Personalities, meet them all; Living with Dissasociative Identity Disorder

Dissociative Identity Disorder once known as Multiple personality disorder is commonly brought on by traumatic events. Quite honestly it can be confused as just major mood swings, but the difference between the two is very apparent. I can’t pin point when mine began, but I do have memories of when I noticed that there was something not right about my mood swings as they switched so dramatically, fast and sometimes caused a blackout in which I would lose time. I remember the first time I realized my name wasn’t Kim. It was like I had become a child in a woman’s body until someone upset me which then lead to a sudden anger which was quite demonic like. I would stare at someone and tell them to shut up and fuck off, I would break things and punch walls. I would hurt myself not fully wanting to and then once I had settled down and realized what I was doing I resorted back to this young child around the age of four holding tight to my teddy bear and sucking on my pacifier. I wouldn’t accept the responsibility of hurting myself. I was convinced that Jordon did it. Eventually people whom witnessed these changes and learned that I was officially diagnosed could easily tell whom they were talking to. At that point I had 3 personalities. Little Kim who is 4 years old, Kim whom doesn’t talk much as she lost her voice when she was raped two years ago and then Jordon, the only person who ever defended me during that trauma. My voice, my affect and how I interact with those around me changes and all out of trying to protect a child whom was neglected and abused.

Thankfully I encountered a personality that was grounded, one that was able to carry out normal everyday activities, function at the age of 28, be somewhat fearless and basically be the person Kim was before her trauma occurred. Her name is Kayleigh. As I have been working through trauma more recently Kayleigh has disappeared to some extent as little Kim has taken on a stronger role, talking to protect her from events such as neglect, physical abuse and sexual assault which of course upset her. little Kim is what one could refer to as an out, her protective instinct to just resort back to when she had not yet been touched illegally and by unwanted predators keeps her safe when in the arms of people who can and are willing to give her the love, affection and attention she deserves without expecting anything in return.

Although having this disorder is frustrating and scary I feel somewhat blessed as some people have hundreds of personalities. Some can’t recall things they have done. Although I occasionally black out I also tend to remember and also know which personality is talking more than most. In the last couple weeks there have been more personalities coming through and it’s taken me a while to understand their role, their age and even give them names. But I have acquired 3 more. Tory, she is 3. This allows her not to talk about anything sad because she doesn’t comprehend as much as little Kim. It’s amazing how much a year makes a difference. Little Kim is very smart. Then there is Morgan, she also is new and around the age of 7 or 8. She witnessed a lot of instability in her home through the emotional, mental and sometimes physical abuse that occurred between her parents. She struggled to make friends. Her dad was an addict who was very angry leaving her scared often. Now while Jordon used to be the most seductive of us all, Pixie is the one whom often offers up her body, but only when she is drunk. Alcohol definitely plays a role into which personality comes through. While Jordon can be fun, and the life of the party she will also be the first to curse you out. Now there is also a male personality, Peter. He often comes out when he feels extremely threatened. As sometimes being a female is not strong enough to get the point across. He shatters glass with knives and threatens to hurt others with them although he has never and I doubt he will ever actually hurt anyone.

It seems like hell to deal with and often it is, but part of us have found some solace in knowing that these personalities keep me well rounded, grounded and more capable of protecting a small child, a kid, a teen, and an adult all at the same time. Sometimes the means in which protection is necessarily come out in rages which cause more harm than good it’s somewhat like having a whole family there to protect me. I will now answer a question that I am sure anyone who knows me wonders. Do we all have an eating disorder? Well yes and no. Although Jordon sticks up for me and protects me now she does indeed blame me often for all sexual trauma. She uses my eating disorder to both get back at me while also helping me become smaller, somewhat invisible and less attractive to the male eye. So, it’s a double edge sword. Although little Kim and Tory could eat mac and cheese and chicken tenders all day, they both know the emotional torture that would bring to them later as Jordon being the adult she is, has way more control than most of my alters. I would be lying if I said I didn’t ever consider suicide. I mean who wants to deal with 8 people everyday having no control which one will show up at any given time. I l appreciate all Jordon does to protect me, but her lack of control, lashing out at others, breaking expensive things and sometimes even hurting me physically is exhausting. But I have a good team whom understands and do their best to be here for all of us. I have to remember Jordon and Kayleigh both so opposite but both strong have a message and if I were to end the life of Jordon I also understand the permanence that would have on all the rest of us. You can’t hurt one without hurting us all anymore than making one happy without causing a cheerfulness in the hearts of each one. Yea sounds weird because we do get one heart, but it’s somewhat like chambers. Some have four, I seem to have 8. I have one brain, but also think like 8 different people. And on the Brightside if one of them loves you, it’s likely they all do as well.

