by Band Back Together | Aug 13, 2015 | Anxiety, Depression, Fear, Healing From A Rape or Sexual Asault, Rape/Sexual Assault, Violence |
This only happened to me a few weeks ago, and I am still trying to find ways of coping with what happened to me. I am hoping that sharing my story and writing it out will also help my mental state at the moment.
I already suffered with severe anxiety and depression before this had happened so have already suffered through some traumatic experiences already. However, this is my story.
I am 20, a university student, and generally enjoy my life. Even though I do live with mental health issues I never really let them over-rule my life.
Being students, we decided to go on a night out. I wasn’t drinking as my friend was already excessively drunk, and I was keeping an eye on him to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. A couple of hours later, we were still out enjoying our night. He had found some lad to dance with and spent the majority of his evening with this boy and me. I went to the toilet, trusting that he would wait for me, so that we could get a taxi home. I came out of the toilet and he had gone, I searched both rooms in the club to try and find him or any other of the group of friends I was out with. I couldn’t see any of them.
I went outside to see if anyone was outside smoking. No one was in sight there either. I then went to call everyone I was with to try and find someone, so I remained outside. I started to panic slightly. Absolutely no one was answering their phones and most of their phones were turned off.
I again began to panic. I wasn’t sure how I was going to get home as one of my friends had my bank card with them. I had no cash on me either. I then began to text my friend, who hadn’t come out with us, to ask if he could pick me up. He agreed, but said he was going to be over an hour. At this point, it was around 5am, and everyone started to leave the club. I was standing at the end of the street, where I told my friend I would meet him when he came to pick me up.
A male approached me as I was having a cigarette to ask if he could have one. I said yes, and he stuck around to talk. He seemed genuinely lovely. He then realized that I was alone and began getting friendly. I politely asked him not to, but he kept on insisting that it was fine. He then asked if I wanted to go back to his house. I again politely declined the offer, as I was waiting for my friend to pick me up.
A taxi then pulled up shortly afterwards. He walked back over to me, I thought to say goodbye, but instead, he said to me I had no choice as he wasn’t leaving me alone. When I tried to push him away, he picked me up and threw me into the taxi. In the area that we were in, the taxi drivers tend to ignore their clients, regardless of what was happening, so I knew I would get no help from the driver.
We then arrived at his house, and I had no idea where we were, I felt really scared. I thought about running away from him when we got out of the taxi, but I wouldn’t know where to run to or where to go. I also started panicking about how I would get away.
He then proceeded to drag me into his house. He walked me to the living room and told me to sit on the sofa and not move until he came back. While he was gone, I started looking for his address to let my friend know where to pick me up. His cat was staring at me whilst I was doing this. I found a letter and really quickly sent a text to my friend. He returned, and I hid my phone as quickly as I could. He asked me what I was doing, and I didn’t reply.
He then threw me onto his sofa and took my underwear and skirt off. He gagged me with a tie that he had just gone to get, so that I couldn’t scream or shout. After around 10 minutes, he stopped and told me to follow him to his bedroom. He told me that if I didn’t do what he said, he was going to hurt me, so I followed his instructions. He continued to rape me in his bedroom. After around another 20 minutes, he told me to clean myself up and leave. I ran into the living room to put on my clothes, and just at that moment, my friend called me to say he was outside. I tried to act completely normal, like nothing had happened, when I left the house and got into my friends car.
I continued pretending like nothing had happened until I spoke to my tutor. She could see something wasn’t quite right. I had become really angry and extremely quiet. I didn’t cry when I told her what had happened. I still haven’t cried. I have become emotionally numb and tried to block out this situation.
I don’t know how to face this.
by Band Back Together | Aug 12, 2015 | Bringing the Happy Back World Tour, Happiness |
Back again!
I want to update you all on what has been going on in my life lately. Some of you may remember me going through a dark time when I last posted, I am happy to say I am doing much, much better! I am happy and content and don’t really have much to report. Which is good!
My son is growing so much! He is getting so big and talking so much and he makes me proud to be his momma everyday.
