I wanted to revisit this blog with something more positive but I need to get my thoughts out more formally, so now’s as good of time as ever…
I’m feeling a familiar feeling. I’m triggered. It’s not just a buzz word used by internet bullies, it’s something that survivors of trauma really experience, and it sucks. My face is hot, my underarms sweating. I feel angry and mortified. I want to act out in violence but hide in a hole. I’m remembering just how fucking unfair it is to not only experience trauma, but never have the safety of being a “perfect victim”.
Once I was called “the Lindsay Lohan of Fetlife.com” and truer words could have never been spoken. I was once very involved with entertaining the local fetish community and they did not hesitate to rip me to shreds and abandon me once my turbulent life came to light, just as the mainstream has done to poor Lindsay. I read about this concept of the perfect victim when Lindsay was assaulted by her fiance publicly and no one cared and many blamed her.
I found myself facing rumors spread by my abusers this morning, once again. I will never live down the fact that I chose the wrong partners. A man who, a couple of decades my senior, mentally tormented me for years, wedged himself between my daughter and I, raped me regularly after coercing me into taking heavy psychiatric meds that made me sleep, tried to convince me to have bestial sex, fetishized my childhood sexual abuse, showed anyone and everyone who would look my psychiatric evaluation that he stole from my files, and continues to harass me to this day. The list goes on, and yet I am still blamed.
I hid quietly in plain sight for years. And as I unraveled, attempting to escape again and again, I only became more topic of conversation – and not one was to see if I was ok.
After finally leaving, I fell immediately into the arms of another abuser. My life became a tabloid. As I became bloodied and bruised, this time the evidence was tangible. My drinking got heavier, I was confused and lost and alone in a sea of people who gave not a fuck about me living to see another day other than that I might not be there to entertain them any longer.
The reality of my situation became too clear, and I began to lose friends as my ex husband was able to slowly and methodically assassinate my character. As I tried to escape yet another hell, my frantic and flailing behavior only served to prove him right.
No one asked if I was ok, no one was there to stick with me. People told me to leave, get over it, stop being an idiot, and then thoroughly relished in sharing details about what was happening.
I did leave, and was punished more. The first ex and the second ex joined forces, they harassed me relentlessly as I tried to move on. They called DCFS on me, agitated my psychotic father and got him on my case, and spread rumors of me doing drugs and having orgies in front of my child. DCFS investigated us, I had several court cases going for me to make them go away, and I tried and failed at moving away only to be called back to finish fighting them.
I fought to keep myself alive through intense mental health relapses, bouts of suicidal depression, and heavy drinking. I could barely stay afloat in all of the attacks. I only had my current partner to help me, and all the while I had to keep a false confidence to maintain my suffering business.
I finally fought it all away as best I could. I testified, I divorced, got restraining orders, moved on, I tried to do what is right. I’ve tried to grow and be better. I can’t put into words how hard it was. These abusers were dead set on hurting me as often and as frequently as possible. The second ex held me captive and raped me, and the first was there to file new divorce proceedings as I recovered from my attack. They made an excellent team.
And all along, the public I tried so hard to entertain for years never once asked me, I had no one offer as a confidant or support, and they just exploited my life by whispering secrets that still live strong to haunt me.
But this is my burden to bear. No matter what I will never be your perfect victim. I still hear the lies and it hurts me. I have kept to myself, build my family, and focused on my work. I turned my agony into activism and work very day to help others while helping myself.
And yet it still haunts me. People don’t trust ME because of the abuse I endured.
Its way sexier to gawk at the woman falling apart than it is to listen and hold accountable the men who’ve abused her.
I hope those who’ve spread these rumors, who continue the abuse on behalf of my abusers, who’ve read my psychiatric records, who force me to relive my trauma, shame the fuck on you. It hurts. You never asked me, and it does really fucking hurt.