Tag Archives: attempted rape

2 NOVEMBER 2011

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It is just by chance that my journal entries match up to the actual date.  This will not always be the case, but it seems silly to not post it just because it is right now.  I should also let you know that these entries are not edited, though I sure would like to rewrite a lot of it.  It’s what I was thinking and feeling at the time, so changing anything doesn’t seem quite right. Just keep in mind that it was a severely traumatized person who was writing this and I was doing my best to make sense of what had happened and what I was going through.  I so clearly did not ‘get it’ at the time.

 

2 November 2011

I went and joined the gym at the hospital again.  My intention was to join Hollywood Fitness, and Bill and I even went in last night so he could see it.  The deal, according to the paper, was $1 to join and $29/month for just gym use or $49 w/gym and all classes.  Sounded good.  Well, it turned out to be a bit of a scam.  They wanted first and last month and an automatic credit card withdrawal, and the guy was just so jerky.  I had to leave, so I did.  Laura had walked uptown with me and she had to run out after me.   I felt compelled to get away; I just couldn’t stay another minute.  So back to the kind-of-boring, but reliable, hospital gym I will be going.  And even though Bill and I are going to do yoga at the Cove tomorrow night, I’m still gonna go to the gym in the morning and re-acquaint myself with the stairmaster and weight machines.

After I walked down to the hospital and took care of my business there, I walked around Tidelands Park and under the bridge, up to the end of the golf course (but not on Gloiretta) and back.  I would have walked further but I was wearing flipflops and my toes started to hurt.  It has been made very clear that the loss of all the miles I logged every week walking is a huge loss to me.  Since I am unable (at this time) to get myself out there to walk and one yoga class a week isn’t nearly enough exercise, it is still imperative that I get my butt in gear, however I can.  As Susie said, I should look at it as a temporary solution while I rebuild my life.

The other thing that is abundantly clear is I have got to figure out a way to work in spite of my brain not working properly right now.  I cannot and will not let someone else dictate my life.  Yes, I am feeling out of control and, at times, like I am truly losing it.  The reality is I’m not.  It’s just my brain playing tricks on me.  So I need to get a new intention and it is, as of 5:18p, 2 November 2011:  1. To get the jobs completed that are awaiting my talents;  2. To get more jobs;  3. To continue writing each day, so that I will have a complete record of the process and my feelings about the trauma I suffered;  4. To do more with my custom fabrics;  5. To start speaking about my experience to audiences;  6. To believe in the future again;   7. To live happily ever NOW!

As I was walking this afternoon, I was listening to Dr. Wayne Dyer’s “The Power of Intention.”  It is so amazing how I ALWAYS hear exactly what I need to hear when I need to hear it.  I really do have to start re-framing and stating what it is I intend, not all the negative I’ve been dwelling on.  Yes, there is no doubt there is a lot of negative and I’m not sure how else to deal with it without talking so much about it.  I also know, at some point, I’ve got to stop going over and over it.  What you resist, persists.  What you think about all day long is what manifests.  Which means changing my self-talk, my inner dialogue.  I know there must be a way to talk about it and still move past it, especially if I shift my work more towards this aspect.  I forgot to write that intention on the list above, and, truly, this is a huge, life-changing intention for me.  So here goes:  It is my intention to transform the trauma I suffered in September (and in all my life) into a new project/business of writing and speaking.  I have been wanting for so long now to change what I’m doing.  Although it came about in a tragic way, the new avenue that my life can go down has been handed to me, if not quite on a silver platter, then on the cement outside the Hotel Del.

I do have homework for Monday’s therapy.  I have to make a list of the top 10 worst and the top 10 best things in my life.  [Here I am choosing not to include those 20 things at this time.  I will come back to them at a later date.]

Laura is leaving tonight for London for a month.  I’m taking her tot he airport at 6:30p.  She’s leaving Hiccup with me for safekeeping.  Ian is staying at her house while she is gone.  She has been so ‘here’ for me during the last 5 weeks, that I’m sure I’ll miss her.  I’m envious, I suppose.  I wish, in a way, that it was me going away for a month.  With Bill, of course.

And speaking of Bill, we went to dinner at The Tavern last night.  It was good, but the menu is completely different from the tasting menu we sampled in July.  Or August, whenever that was.  And even though we hadn’t seen each other in a week, we did NOT have sex.  The fact is that every time we do now, my eyes leak, and that, apparently, has him freaked out.  Of course, it makes me feel even less desirable than I already feel.  I guess I need to tell him this.  All he really wants to do is fix everything and believe me, I wish he could.  Unfortunately, he can’t really do much besides be there for me and encourage me.  A lot of times, though, I feel like he thinks I’m not doing enough.  What he, and everyone else for that matter, cannot possibly understand is the things I’m going through are a result of the attack/trauma I suffered and I can’t help what’s happening.  There is a huge disconnect in my brain and my body and this I am unable to do anything about it right now.  It’s all going to take time.  It sucks, I know, I’m living it.  It is truly a case of no one possibly being able to understand what I am going through unless they’ve been through it themselves.  And a lot of people have all kinds of trauma happen all the time.  I guess, though, that it manifests differently for everyone, while at the same time, it’s basically the same.  I guess that doesn’t really make any sense.  I think I’m trying to say is the attack and trauma I suffered was unique to me because it happened to me and my brain and body are processing it according to my experiences.  So that means that NO ONE can really understand what I’m going through.  The physical and psychological things are common to all those who suffer a traumatic event, but they are also all different.  Round and round it goes…

All I can do is my best.  Take each day one at a time.