https://youtu.be/EcBsUFHCHZI

If anything be a voice #metoo

Dear Governor Cuomo,

             My name is Kimberly M. Edwards and I am not just a U.S. Citizen, but since the age of four a resident here of Tompkins County. I am writing in regards to an attempt to amend the clause of Probable Cause in the Fourth Amendment of the Constitution. I am by far not familiar with the law, although in 8^th Grade Social studies I learned each amendment by heart and at that time, the Constitution meant nothing to me, but a test I would get an “A” on which I did by the way. I also at the time was taught that it was there to protect us, only to grow and become a victim of numerous sexual assaults and realize that the test I studied so hard for was protecting all the wrong people. Don’t get me wrong I completely comprehend the reason for Due process and the desire for probable cause. As I have tried to understand it does say and I quote “The belief must be based on factual evidence, not just on suspicion.”  https://www.legalmatch.com/law-library/article/probable-cause-searches.html

            Obviously, this quote has had a major impact on my life and I believe it is more than safe to assume that I am not the only voice that has been silenced due to this clause. Perhaps I have it wrong, because when giving my personal statement along with plenty of evidence it seemed that I had enough to move forward with a criminal case. The Distract Attorney of Tompkins County turned down my case due to one line which they said “should not have been put in my statement.” So, because the officers of our City are not all trained on how to take a victim’s statement I was unable to go to court and be represented despite the fact that the one piece of evidence they were concerned about was going to cause them to lose. Another quote from them “a case we take to court must have enough evidence that we have a 99%-1% chance of winning Sarcasm present, but do these people get a trophy or something? Governor, I am a strong woman if you couldn’t already tell by the fact I am writing you. I was willing to go to court despite the odds. To me with witness’s those chances may have not been 99% in my favor, but definitely more than 75%. But that is nor here nor there. Because of this clause in the fourth amendment I was unable to go to court and use my voice to tell my story and I know I am not the only one. I’m not writing to you just for myself, but for all those who haven’t even had the opportunity to share what was theirs. A story, a memory and what turned out to be a digression in my own mental health and probably many others. What this clause is doing is silencing people. Keeping them from coming forward, because unless your assault is on camera it’s almost impossible to prove. Do these attorneys consider what they do to victims who are brave enough to step up? Yes, I know we have take back the night put on by the great Advocacy Center and the #metoo campaign, but it’s not enough.

I want to tell you how broken I am, but broken doesn’t win, a person whom is brave, courageous, strong and determined enough despite their flaws and hurt are the people that make a change in this world. I used to think, okay maybe that’s not pretense, but I question often “What is my purpose here?” I feel like I am walking around with a sticker on my head that says “rape me” just because I learned kindness before the Constitution and people take advantage of it. They are getting away with it left and right. So, on behalf of myself and all other victims I hope there is something you can do to help me make probable cause less than a percentage an attorney needs to win, but based on stories, evidence and even the questioning of the defendant. My assailment was not even brought in. Perhaps I watch too much SVU, but what they are doing works. They show the evidence brought in and more often than not the defendant confesses. If you have any questions about the evidence that I had feel free to contact me personally. I have nothing to lose sadly. But on the other hand, I also have so much to gain.

            Sincerely,

Kimberly M. Edwardshttps://youtu.be/9RKl0qBHmME

Will you still love me? Strangers Sheets pt.2

I want to let you love me

And treat me as I deserve

But the voices in my head say I’m worthless

I’m surprised you haven’t heard

They say don’t go near her, she’s damaged goods

A price tag that’s gone down

Many men have left their stain

She’s just another rock you found

You treat me like a queen

But I feel this awful guilt

I want to cut myself just to make you see

That I’m just spoiled milk

I love you more than words can say

I want to give you all that I have to bid

But it hurts to have you love me back

Sometimes I feel I should have hid

I know you see a pretty face

A heart so golden, that it blinds

But I’m afraid that one day you’ll realize

The body you love is theirs, instead of mine

You’re making love to all the strangers

The rapist in my past

Things I had no control over, but ruined me

And I cannot take them back

But if you are willing to help me see something

Lost in the midst of stranger’s sheets

I’m willing to invest the same amount

To one day learn to love me.

©Kim Edwards

October, 15, 2017

As a new relationship has blossomed so unexpectedly I find that due to a past filled with trauma, unsaid words relayed through absent consent that I am un-worthy, my self -image has been tarnished. Like anyone I want to love and be loved.  I want a partnership, friendship, a marriage that is genuine and one day a family. But before I even get to the bigger and better things I must learn to love myself which I find to be my biggest battle. A comprehensive test of loyalty, forgiveness, self-care, honesty and the understanding that setting boundaries is more than acceptable is crucial to my progression as a continuously growing adult.

