Take Back the Night

Last week I attended the Advocacy Center’s annual Take Back the Night rally. I’m not in the minds of everyone there, but as I know from personal experience I assume that a majority of the people were triggered. I can’t speak to why perhaps I wasn’t upset by the rally as it was a reminder in so many ways of how rape culture is an organic and continuously growing epidemic. My guess as to why I didn’t melt into a puddle of tears by hearing stories upon stories is that I was blessed with the opportunity to perform a lyrical dance in front of this large audience. To me I had found a way to give back to the center whom has supported me day in and day for many years, as well as remind all the survivors in the crowd that despite being the victims once of horrendous traumas our bodies are still beautiful and capable of doing so many things, and for me that was dancing. I was able to tell a story, to lead by example and enjoy my body in a way I have not been able to for many years.

Ironically enough I had run into the man who raped me a week before this event which catapulted me into a vicious cycle of flashbacks, nightmares and what is known as hynogagogic jerks aka involuntary muscle spasms. For weeks now I have been sleeping in my closet as I cannot yet bring myself to sleep in my own bed due to the fact that my bed is the exact place in which my trauma occurred. The night I performed was so therapeutic that I finally followed through with the baby step of sleeping next to my bed. The first night went well, I even managed to sleep there a second night, but the third night I had recently come from dinner at the exact same restaurant and even sat in the same booth as I did months before when I told my mother that I had just been raped two days prior. For some reason the memory of informing my mother of this 4^th trauma haunted me more than hearing other people’s stories.

Each day I take a nap before enjoying my favorite daytime talk show Ellen. Lately I have fallen asleep around noon and despite it being daylight I am haunted by various nightmares which is commonly accommodated by sleep paralysis. Mind you, the paralysis also occurs during my night terrors as well. This past week I have woken myself up after spending which is easily the longest ten minutes trying to will myself awake only to realize that although my screams were not real, my tears were. I cry in my sleep and then thrash around the closet as I work myself up into a frenzy over the fact that no matter what I do and how hard I try the only control I seem to have is what the hell I put into my body. So, when I sit in my counseling sessions every week and feel interrogated by my therapist I can no longer accept this as her way of advocating for my recovery, because as much as I want to get better I also am extremely exhausted from fighting. Nightmares or not I sleep an average of 12 hours a day and typically more because all sleep is not restful. I can’t stop the memories nor the nightmares. I may have danced at Take back the night, but I can’t take back the actions that I did not commit against myself this past October, a night I will never forget. And with that, I will say to my readers, my friends, family, strangers, all humans; eating disorder recovery is not a straight line. Sometimes the people fighting the hardest are the ones losing the most. A wise woman told me last week, that “just because you are weak doesn’t mean you can’t at the same time be strong”. She is right. Right now, I am weak in every sense of the word, but despite my eating disorder I am still dancing, writing, advocating, reading my work and being the change I wish to see because I am just that strong. My disorder is strong as well and yes if we compare it to me, it has the upper hand. My therapist would question my motivation and how it is I plan to change these eating habits so that I do not stay sick, and to keep her happy I will without thought tell her that it is my desire not to feel sick, to continue my daily activities of life without fear of fainting and my hope to return to work and not be a liability. And although all of that is true, my sanity which seems to only be somewhat clear when I am starving is more important. I know continuing therapy with a person still using symptoms is just as bad as a counseling session with a drunk, but I believe there is still something I can get out of showing up and at the very least talking about what keeps me stuck. That right there is my strength, my desire to recovery, showing up and talking is my fight.

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