If you are on your phone I suggest turning it 90 degrees. This poem contains a visual aspect as well.
Sun streaks stream down like Heaven’s sweet kiss upon The blacktop -where the heat is seen. So we travel along And sit in our canoes Singing sweet songs and -sweating all the sooner. Where we laugh and play. Where we dance and eat. Where we share and cry. This pattern repeats. On the fourth day We celebrate our independence. I celebrate our diversity -for it’s who we are. Drink after drink. Dance after dance. Joke after joke. This pattern repeats. Sun streaks stream down like Heaven’s sweet kiss Upon the black tar -burning through my body. My body: numb and weak. My body: weak and -- irrevocable. In a trance of sweet sedation- situated- where my agony is -euphoric. This pattern repeats. So I travel along As I sit in an Uber Making meaningless manifestations -of my menial night Where I sit and chat. Where I sleep and ignore. Where I shame and cry. This pattern repeats. On the fourth day -the following day We celebrate our independence I celebrate my entrapment -to the bodies -that take me -over -and -over -again. This pattern…
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“If you can name it, you can tame it.” ~Unknown Before I begin I want to give a trigger warning. It can assumed what this post is roughly about from the title, and yes I will be discussing some of the details and moments from a rape that stand out from my experience. I will also discuss briefly how my mental health has been affected by the sexual trauma and my trust issues as well. Sometimes the memories are so vivid. About a year ago I wrote a blog on my first experience of respect. I remember feeling validated and appreciated for the person I am and for what I’d been through. He made me feel like I could trust, and be myself again. He didn’t think of me differently for what I’d been through, and he simply cared about me…for me. Of course it was not that simple. And as the pattern goes in my life the trust I had gained and the respect I felt was soon thrown out the window, and so this guy became the third person to rape me. It was July 3, we had an Independence Day and birthday celebration, and there was drinking involved. Never did I feel out of control; I knew exactly what was happening the whole night. It started off wonderful! Delicious food, met my new boyfriend’s friends, got to talk about my research, danced, played games, etc. At the end of the night we all went our separate ways, and since it was late, and I didn’t want to travel back to my place alone that late and nor did my boyfriend want me to; I decided to spend the night at his place. We exited the elevator with two of his friends (I think they were dating) that were also spending the night, and continued to the apartment. My boyfriend had decided to give them space, so we went and sat on the stairs. He kissed me gently, and then it grew more intense. He began to unzip his pants, and adjust my skirt. I resisted, and said no multiple times. He stopped after I didn’t give up, and after a few seconds we went to his apartment, and he took me into the bathroom, and began the process again. I still resisted, and still said no. He insisted and used his birthday and the holiday as an excuse. The alcohol had started to weaken me now. I was still coherent and assertive with my voice, but I was now feeble and passive with my physical strength. He pushed me over the small sink in the cramped studio apartment bathroom, and it happened. I told him to stop, and that he was hurting me. He continued…without protection. I was then forced on the floor with my head pushed against the door so it was no longer in line with my spine. I was frozen, nothing was coming from my mouth, my muscles were paralyzed, and I was trying to speak, trying to resist. I decided to focus on the pain of my wrenched neck, so the rape wasn’t as horrifying. I was thrown like a puppet back to the sink, and tears began to stream down my face. Finally, after several minutes he stopped as I sniffled and cried. I apologized for crying, and told him I never trusted anyone or was respected… He quickly chimed in and said it was fine and that I could always trust him, and of course I believed him. As I had for my assaults just a few weeks earlier, I was already repressing what had just happened, as well as repressing the previous conversation I had with him when I told him I felt manipulated. To which he had responded that I was being mean and hurtful and he cried. We made ourselves decent, and went to bed. I broke up with him about a week later. My trust is almost always betrayed, and I find myself not sharing with the people close to me afraid that this trust will be betrayed, so instead I am open with strangers, and the internet. I subconsciously test my peers and friends. This past school year everything finally got to me, and to therapy I went. It has been helpful, and I am not close to being done. I haven’t even started with the trauma stuff. I know the cognitive distortions I tend to, and I know better ways to cope now. My panic attacks and anxiety are better overall. However, when they present themselves, they are worse. I attribute this to the fact that I am no longer ignoring the hurt, and am letting myself have feelings. July 3 is the only sexual trauma date I know, so when it comes for its first anniversary I am afraid all of my traumas will be summoned. Prayers please. For now I will not fortune-tell or ruminate on this date. I am hopeful and I see a bright future for myself. And just the other day I actually desired to read my Bible, and my prayers to God have not been forced lately. I have motivation, and I can smile naturally again. And I know that just because my path is different does not mean I am lost, does not mean I won’t make it. It may simply take longer, and for the first time in years I am not faking my optimism. Love and Faith, Melanie J. Lofgren “It's not that I don't feel the pain it's just I'm not afraid of hurting anymore.” ~Paramore (Song: Last Hope)