Probably the other person that this has affected most is Bill.  Maybe he should talk to someone as well.  He doesn’t quite know what to do and neither does anyone else.  No one that I personally know has ever had to deal with this.  Or if they did, they aren’t talking.  There is obviously a big part of me that can’t shut up about it.  I want and maybe even need everyone to know.  So until I feel like I’ve talked about it enough, I suppose I’ll go on telling my story to everyone I know and even those I don’t.

 

 

1 NOVEMBER 2011, 2012

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As I was reading through my journal last night, I was/am amazed at the way I thinking and the ways in which my brain was and was not working.  I also wrote a lot more than I thought I did, especially at the beginning.  As I told my boyfriend the other day, he (and everyone else now) will learn a lot more of what was going on with me post-attack than I let on.  Part of that was not understanding what I was truly going through, part was that I didn’t want him to think I was a complete loser or nut case and part was I didn’t want to be a bother, to him or anyone.  It is so interesting how our brains work to protect us, especially in times of great trauma.  I definitely learned a whole lot more about a lot of things, including the brain, than I ever thought I would.  And the brain is quite a fascinating organ.  I will share more about this at a later date.

My post today is taken directly from my journal.  It is exactly what I was feeling and going through a year ago today.

1 November 2011

Turns out the weird feelings I’m having are all part of the process.  More symptoms are coming out.  My body and mind have, apparently, been in protection mode since the attack and I’m just starting to feel some things.  Knowing this does not make it any easier.  In fact, knowing that it will most likely get a whole lot worse before it gets better does not make me happy at all.  NOT AT ALL.  There is such a disconnect in my brain.  I did manage to go to yoga this morning.  It is about the only thing I seem capable of actually doing.

I have got to force myself to do some work.  For the first time in a while, I actually have several jobs waiting to be done.  It’s not that I don’t want to work.  I do.  I can’t seem to concentrate long enough, or well enough, to do what needs to be done.  I think the reason I was able to do the pillows the week before last is because I didn’t really have to ‘think’ about how to do them, since I’ve made about a million pillows.   The baby bumper I’m supposed to be doing is quite another story.  I even have the actual bumper to copy and I look at it and  cannot figure out how to do it.   I’m visualizing over and over making it in my mind so that I am able to make it in reality.

I talked to Bill four different times yesterday!  He even wanted to come take me to dinner, but, basically, I talked him out of it.  It’s not that I didn’t want to see him and  I know he really wanted to see me, but he was exhausted and I haven’t shaved my legs in over a week.  It seemed a better idea for him to sleep in his own bed and to, hopefully, get a good night’s sleep.  And he has an appointment with his eye doctor this morning.  So, maybe I’ll see him later today.  I guess there’s a part of me that doesn’t even want to see him at all.  It’s the part that’s doing it’s best to protect me from being hurt anymore.  I truly do not believe, though, that he will hurt me and, right now, it is such a battle going on inside me.

One thing Susie mentioned (again) yesterday was how hopeful she is for my recovery from this trauma (and all the others that are still stuck in my brain/body) because of all the deep, intense work I’ve done in the past and just how hard I’ve fought to remain alive.  And still, in spite of that, that small part of me that wants to check out early is alive and well.  Oh, joy!  Okay, not so much.  Will it ever get easier?  Will that feeling ever go away completely?  It’s not that I am really afraid that I’ll do anything, but it is so disconcerting knowing it may rear its ugly head at the most inopportune moments, throwing me into, if not actual depression, then at least into panic-mode.  It pretty much sucks.  I just want to feel happy and whole again.

I GRADUATED!!!!!!

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Yesterday was my last session with my amazing therapist, Susie Morgan.  As much as I loved her, I hated therapy just as much, if not more.  Believe me, I know I am very fortunate to have found her and to have had the Victims Compensation Program paying for my therapy.  It was not inexpensive.  By my calculations, it cost approximately $16,000 or so.  I could never have afforded it myself.  I also know that without the therapy I would not be where I am today.

It turns out that by my returning last week to the scene of the crime, the final piece of my journey fell into place.  Susie told me yesterday that when I left her office the previous Monday she never thought I’d be able to actually do it without several more sessions of processing the fear that had such a tight grip on me.  I think it basically came down to me wanting to be finished with therapy, to wanting to finally be able to take back ‘my’ entire island and to knowing inside that I COULD do it.  I told her yesterday that I wished I had done it sooner and she told me that I did it when I was able to.  The truth is I couldn’t have done it before.  I wish I could have, but I simply was not ready.  