My husband has gotten a lot better with our son as well. No more spanking! We are working on the amount he yells, but that has yet to be accomplished. Baby steps, that is my mantra!
I went through a rough patch about a month ago where I had a repressed memory, perhaps I will post about it later, it was bad! But I got through it, like I always do. It still doesn’t sit well with me but I am working to come to terms with it.
I am sorry I haven’t been around much to comment on everyone’s posts. I am a full-time stay-at-home-mom, full-time wife, and part-time student, so I have a full plate! But I have a month off from school coming up so I plan to get back into the swing of things and get my groove back.
I love you all so much, and just keep swimming, no matter how powerless or defenseless you feel right now, I promise you it gets better. Just hold on a little bit longer and reach out to us! You. Are. Not. Alone.
by Band Back Together | Aug 11, 2015 | Happiness, Narcissistic Personality Disorder |
I’m a 37 year old, a newly single mother of three children between the ages of three and seven. While I do not receive child support, we are finally happy. My ex, their father, has narcissistic personality disorder (NPD).
As I am a single parent, I’ve had to rely upon my parents. My children and I decided to move from the city we love to the country where I grew up. We thought it to be the right decision. Of course, I found my dream house out in the country but, thanks to my bad credit, I couldn’t afford to buy it. My father stepped in to help. He signed for my house and he signed for a car for me.
My parents own the business I work for – I’m even allowed to bring my kids to work – it’s pretty awesome. Until it started. Every time I make a decision or do something they don’t like, my parents ride me. My house isn’t clean enough. I’m not home on time. That’s enough to trigger a texting marathon with a million questions from them. Our personal life is now their business.
If I have anyone over to see me or if one of my children says something to that effect, it triggers a million questions. If I don’t feel like playing the game, they assume I’m hiding something bad. If they hear something or even THINK something, instead of coming to me, I get treated like crap – and I have no idea why.
In the past two years, I’ve been treated terribly by them, even though in a twist of fate, I’ve tried harder than I have in my adult years. Things have gotten so bad that my father will say terrible things to me – often things that are true, but from the past – in front of my children. He’ll even go behind my back and say nasty things about me to my children.
My parents have put me through a lot. As of late, I’ve come to the understanding that my father has these preconceived notions about the girl, and the woman he thought I should be, When I fail to live up to these expectations, he becomes irate.
Now I’ve finally woken up and realized that I do have a mind of my own and yes, I can even use it. Now it seems that my kids are being targeted so my parents can “help them be the best they can be” in their eyes, of course. I feel that they have had their chance raising my brother and I.
Now? Now it’s my turn to raise my kids. So we can be happy once again.
by Band Back Together | Aug 10, 2015 | Encephalocele, Happiness, Internet Trolls |
The first time I got a blog troll on my personal blog, I ate a celebratory cupcake and washed it down with a tall Diet Coke on the rocks. It was probably, in hindsight, a spammer (just like my first comments , which I think I framed somewhere were) but I didn’t care. I’d made it! Someone, somewhere hated me!
Then, I got someone who copied bits out of my blog posts. Actual bits of my posts removed and pasted onto hers, like it was no big deal. Someone else, a watchdog, alerted me. My daughter had just been born ill and I wasn’t about to deal with it right then. Talk about bigger fish to fry. I like to think I would have fist-pumped, though, and perhaps celebrated with a tasty bowl of edamame or a wee Uncrustables.
Later yet came the loon who created several blogs composed of entirely stolen posts filched neatly from other bloggers, myself included, who I did fight. Google claims they shut her down, but I don’t care to check because I don’t want to drive her traffic up. I still have, somewhere on my desktop, screenshots of all of your comments on her blog, just because they were so full of the awesome, by the way.
You don’t fuck with the Pranksters or The Band.
Since that first Internet Mole Person (troll), I’ve gotten a handful of others.
Generally, they make me laugh.
There are weeks when they do not.
Like anyone, I’m a person, and I have bad days, and bad weeks, and sometimes I say and do the wrong things. In fact, if I had to describe my blog, I’d say something like, “THIS is where I bow to the alter of my wrongness.” I don’t have a publicist or an adviser to tell me not to do something because, uh, why?