Sometimes the memories are so vivid. I sit watching Netflix, I stand washing my hair in the shower, or I kneel sweeping the floor, and it all comes back in an instant. Just yesterday I was okay and talking about it. In fact I was laughing about it. Flashes of the night flow through my head. We are laughing and having a good time. I take another shot of gin. We laugh about friends, and bets we had made. I take another shot, but this time rum. It hits me, and I know that shot was my last for the night. Oh wait. I was wrong, there is still rum left and beer and he has already poured some gin for me. I guess I’ll have more. Time passes. I don’t how long, but then there are just 2 shots left. He takes one, and insists I have the last. I say no, I had enough, and that I really feel the alcohol, and shouldn’t have another. He continues to urge me, so eventually I give in. What is just one more shot? I don’t remember the rest of the night. I blacked out. However I can recall a few moments. I was pushed over onto my back so that he loomed over me. My hair was sprawled uncomfortably over my face. If this is happening, I wanted to at least be as comfortable as I could, so I pushed it aside. I black out, and the next thing I can remember is that I am concerned. I suddenly realize that it has been 2 weeks, and that means timing is perfect. I reach for a condom. I drunkenly open it, and with blurred vision and slow movements quickly try to put it on him. He grabs it and does it himself. He then wraps his arms round me and once again flips me over, and I lay there unsure, weak, limp, and helpless. I do not remember any of that the next morning though. I thought I wanted it. I thought I planned it, I thought it was just your typical drunken night. After all it was only the second time I had ever drank, and I didn’t know anything about parties, casual gatherings or drinking, and since he was there for my first drunken experience, I trusted him. There are days when the scenes from the night play in my head. They play from my perspective, and in a third person omniscient point of view. Of course not until nearly a year after the incident did they. The scenes played in a third person limited view up until that point. I had not known it was rape. I thought it was a one night stand, and since neither of us liked the idea of that we decided to go on a date. I cried to friends because I lost my virginity. I felt empty because I betrayed God. I broke my promises. I ate ice cream sheepishly and spooned more into my mouth before the previous spoonful had reached my taste buds. I thought I regretted it, but no… I was raped. I didn’t want it, and never was able to express that. There are days when the scenes from the night play in my head, and I try to fight back tears. I try to fight back the panic attack. So I breathe deeply, I name all the items I can see around me and describe them aloud. It doesn’t always work. I move into the fetal position dazed, or become catatonic. My breath shortens and I twitch. My throat closes and a lump grows blocking more air from my lungs. In the summer it is worse. I am wearing shorts. Clothes that expose some thigh and my shoulders. I feel violated, but cannot move to grab a blanket or change. I return to feeling unsure, weak, limp, and helpless. At times the only thing that helps is alcohol even when I’m nauseous. That scares me. I don’t dare drink gin or rum, but wine and vodka are fair game. Love & Faith, Melanie J. Lofgren “The truest form of love is how you behave toward someone, not how you feel about them.” ~Steve Hall
The other day I had a date. I was more nervous than I typically would be, and after some conversation I noticed my guard going down. This shocked and scared me. After having my trust betrayed, and after being manipulated, several times, I had (and still have) immense trouble trusting others, and feeling safe around people. I may be an open person, but this is mainly a defense mechanism, so people cannot hurt me as easily. Anyway, on our first date, we went to dinner at an African restaurant and walked around the city and the beach. We really connected, and opened up with each other. It went extremely well and we set up a date for later that week. Before I had met him, I thought I knew what respect was. But clearly I did not. On our second date, we were a little intimate. He was willing to do more than I, and as he progressed I would stop him and say no, and he would not say anything to try to convince me or do anything else that may change my mind. He just continued kissing me. Throughout the evening we would occasionally go back to kissing between conversation, laughter, food, music, YouTube videos, etc. And if I felt uncomfortable I said no, or pulled his hand away, and he would stop. No questions, no push back. It was so simple. I didn’t repeat myself. I didn’t have to use my strength. I didn’t have to use a stern voice. I didn’t have to define what abuse and assault were. It was nice. It made me feel good and confident. I later told him that I really appreciated how respectful he was and how much it meant to me. He seemed surprised by how much I appreciated it (I was almost in tears). No one had respected me like that before. Everyone I had been intimate with in the past would continually try and try again or try to coerce me into doing more. People have used guilt, strength and alcohol to do so. His respect is a huge attraction to me. The sad thing is, it really shouldn’t be. Respect is something that everyone you date, meet, are friends with, etc. should have and receive. The very fact that respect is something I look for in a relationship is wrong, and our society needs to realize this. I know too many people who have been assaulted and raped, and some did not even know it until they opened up to me. This has been said over and over and over. But I guess people still do not get it, so I will say it again. No means no. Stop means no. Pulling a hand back means no. Resisting means no. These do not mean convince me. These do not mean get me turned on, so self-control is difficult. If you are confused by a verbal or nonverbal response to intimacy…ASK! It is not awkward. Intimacy requires communication before, during and after. Being respected makes you feel like a person. It is a good feeling. And we all deserve it. Love and Faith, Melanie J. Lofgren “The smile on my face doesn’t mean my life is perfect. It means I appreciate what I have and what God has blessed me with.” ~Unknown