The last 403 days (and, yes, I did just count to be sure) have been such a roller coaster ride.  It’s not a ride I ever thought I’d be on and one I hope no one else ever has to take.  Unfortunately, that will probably not be the case.  Everyone is different and traumatic events will not be experienced the same by anyone.  The one thing that is true, though, is that without professional help, you will NOT heal.  Oh sure, you may be able to put the attack, or whatever happened, out of your mind and maybe even fool most people into thinking that you are okay.  You will want to be.  You will want to just put it behind you.  You will want to pretend that it didn’t happen or that it wasn’t so bad.  After all, you survived it, right?  You won’t be okay, though, and no amount of wishing, hoping, even praying will make it so.  It is SO important that you get into therapy.  I worked harder than I ever have in my entire life this last year and that’s why I can be sharing this with you now.  Another thing I know for certain is that you deserve to be more than just okay.  I urge you to do whatever it takes to make that a reality.

One last thing – I mentioned this before in my post about how my face has changed, that my way of describing how I looked different to myself (and to a lesser degree, to others) was that I had lost my ‘shiny.’  Well, yesterday Susie told me, as she was trying not to cry (which, of course, made me cry) that there is now a light in my eyes that she had never seen before.  My shiny is back!

1 YEAR, 28 DAYS AND 12 HOURS

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Yesterday, I did it!  I finally faced my fear of returning to the scene of the crime.  It only took me 1 year, 28 days and 12 hours.  Better that than never, I’d say.  There were so many times I thought I’d never be able to go over there again.  It’s not like the attack happened in a remote place that I normally would never go near.  I live on an island that’s not very big, and the beach side of the island has been off-limits to me since it happened.  Physically, I was unable to go there.

Last Thanksgiving morning, as I was walking uptown to get a bagel, Kim called.  So instead of going the more direct way, I chose to go the ‘longer’ way to have more time on the phone.  That longer way would entail walking up to Ocean Blvd.  Never gave it a second thought.  My body, though, had other ideas.  When I was just a couple blocks away from the beach, I literally was stopped in my tracks.  Just as those grocery carts that cannot be taken off the property of the supermarket, I could go no further.  My heart started racing and I thought I was going to have a heart attack.  I had to backtrack and go a different way.  Luckily, I did not have that reaction yesterday.

I cannot remember now exactly when my body started feeling somewhat safe again.  It was a very long, gradual process, which is why I can’t pinpoint it.  What I do remember is being in therapy, week after week, in physical pain, and Susie telling me that the pain wasn’t real, that it was muscle memory.  It sure felt real.  And for a long time when I went out to walk, even if it was just 4 blocks up the street to the store, and, of course, only in the middle of the day and never regularly (as I recounted in the previous post, I was ‘stuck’ to my bed), I was in so much physical pain from the attack that it made walking difficult.  I basically suffered whiplash when he slammed me to the pavement, not to mention the fighting for my life that left my arms and ribs so incredibly sore.  All of that trauma was stored as memory in my body and that pain would intensify as soon as I went outside.  Oddly enough, it didn’t happen when I was off the island.  Or at least not to the same degree.  Of course, then I was almost always with my boyfriend and I felt safe with him.

As I said, the pain subsided over (a long) time and yesterday all I really felt was anxiety over retracing that walk.  I would say that I felt fine as we (I had my friend Laura along for emotional support) got closer to Ocean Blvd; well, as fine as could be expected when going back to where the worst thing I’ve ever experienced happened.  There were lots of people around, the sun was still shining.   I had built up such a fear of the ‘place,’ though intellectually I knew I was safe.  Still, I had to continuously remind myself that I was, indeed, safe.  I also was/am aware that it’s not the ‘place’ that did it, just as I know it’s not the fault of the island.  It was a person who attacked me, and he is no longer here to harm me or anyone else.

I thought I’d just KNOW exactly the spot where the attack occurred.  Didn’t exactly jump out at me, though.  We kind of had to figure it out.  The whole last 13 months, in my mind, it happened at the corner of the Beach Village and the Windsor Cottage, but in reality it had to have happened in front of the Windsor Cottage because of the way the path/sidewalk winds around.  It’s not a huge difference, but it makes/made the difference in my being heard and/or seen and rescued by my angel.  The picture below is where it happened.  It looks so unassuming.

And from the opposite direction.

And the shot below is what I would have been seeing if I would have been looking anywhere but my attacker’s face as he attempted to rape me.  It sure doesn’t look like anything bad could ever happen there.  Unfortunately, that’s not the case.

Lastly, me on the spot.

I guess it is a relief that I finally did it.  I am still processing it.  Another step closer to being finished.   I wasn’t sure I’d be able to do it, but I did!

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.

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.