Ten

one thing I know / this pain will go / step through all that's left to feel... / one thing I know / this day will go
~ Suzanne Vega, Birth-day

July 5th will mark the tenth anniversary of my rape. Many of you don't even know that that is something I survived; it's not something I generally open with. Now before you stop reading for the discomfort everyone experiences at the word 'rape', let me assure you that this will not be your typical whiny 'why me' rant. I know why me. In years past this anniversary has not necessarily gone well, I'll admit. Sometimes the body remembers what the mind refuses to even acknowledge. It was as though the memory of that night lingered on my subconscious; just hovered beneath the surface. Enough for me to have a totally crap emotional day, but not enough for me to even realize WHY I was having a crap emotional day. A few years ago, my mother and I made a pact. A pact that no matter what we would celebrate that day. This might seem awfully strange to some. Celebrate the day I was raped? But that's me. I look for the silver lining. It took me awhile to come to that, by the way. This wasn't an immediate waking up the next morning skip to the doodle all day yippee I got raped and beaten discovery. Quite the contrary. The next morning after I was raped, I got up and went to my summer English class as though nothing had happened. Actually, there was not getting up as I never really went to sleep. I refused to believe that my life had been utterly shattered and changed. For awhile the rape was something I hid. My boyfriend at the time even dumped me because he could not deal with it. Really? How did he think I felt? Then I went into 'dealing' with it. Which basically consisted of me trying to not have any emotion and everyone around me trying to get me to cry for my 'loss'. Thank you to those of you who stood idly by, gently patted my shoulder and apparently expected nothing of me. It was all I could give. Somewhere along the way though I found me. There was a lot of therapy, a lot of disaster. There was a whole whole lot of me trying to get back the girl I was before that night. And then there was a realization that I should just kinda go forth from where I stood right then. I wish I could tell you some eloquent romantic tale of how that discovery came to pass, but there is none. As all real truths occur, this one silently tip toed upon me and gently took me over. No startling revelation. Just a simple, ' I think I'd like to grow up now. I think I'd like to be a real girl'. And so you all came to have a Catherine. And here is my tale of thanks - without all of that, without all the pain, the unfortunate drama(s), the bad relationships, the suicide attempts and the therapy bills, without the rape and the pain that ensued I may not have wound up me. I'm a pretty big fan of me, I'd like to think you are too. Five years ago my mother and I went to celebrate my 'birth-day' and were met with utter disaster and much laughter. We went to go hiking, we wound up washing paint out of all of my dry cleaning on some rocks in a creek. And laughing and laughing and loving. I have no definite plans for Saturday the 5th, my 10th birth-day, but I think I will go to the beach. I will head for the water. I'll think about the girl I was, I'll be grateful for the woman I am, and I bet I'll get a pretty good sunset out of the deal.

Voyeur

Part of our bedtime wind down ritual is a nightly walk, me and my two puppy girls. This is an obvious common sense thing to do with dogs - walking them before retiring for the night. It ensures no accidents. I think I may stick to this method when I have real live human babies one day. Usually, I walk the girls around the back perimeter of our building - there is little chance of running into someone while in my pajamas and also no one to notice that sometimes? I don't pick up after the dogs. Sorry about that. Last night I had a little surprise though, a bit of a treat.
As I neared the end of the sidewalk, approaching the 8 foot fence that separates our property from another, I looked up. The lights were on, he had left the blinds open. I watched him. I have no idea who he is, only that my heavens, he is a sight to behold. Adonis comes to mind. He took off his shirt. then took his time to put it back on hanger and back into the closet. He did the same with his pants. I couldn't decide which drove me crazier - watching him undress or that he put everything back where it went. By this time the girls were about to take my arms out of their sockets while they were trying to get on with their walk and the tugging brings me back me to my slightly lonely reality. The gentleman seemed to have noticed that he had an admirer. I assume this anyway. Before saying 'Goodnight & thank you' to him, to the air, silently - I steal another glance upwards. He is standing at the window watching back before he shuts his light off.

I think one day I may steal up to his door and leave him a little note that simply says, "Thank you. Please feel free to leave your blinds open at all times. " But for now, I think I have something more to look forward to on those nightly walks.

The Joy of What Has Been

I attempted to wake up at a decent hour today. Really. Very truly, I did. Last night I very dutifully set the alarm for 7 am and proceeded to toss and turn until about 2 am. When I heard the jaunty little tune of the alarm I groaned balefully and decided I did not really need to get up. My whole reason for being up at this very adult hour is a little embarrassing, but I'll go ahead and tell you, Internet. I know you can keep a secret. I had every intention of rising early at that oh so decent hour ... to see NKOTB on the Today show. YEP. NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK. I did just say that and in that 3 second time span, I lost every particle of decency I had left. Which wasn't a lot, mind you. Anywho - I decided that I would just catch the performance on youtube later on and opted to stay in my nice cushy bed. Sarah had other plans. She began her 'Barking of a Protective Tyrant Dog' diatribe. It's a one canine show; she performs it several times a day. I love her anyway. So I got up (there is no going back to bed after a Sarah Fit) and got coffee. I sat down to watch the news, I hear this is something other adults do. I patiently waited, as though I am 12 years old again. Insanity. Even more insane were the throngs of fans waiting for the performance. Some waiting there for more than 2 days. Me waking up at 7 am seemed like small potatoes comparatively speaking. I giggled myself silly, completely overcome by my once pre-pubescent adulation. It was as though I had taken a step back in time - I could almost smell the Love's Baby Soft I used to wear with teenage abandon. Thank you for my lost youth, boys.

I also finished one of the best books I have read in a very long time. You must check it out. 'Have You Found Her' by Janice Erlbaum. It's a memoir. Her literary style is awesometastic. She's incredibly brilliant and wry, yet humble and so very aware of human fragility in the same instant. It was beautiful. There is every chance that I loved this story so much because it resonated so truly with me. I've been right where she's been. I've loved everything about someone - more than 1 someone, in fact - only to find it was all a lie. I won't ruin the twist and the ending. Unless you ask nicely. Of course, since I related so heavily to this tale, it made me think about the past. A lot. Yet in a different light, so that was a blessing. There are some deeply painful events that that I rarely speak about. And some of the reason that the pain is there is that I made some pretty embarrassing choices and I take a fairly unreasonable amount of blame for everything that happened. I don't talk about these things because in all honesty I hate that it was my life. I hate how little I cared about myself but placed everyone else first. I despise the decisions I made and trust me, I kick myself in the ass everyday. Lately, I do it less and less. I've realized that there isn't anything I can do to get my past back or to change it. And you know what? I don't want to. Maybe some of those choices were insane and crazy making, but I see who I was for who I was. A girl who so desperately wanted to be loved that she did anything for it. Simply because I could not love myself. It's a few years later and I can finally say that I love AND like myself. Three and Four years later, far away from the madness of what was, I feel like I've come back to the good parts of me. I stopped writing those years ago because truthfully my reality was stranger than any fiction I could concoct. I dont know what I would classify it as. Horror? Drama? Pulp Fiction? How about a simple plea of insanity? I try to laugh about a lot of it - humor is my defense mechanism after all. Really I just want to pull the covers over my head when I think about it too much. Then I think of a very simple Max Ehrmann quote, 'Be gentle with yourself.' And so? I am.