Last night I did something I have never done. Something I hadn't ever even considered in the past 21 years. I went out at night, to a concert, by myself. That might not seem like a big deal to some people, especially since I'm 42 years old, but for me, it is a monumental step.
I touched on my whole 'fight or flight response' a few posts ago, and as a survivor of rape, being alone at night, around strangers has long been a stressful thing for me. So much so, I've avoided a number of things I might have enjoyed out of fear. Fear that something similarly awful could happen to me once again, yes, but also fear that I will have a panic attack in public and an even more irrational fear that I won't be able to get home. It might help to know that my rapists first abducted me in my own vehicle, and then subsequently left me in a place I was wholly unfamiliar with once they were done with me.
Here's a tidbit of info that I really have not shared (other than in court): The night I was raped, I had been listening to a blues artist on cassette (hey, it was 1991), and that cassette was playing during the first few minutes of my abduction...I can still hear one of the guys fighting to eject the tape as I lay with my head down on the backseat in absolute fear for my life, and not knowing exactly what was about to happen to me. I had always loved the artist and blues music in general. So, it did not escape my attention last night that I had not only chosen to challenge my fear of being alone among strangers but to also do so going to a blues concert.
My eyes teared up a few times before the start of the show; the number of thoughts and degrees of emotion that were running through me for the first hour was more intense than I expected. I wasn't sure I'd be able to hold myself together at first, but I pushed through, able to watch the show completely mesmerized. A small part of what was taken from me has been redefined, and I am beside myself that I can still heal after all this time.
See, I know exactly where the root of my fucked up issues come from. Sadly, knowing isn't enough, however. Unfortunately for me, it took a rather regrettable episode recently to push me toward finding some sort of fix. I hemmed and hawed about going to see an artist I had long loved by myself. Surprisingly, I did it, I didn't have a panic attack, and I made it safely home. Of course, I know once doesn't cure me of my fears, but I FINALLY ventured out alone; that's something I never imagined myself doing, ever.
The shit I've lived with, and allowed to control parts of me, has cost me relationships and opportunity. Rape robs its survivors of so much more than dignity and choice; it burrows itself deep in the heart, mind, and soul of those it invades, making so many things that were once done easily, frustratingly difficult or impossible. Even though I am aware of how irrational some of my fears and thoughts are, I find it unbelievably difficult to rid myself of it all.
In working to be a better person, I have had to face demons I wished never to see again. Being open and public about this isn't about anything more than needing to purge the sick reality I no longer want to be a prisoner to. I want MY life back; I am tired of holding these fears. Last night was real progress.
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