Although I am well aware of what needs to happen and the intuitiveness that I possess I worry I may never get there. I’m finally dating a man whom is not a fixer upper, he is legit, mature, hardworking, loving, smart, thoughtful, dedicated and driven to always do better whether in life or in our growing relationship. Often, I find myself feeling blessed while on the other hand wishing it wasn’t so because the people in my past have taught me that love is something you earn and hardly unconditional. Always waiting for the other shoe to drop and questioning why he hasn’t hurt me? Why is he forgiving? With tears in my eyes and my eating disorder sneaking up on me to remind me “it’s too good to be true and love’s not for you.” I fight back those tears and do things purposely to sabotage what very well may be my future and a beautiful one at that. A week ago I did a dance to a song that really touched me titled “Will you still love me” and I dedicated it to the sweetest man I have ever met. Mind you the honey moon phase ain’t over, but there are no signs that it will end. I pray with everything in me that as I learn to find patience within myself, he will too. 

https://youtu.be/Zcjf6JBawOQ

The Art of Dying; The last hoorah

I received a text after my appointment just as I had just gotten home to make a sand-which and relax. “She is not doing well, everyone is gathered, I think this is the end” my friend said. I contemplated whether or not I should eat first since I hadn’t all day, but came to the quick conclusion that if in the time it took me to make and eat lunch my old patient who had very quickly become a great light in my life had passed during that time I would regret it so very much. I put all my sand-which makings in the fridge and left the house as quickly as possible. There was a knot in my throat and this time it wasn’t my enlarged tonsil that I had found out that very day would need to be removed within the next few weeks. This knot was a forced attempt to fight back tears. I had to be strong, emotional was not something I could be during this time. 

I walked in the room and 5 people were gathered as they watch their loved one struggle to breath in and out. Here and there one or all of us would say “I love you Gina” and she would respond “awe, I love you all too”. I grabbed hold of her warm hand and did what I do with any patient that is rounding 3^rd base to the end of their life, checking her pulse and feeling her heartbeat which were both strong. I stroked one hand while holding the other. Here and there I could feel her give me a good squeeze as she would tell me “I love you baby” in which I would respond “I love you too, you will never be forgotten. It’s okay to go, you don’t need to fight so hard. God has you and He is ready to make you an angel. I will be okay, but I know that because I hold you in my heart you will always be with me.” Another woman stroked her arm and sang to her while tears ran down her face. I did my best to comfort all those around me, I was in a place in which I knew of the afterlife journey and how much greater it would be than the one Gina was in now of suffering which brought me a peace that these friends of hers were not quite capable of understanding in this moment. We were all in different places in our grieving, no one is right and no one is wrong. Every once in a while, I would lean in to give her a kiss on her cheek and hear her say “oh I love you baby, you are so good to me.” I will never ever forget those words.

Just when we thought she was done she opened her eyes and a part of me thought it was some miracle, but the aide in me knew this was just the last hoorah. She somehow got a surge of energy, enough to tell me “No! I don’t want the bed pan, I want to go to the bathroom”. So, with oxygen in toe and an aide and I on either side we did just as she wished. She went to the restroom while holding onto me. She was in so much pain and I was more willing to allow her to hold onto me while she went to the restroom and ignore the smell, than to leave her there on the toilet. I feel so blessed to have been able to take care of her one last time. I enjoy every part of my job although on this day it was just out of pure love for a woman I have come to care so deeply for. I took her back to bed and she was up talking to her friends so I figured that I should go with the plan to come back in the morning while also being aware that this miraculous turn of events could easily have been the last of her energy. I told her I loved her, and heard it back and to me that is the greatest gift and memory I could be left with.

At 10:45 God made her angel. That same night she went from yelling at the nurse, insisting on using the bathroom and being super talkative to leaving this world to move on to another. One of peace, comfort, love, pain free and the ability to do all that she couldn’t since she had been diagnosed with cancer. I remember telling her earlier as she lay frail in the bed “I cannot go with you, it’s not my time, but I pray that when I close my eyes, I will see you in my dreams.” It’s only been a couple of days. I have had my meltdowns and been there for my boyfriend as he has had his. I’m doing my best to be patient and wait for her to join me in my subconscious. She will do it in her own time, just as she had done everything else in her life.  The very last thing I did for her was a dance to a Cover of Time after Time by Javier Colone. I felt it best described our relationship as the lyrics say “if your lost and you look then you will find me, time after time, if you fall I will catch you I’ll be waiting, Time after time.” Because as a care giver and her favorite aide she was always looking for me and the fact she was unsteady on her feet I was always there to catch her and now that she is in heaven I can’t help but expect she would do the same for me. “Suitcase of memories almost left behind, time after time.” May you rest in peace Gina and always remember how much of an impact you have made on so many people’s lives including mine. I will be waiting for your visit. May you rest peacefully in the arms of the angels as you have now gained your wings, they shall teach you how to fly. Love always,

