; what I don’t like is being in a real-life episode of it.  I was with the police for about 8 1/2 hours.  (It is SO much quicker on television.)  In the end, we did not leave for our trip until 3:30pm.  We missed the opening act (Emmylou Harris) but got to see Don Henley.  It was good that we were already planning on leaving town.  Being gone helped take my mind off of the horror I went through.  I wanted to stay gone forever, but we had to come back.  I had to be back at the police station for follow-up photos of my injuries on Tuesday, 27 Sept.  While the photographer was taking the pictures, I kept thinking that they (the police) must all think I’m a big, fat baby because, truly, my injuries were so minor and were not any indication of how violent the attack really was.  I do not understand WHY I wasn’t hurt worse.  I told the detective that  I was afraid the report could not and would not convey the violence of what happened and the photos would seem so trivial and ridiculous and that the judge would look at the evidence and think I overreacted and let him out.  No one was discouraging me from going to the arraignment, but no one was encouraging me either.  In the end, I found out from the District Attorney that it was my RIGHT to go and be heard, if necessary.  His bail was set at $100,000 and because there were actually three charges: assault and battery, sexual assault and attempted rape, the DA was able to get the bail raised to $250,000.  No one was there for him and no one posted his bail.  Thank God!

The preliminary hearing is set for 1 November and I will have to testify then.  It is my hope that he gets the punishment he deserves.  I know in our system of justice everyone is innocent until proven guilty, but he is GUILTY.  I know, I was there.  I also know that this could have turned out far worse.  My reason for writing this is I do want everyone to know what happened.  I did NOT do anything wrong.  I was viscously attacked on the property of the Del.  I am 5’10” tall and extremely fit.  I looked him in the face and said good morning.  I did everything RIGHT and yet this happened.  If it can happen to me, it can happen to anyone.  What I also told the police was it isn’t possible to take pictures of the ‘other’ injuries he inflicted on me.  You can’t photograph the pain I had in my arms from fighting him so hard or my bruised ribs from him holding me down or the emotional damage he did.  And though my physical injuries are mostly healed, I still feel the places that were hurt.  And maybe worst of all, my entire sense of security is gone.  I am afraid in ways that I have never been afraid before.  I am in therapy and know that I will get through this.  I just hope that I can get the ‘me’ that was lost on that Saturday morning back again.  So if you know me and see me on the street or walking my bike on the sidewalk uptown and I can’t quite smile at you, please understand that I am still in shock and working through the trauma.  It will take time.

And, no, I am not back to walking in the early morning yet.

AFRAID OF THE DARK

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I awoke this morning around 4:30a.  Yes, it is still dark, at least in Southern California.  In my ‘old’ life, BTA (before the attack), I would have gotten up, put on my workout clothes, left my house by 4:50 or so  and gone out to do my daily walk.  I would have done between 6 and 8 miles and would have been home, at the latest, by 6:30 or 6:45, if I had chosen to walk 8 miles.  These days I am unable to do that.  I have had to relearn how to operate in the morning.  I am a natural early bird and I have had some difficulty adjusting to not being able to go out in the dark.  Realistically, I know it’s not the dark that attacked me; I know that the odds of another attack are ridiculously low; I think I would probably be perfectly safe; BUT I cannot do it.  Unless I am with someone else.  I do have one friend that gets up as early as I do and we try to walk once a week at 4:30.  The difference now is he has to come to my front door because I can’t walk the 4 blocks alone in the dark to meet at the corner we used to meet on.

BTA, I walked between 60 and 90 miles a week.  I live on a small island and I walk or ride my bike  everywhere.  I rarely drive my car unless I am leaving the island.   Not only did I do a fitness-type walk early each morning, I also walked all my errands.  It adds up.  (You should put a pedometer on and see just how many miles you walk in a day.  You might surprise yourself.)  So, I went from 60-90 miles a week to ZERO.  As you might imagine it was a huge loss for me.  Luckily, I had just started to do yoga, had been to one or two classes before the attack.  I continued to go to yoga each week.  I was able to walk there because the class I attended didn’t start until 7a.  Even in the winter, it was light by the time I needed to leave my house to get there.  (I know I could drive, but, to me, it seems silly to get in the car and drive to workout, especially when I can walk there.)  Over the course of this last year, I have continued to do yoga and now do it 2 or 3 times a week.  I feel like it was very important in the entire process of my healing.  For one thing, it was exercise and since I basically was not walking, it was my only outlet.  For another, in spite of the men in my class, I felt safe in the yoga studio.