Dear Brother in Christ, Today marks a year since you sent me an email talking about how we lost contact with each other. You mentioned that you figured out that I was in a relationship with another girl, and that as my reference I should have disclosed that information with you, and then you suggested I share the information with my employers. I did so, and the following week I met with one of them to discuss the situation and what would happen from that point on. Afterwards, we started talking about my story, and the coming out process, and he mentioned that you had emailed him. This was new information to me, and I asked when you had sent the email. You did so before you had emailed me. I later asked my other employer if you had contacted him, and he responded by referring me to you, in other words yes you had. I understand why the information needed to be shared, and I understand where I need to take responsibility and fault. However, the one thing I truly just cannot be fair about or find any reason for it being okay, is the fact that you informed my employers about my relationship before I was even aware you had any idea about the relationship. This would imply that you never confirmed or asked me about it, and you also did not receive my consent to share the information. I was unaware and never gave you the okay to share part of story. A part that I was still wrestling with and afraid to share with anyone outside of North Park. The day after your email, April 15, marked my 6 month anniversary. I had been debating making a post and “fully” coming out, but was leaning towards not doing so. However, I felt like I was being forced to come out anyway since you called me out for my lack of honesty, so I said, “what the hell! If I have to tell my employers I might as we tell the world.” So I made a post. This made it so some of my closest friends found out over Facebook rather from me personally, and it has strained my relationship with those people. You hurt me. I can’t give an elaborate explanation or analysis or thesis about how and why. Though, someone once told me (it is also probably some cheesy quote) that you may not remember what was done or said to you, but you will always remember how they made you feel. For months I was pissed. Flat out infuriated. I could not do or look at or partake in anything that reminded of you or The Loft or the Covenant and in turn Christianity. I could not wear Loft shirts (I even removed them from my drawer). I could not read my favorite author, because she is Christian. I did not want to talk to or see my friends because they were covenant or they were Christian or went to North Park. I considered transferring schools, but I could not go to the only public institution I was interested in because it is in Minnesota, and you are from Minnesota. I think you get my point. Since coming out, I have lost friends or we are at least not nearly as close as we were. I notice changes in the way people act around me. I notice eye rolls. I sense hidden agendas. I sense the strong attempts to act normal. I try so incredibly hard to not place this on the fact that they are Christian (and yes they all are. It is those that are not Christian that have given me endless support.) I also realize that I act differently too, but I expect to be treated differently. This is stereotype threat. It is also self-handicapping and the self-fulfilling prophecy, but it is still rooted in the idea that people are judging me and think less of me. And to be honest I have noticed this. Mostly in the form of microaggression, which is partly why I am so obsessed with the topic, but I won’t get into that now. My depression has worsened, and part of this is on me. Me trying to give grace and forgive so easily and quickly without allowing myself time to grieve. Me being stubborn. The way my mind interprets things; it told me that I did something wrong, that I was hurting people, and that I was to blame, but I combated that. I fought it so much so that I ended up switching the blame to everyone and everything associated with God and Christianity (especially evangelism). I used too many cognitive distortions for coping to name them all. And satan took advantage of all this. Once I began to drop, once I hated God, satan grabbed me and pulled me under. Satan told me you ripped my heart out and served it on a silver platter to him. He fed me lie after lie after lie, and I licked that plate clean. Although, I can’t give satan all the credit. I told myself a lot of this too, as did society. I was told that everything I learned about Christianity, was wrong, invalid, or irrelevant. This is not true though. You have been a tremendous light, hope and source of strength in my life. You taught me about a life that has incredible purpose and value. You taught me that I have incredible purpose and value. You see my strengths, address my weaknesses, and help me to overcome my obstacles so that I can be the very best that I can be. You see strong leadership abilities in me, and you see my potential to change the world through this ability. You have supported me when others have not. When my aspirations seemed far-fetched and ridiculous you encouraged me and got excited with me. You know my heart, and you know what I need. Sometimes you slip up, but we all do. We are only human. And I accept the fullness of our humanity. Every part. The good, the bad, and those in between. We are made in God’s image. This means that those of any race, class, education level, gender, sexual orientation, etc. reflect God’s image. It means that those I disagree with, those that have harmed me, those that have opposite opinions of me…reflect God. Their opinions reflect God, and my opinions reflect God. God has more than one perspective, more than one opinion, more than one reflection. Brother, you are someone I look up to. You have tremendous faith. You are a brilliant youth leader. A phenomenal pastor. A loving husband. An affectionate father. A person after God’s own heart. A true follower of Christ. A humble servant. A patient learner. An honest conversationalist. And my friend. But, brother, you have hurt me the most, and you are one of the greatest and truest people I have met. I think it safe to say you are one of the greatest and truest people I will ever meet. And if the denomination allowed it, I would be honored if you officiated my wedding. It has been a dream of mine for as long as I can remember. Thank you for being with me, and not just beside me. Love and Faith, Melanie J. Lofgren |