Transistion from treatment to home; My failed attempt to reintegrate back into the bed in which I was raped

As I sit in my closet writing this I can’t help but consider the importance that a support system could play in the transition from treatment to home. I can’t really blame anyone for not supporting me the way I need when even I wasn’t prepared for how difficult this transition would be. This treatment was different from many others. This time I didn’t go just to gain back the weight I lost, but to learn how to nourish my body despite the hatred I have towards it after I was sexually assaulted this past October. In the beginning of my stay in a partial hospitalization I came home on weekends to do laundry and see my cat. I found that I spent a great deal of time in bed and not much time with friends. But after a couple of weeks I decided that in order to really focus on myself and recovery, staying in Syracuse was the best option. While there I began processing the trauma and delved into topics that I have for years been embarrassed to talk of out loud. The more I took back the control, the more control I lost in my subconscious. As I slept my body willed itself to process the rape, but failed miserably as for a week straight I literally relived the rape over and over after I went to bed. I discovered that I struggled with sleep paralysis and decided on my own to increase my anxiety medication. After that horrible week the nightmares went away, but I still found that I was spending an unusual amount of time in the closet of my bedroom. Thankfully towards the end of my 50 days in treatment I was able to conquer sleeping in my bed which had originally been tainted by the nightmares.

I got home last Friday and as soon as the sun went down my anxiety skyrocketed causing me to hyperventilate, pull at my hair and even hallucinate. I literally went crazy. Within moments I had rummaged through my shoe closet and pulled out just enough of them for me to create a space in which I could sleep. So many days I had spent wishing to go home and excitedly planning my future in recovery here on Wood St only to come home and be re-traumatized. Yes, before I went away I slept in the same bed in which I was raped, but some- how I managed to get through it. I think that at that time I was still in such shock that the option of a closet fort never crossed my mind. Doing a cleanse of my room, reorganizing, buying new sheets, rearranging things to make my space look completely different was not an idea that was nurtured. I was too focused on controlling my intake and my weight to realize it was my very own personal space that was creating such mental and emotional chaos.

In the best of both worlds I would not have come back to my original place of residence crying to go home to a place that was only meant to be temporary. I would have already had friends rearrange my room and cleanse it for me. I would have had inspirational quotes and reminders that I am worth the fight and that it wasn’t my fault hanging on my walls. People would have considered that perhaps my coming home could be a traumatic experience, yet I was dropped off on the sidewalk with all my bags, walked into a disgusting house and found my way to the bedroom that was once upon a time the only place I felt safe in. It now is just a space that holds both a tainted bed and within it holding onto tragic memories while this same bedroom has a perfect size closet for me to fit, feel safe, and sleep, you know because I’m a fucking hobbit. Anyway, I have made it comfortable. Decorated with white Christmas lights around the rectangular rim of my closet ceiling. A battery- operated candle on the shelf above stays lit all night long. There are two blankets that separate my hip bones from the hard wood floor and the same Teddy bear I brought with me to Syracuse. Like always I will fall asleep here for the first 3 hours and then drowsily walk to my bed and snuggle with my cat. By the time 2 am rolls around I will be so far gone in sleep mode I won’t have nearly the same amount of anxiety that I would if I just started off in my bed from the gecko.

Cut from the same cloth; Your piece was bigger

We are six days away from your 21^st Birthday, a day I have been looking forward to since I turned 21. Being able to buy my baby brother his first drink and celebrating his Birthday until the night was young was a day I planned for years. At one point in our lives we were best friends, but somewhere along the way I got lost and instead of trying to help me find my way, the way I helped you since you were kicking in mom’s belly, you made fun of me and left me without remorse. Today along with the last couple years I have attempted to put myself in your shoes and comprehend the emotions you have faced during the last 10 years as I have struggled with mental illness and a serious eating disorder. I do this so that I can forgive you for abandoning me when I really needed you the most. But as I have now sent two text messages putting my sadness aside I find that as I try my best to give you space and understand your reasoning for distancing yourself, I find that you owe me the courteously of attempting to understand me.

 

Although you and I are cut from the same cloth, the parents I knew and the parent you knew were very different. My mom and dad were addicts. I lived with my grandma during the most important years of my life. It has come to my attention that you have been educated in psychology and so I assume that if you paid attention you would comprehend that the first few years of life are most important for bonding between mother and child. You, my brother received that from the same mother that left me for drugs. You didn’t know your father, I did though. I knew him as an addict, I knew him as the monster I loved so much, but was terrified of and when he left our family I felt the hurt deeper than you had the ability to, because I actually knew him. It was a given that due to the chaotic family dynamics that sooner or later I would struggle more than the average teen. While you grew up being given love and attention, I grew up fighting for it, while also doing my best to make you understand how important you were.