 I definitely mourn my walks in the dark.  The truth is I loved walking alone in the dark.  That was my meditating, praying time.   I could talk (quietly, of course) out loud and no one could see my lips moving.  I would listen to inspiring books.  I saw the sunrise every single day.  Not anymore.  I think I have only seen it once since then and that’s only because I was taking a friend to the airport just as the sun was coming up.  I understand that in the scheme of things this is relatively minor, but it was something I loved to do, something I looked forward to each day.  It would be one thing if I had decided to stop getting up early, but I didn’t.  The option of beginning my day with a walk alone in the dark is gone.  Chances are I will never do it again and that makes me sad.

These days I wait until it is light to walk.  And if I go to the 6a yoga class, I do drive.  This morning, for instance, I will go to the 10:15a class, so I still got up early, but I will do work until it is time to leave to walk to the class.

A Life Changing Event

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I chose this image (and I apologize to the person who designed it and posted it on Pinterest.  I would give you credit if I knew your name) because I am so NOT ready to begin this adventure.  I’ve been thinking about it since January, when the idea came to me, but was not allowed to speak publicly about my ordeal because anything I said could have been used against me in a court of law.  Nice.  Well, after the sentencing hearing, I no longer had to worry about that.  And still, I hesitated.  I kept pushing the date back until launching on the one year anniversary seemed the ideal time to take the plunge.

So I need to ask your indulgence as I muddle through.  I am new to WordPress and am definitely still learning how to use it.  I expect I’ll continue to tweak it and will eventually get it to the point that I am happy with the way it looks.  More importantly, though, is the content and the visual will, hopefully, not take away from that.  And if anyone has any tips to pass along, I am open to all suggestions.  So onto the important stuff:

We all have things happen, large and small, good and not-so-good, that impact our lives.  Sometimes the seemingly worst event can change us the most.  For months, maybe even years, I had been asking God for something else, something different to do.  I felt like I wasn’t quite doing what I was meant to be doing anymore.  For the previous 20 or so years, I have had my own business.  I am able to use my creativity and help bring beauty into the lives and homes of my clients.  It wasn’t exactly that I didn’t want to do that anymore, but more a sense that I wanted to make more of an impact in people’s lives.  I had trouble verbalizing what it was I wanted and thought that was probably contributing to not much changing.  For a long time, too, I have had the feeling that I was meant to help women in some way.  For a time, I thought it might be by teaching and I did a little of that, but teaching did not seem to be the direction I truly wanted to go.  My photography was another possibility and still may be something I pursue at some point.  Honestly, though,  nothing was ‘grabbing’ me as my new calling.  That is, until MY life changing event and rather suddenly, though not at the moment it actually occurred, I knew what I was meant to be doing and the completely new direction my life was going to take.  You always hear, ‘be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it.’  Well, I got the change I had been praying for and it came in a way that I could never have imagined.

On 24 September 2011, I was the victim of an attempted rape.  The attack itself was extremely violent and though he was unable to follow through with his intention, the last year has been the most challenging of my entire life.  My purpose for starting At Long Last Heard is to give women who have been sexually assaulted or raped a place to tell their stories and to help them heal from the experience.  It doesn’t matter if the attack was yesterday or 50 years ago.  My experience has been that so many are reluctant to talk about it.  I can’t shut up about it, and my new mission in life is to tell my story in the hopes that I will encourage others to do the same.  And, in the process, if we can change the attitudes people seem to have in this country about sexual assault, then that’ll be an added bonus.

After my attack, I thought I’d write about it and when the time came, I’d have a complete record of it.  Oh, I had the best of intentions, but the reality was I simply couldn’t write.  It was partly that I didn’t want to think about it, although, of course, it’s all I thought about.  And I now know that I physically couldn’t do it.  I know this sounds a little strange.  What do I mean by not ‘physically being able to do it.’  Well, it was my brain.  I could not concentrate for any length of time, so trying to write was impossible.  And at the beginning I didn’t write a single thing about it.  I made no mention at all in my journal until 1 October and all I wrote that day was a quote by Maya Andelou.

“I can be changed by what happens to me.  I refuse to be reduced by it.”

And then on 5 October I wrote:  My life will never be the same and that’s not a bad or negative thing.  It won’t be the same; it will definitely, is already, different.  It’s up to me to make it better.