This week, I’ve gotten a couple of nasty-grams that hurt my feelers. I know bloggers are “supposed” to pretend like it doesn’t matter; like we don’t care, like it doesn’t hurt our feelers when people call us names or insult us, but it does. Of course it does.
Like it or not, this is my life.
Certainly, it’s my steaming pile of guts spilled here, my wrongness on display, and my inconsistencies on the table to be judged and if I don’t like it, I can absolutely pack up shop and go somewhere else. That’s the answer, right? To delete my blog in a stompy flourish? Go back to being Becky, In Real Life? That’s how to handle hurt feelers?
Not so much. At least, not for me.
Blogging, writing out your pain, and sharing it with the world, is an act of bravery. When you put yourself out there, especially waaay out there, you stand a very real chance to be very hurt or very disgusted by human nature. The farther you stick your neck out, the worse the inevitable hurt* may be.
ANYWAY.
What I think is worse than any troll are the people who get you entirely wrong. Because you’re left standing there stuttering, “but, but, BUT, that’s not what I meant AT ALL.”
These are the sort that make me sort of question myself in a way that I seldom do (perhaps I should): Did I say it wrong? WAS I wrong?
And most importantly: why the hell do I do this at all? I see that typed out here, on my screen and it looks like I’m being all 15-years old and dramatical feet-stamp *woe is me, OH NOES* and I’m (for once) not.
I mean that genuinely: why do I do this? Why do ANY of us bother?
It’s certainly not for the billions of dollars in my bank account that still haven’t been deposited, nor is it for the notoriety and free swag, or to be able to tell someone that “I blog, and it’s really, really cool.” Because I swear, if I told someone that, they’d be all, “um, huh? Did you just insult me?”
No. It’s not for that.
It’s because it all matters. Every word I write matters. To me. To (maybe) you. These words are what define me, what make up my life, and what bring me joy. Whether or not someone else finds them and finds joy in them too is inconsequential because it brings me joy. I write because I love to. I write because that is what I do. I write because it matters. Every comment I make, every life I touch, it matters.
That is why The Band exists.
It’s why we pay for servers to handle our traffic and keep your stories edited and fresh. It’s why we’re always looking for new volunteers. It’s why we use our social media accounts to share your stories. It’s why we cry with you, we laugh with you, and we dust you off, and get you to your feet to fight another day. It’s what we do. For you and for every life you touch by the words you write. Why our volunteers help keep the lights on and guide you to us. We all know the truth of what it is that we do here: it all matters.
Everything we, what you, do. We know, above all else, this to be true:
It all matters.
Everything you do. Every single thing.
It all matters.
*I’d like to tell you guys a secret. We do moderate comments because you never do know if/when an Internet Mole Person may scurry up to shit on things. It’s our way of protecting you and every other person who uses the site from the ugly bits. We moderate so that you can share your ugly bits without fear.
With the exception of a Jehovah’s Witness trying to convert The Band into their, uh, program? Church? Erms, I don’t know much about it. But with that exception, I have seen maybe 4 comments deleted and those were people trying to raise money or promote their own blog. You just don’t get any hate. Way to be awesome, The Band.
by Band Back Together | Aug 7, 2015 | Gastroesphogeal Reflux Disease, Irritable Bowel Syndrome, Self Injury |
It’s been a while since I’ve been back here, and thought I’d update.
The last year has been hell for me, but I am emerging as a different person. I spent last fall in and out of hospitals and self-harming constantly. Things came to a head when I moved to Florida briefly. I would cut multiple times a day.
I finally decided to come back to Texas. That, along with the medication changes have made a world of difference.
In April, I started having disturbing digestive symptoms. I finally found answers with a restrictive diet and prescription treatment for Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) and severe Gastroesophageal Reflux Disease (GERD.)
I am now employed for the first time in eleven months, and that’s going well. I’m a very different person now. I no longer have a desire to cut, and I am more than four months clean.