I remember vividly, a car trip in which you fell asleep and I as your big sister held your head up with one hand so that your neck wouldn’t flop to the side. My hand got tired, but my priority was that you were comfortable and resting peacefully. I loved you more than I loved myself which is something I didn’t even realize until probably this moment. If I actually realized that that was the case, I wouldn’t have been so hurt by your ignoring my messages. I wouldn’t excuse and accept your constant disregard to the fact I exist. When I was 15 years old I began working, my first paycheck came just in time for your birthday. Mom told me not to spend so much money on you, but you meant more to me than life itself, so with that check I bought you your first skateboard with interchangeable wheels. I was the one who put it together, matter of fact I was typically the one that helped you set anything up.

As I got older I realized the difference between you and I. Mom wasn’t able to admit it at the time and even if she could I probably wouldn’t have understood it. She couldn’t love me, the way she loved you no matter how many trophies I won, no matter how high my GPA or how well I treated my little brother. I did at that time begin cutting. It wasn’t something I just decided to do for the hell of it, but the pain I felt was so deep and hard for me to explain that physical pain became my coping skill. As I got older having those around me including my mother and you, use abandonment as a tactic to get me out of what you thought was a phase only pushed me into a deeper depression. I did some crazy shit as a teen and even as an adult. I didn’t ever stop thinking about how my actions would affect my family because in hindsight I thought you all didn’t care and quite honestly with each suicide attempt I thought my demise would be doing you a favor.

I just got out of treatment once again. Each time I learn more about myself, love myself some more and let go of something else. This time, I have decided to let you go. I love you Charles more than words can say and I wanted nothing more than to be a part of your big day. In my mind, I imagined after your birthday you would finally give me a chance, but I have nothing to prove. I am who I am. I hurt sometimes, okay I hurt a lot of times, but I do my best to work with what I was given. I wish you would be in the audience during my book signing, but I see that is a far- fetched idea.  And although I hold so much anger and resentment towards you, I can’t help, but wish you the best. I hope your 21^st birthday is as special as it can be. I hope that life continues to bless you with unconditional love and support, strength and the confidence that keeps you going and somehow thinking you are any better than me. I love you. Have fun and be safe. Forever and always,

Your blood sister.

I am a Product

I am a product.

No, not that kind, not the kind that can be bought

For there is no price tag large enough to show the world I am worth it

My talents, my beauty, intelligence, creativity

Most importantly my love for the human kind

No matter their religion, ethnicity, sexual orientation, shape or size

I am a product.

Born in the city of Baltimore, brought up by a village

Loved by so many for reasons I have yet to understand

My past a road block I thought kept me sheltered

But won’t allow self-acceptance to get in

I am fighting with my shadow, loathing my reflection

I tango with the Devil and twerk to Rhianna, pop lock and drop it

I am a product.

Of a future close enough for me to grasp

It’s not a dream it is reality that I can be whatever I want to be

If I stopped letting anxiety and pain get the best of me

It’s right there Kim, it’s right there you just have to reach

Tangled up in a metaphorical chain

Screaming, crying as I put my fist through the wall

Yank the Christmas light from the ceiling now sitting in the dark

I rock back and forth

I am a product.

Hey girl, I see you trying to disappear

Sinking like the Titanic, holding on to whatever you can

You don’t really want to die. You are just hurting it’s okay

Let it out, cry.

Stop it now! Back away from the toilet, no more jumping jacks

He didn’t rape you due to size

That’s on him girl, I know you tried to fight

And although you continue to starve in attempt to rid imaginary filth

Baby girl I still see you.

I am a product.

“All my life I had to fight” a different shade than the color purple

Demons oh demons telling me I am the nothing but my past

As a vicious cycle of memories on repeat

Girls scream, your nothing but a slut as they throw pens at me

I sit there seemingly un-phased

Wondering when there will be better days

I shrink into my chair until I can’t take it anymore

Run out of the classroom and make my way to the corner

Light it up, cancer stick lucky number 7

Security guard asks “what are you doing?”

I reply “securing my lungs a spot in heaven”

I am a product.

Once a gymnast always a gymnast

My life is upside down and I’m proud cause not everyone

Not everyone can rely on their hands to carry them through

I am strong like bull, built like my mother, wise from appreciated knowledge

No thanks to college

I am a product.

Always fighting with myself as if I am the enemy

Nothing I do is good enough, that’s what I tell myself

But look at me now, published author, loving mother

To a cat

Adulting on a whole nother level

Like I said I am fighting with the devil

As I am blinded by fear, fear of failing at something

I haven’t even tried

Like living life in recovery and accepting my size

Loving what my body can do for me, such hate towards my thighs

When they are simply a reminder every time they rub together

That I am alive

I am a product

Of God’s creation, everything about me designed within His favor

A little quirky, outspoken, loud, funny, wise, thinking outside the box

Standing up for what I believe in, even if I am the only one

I have nothing to lose but so much to gain

I’ll repeat again and again

I am a product of God’s creation

And if I really loved Jesus the way I say I do

I wouldn’t harm myself in so many way

But I could love myself more too

Because I am also a product of however I choose to shape my life

And oh boy am I going to conquer!

©Kim Edwards