Kim Edwards

https://youtu.be/BQ997v5lhoY

DID i do that; living with disasociative identity disorder

“I was sitting, there sellin, turnips on a flatbed truck Crunchin on a pork rind when she pulled up she had to be thinkin this is where rednecks come from” I was singing to Billy Currington’s “Good Directions” when my friend looked at me and asked “what do you call a black girl that sings country music?” I looked at her with a keen seriousness on my face and without hesitation replied “an identity crisis”. The two of us chuckled so hard we just bout fell out our seats. It was a funny joke at the time and even to this day I look back at that moment and laugh, but I also take my reply much more seriously for reasons I shall tell you now. Well, all of us shall explain because it’s not just my story but every identity that lives within me has a mind of her own.

Back in October a girl, the age of 27 was raped by a man she knew quite well. And while she had been in this predicament a few times in the past she lay still and frail as tear drops fell from her eyes making the Christmas lights in her room blurry. For once though she did not remain that way and I’m sure you are wondering why? Well, because of me. My name is Jordan, I am an extension of Kim, an alternate personality. One of 4, but the most outspoken, loud, obnoxious, courageous, funniest of them all or at least I would like to think so. I am also more assertive and at times aggressive and seeking vengeance on those who mess with any of the other personalities I live with. I pretty much took over Kim’s mind and body during that night. I wanted her to have a chance to win this fight and even if she lost, which she did, she is still able to reminisce on the fact that she did indeed (because of me) put up a hell of a fight. What happened that night that she was raped was what is known as a split in personalities. But as the days went by and Kim became less capable of discussing the event, I, Jordan, had to find a way to be more present in her life. Sometimes people tell me I am mean to Kim and I guess if I was to be honest I’d say well the things I say aren’t always the kindest, but if she had let me do my job that night and stopped freezing then maybe she would not have been raped. I blame her yes, for the parts she played as they are crucial to the story. She started what happened that night and I had to finish it. I try my best not to allow Kim to freeze up again as she remains traumatized to this day, but sometimes the only way to make her feel something other than the psychosomatic aching in her vaginal area is to simply cut her. Although there have been times when she was so far gone and my energy level had come to a screeching halt that I just bout had enough and told her to jump off the roof or take all her pills, but there was this little voice one day that came out of no- where and said “Jordon leave her alone, let’s compromise. Kim may sit on the roof, but she will not jump.” Well then, guess I am not the only one here besides Kim. She introduced herself to me as Kaylie. She, Kim and I are all the same age. I do my best to protect Kim, but don’t always succeed. Kaylie on the other hand is what they refer to in Psychology class as the “ego” she is level headed. She both feels emotions, but not too deeply and can also hold a conversation. She is not aggressive or assertive, she basically is just a mediator and more likely than not will be the one that helps all of us work our way through the events that occurred on that cold night in October in a room that once was Kim’s safe place.

According to the DSM, disasociative identity disorder once known as multiple personality disorder has certain criteria that one must meet. Now at the beginning amnesia (one of the criteria) was not something that fit what was happening in Kim’s life or mine or Kaylie’s or even the toddler Kim whom I have not mentioned until just now. She is about 5 years old. Her affect is one of a 3-year-old sometimes as she drinks from a sippy cup and sucks on a pacifier, but mainly she just likes to be held. Kim did not receive much affection as a child growing up and this split in personality has almost been a blessing in disguise, allowing her the chance to get what she needs from people who truly understand this disorder. Now back to the amnesia, we didn’t have that at first, but now as days go by I find I forget what I did all day or where certain things are in my house. I don’t always remember the actions I have taken against myself or things I have said to others.

Well now that I have told you about my many different personalities and I promise I couldn’t make this up as there is a remarkable difference between each identity. The hard part though is telling those I love of this disorder without them either thinking I am malingering or can simply just be “normal” whatever the fuck that means! There are a few people that I trust who know, but for the greater part of my social interactions with people I choose not to tell them, but then again, they are in for a big surprise if my identities switch in midst of conversation. Now that would be a show to watch!! Oh, wait they did that already. Gosh damn it! Anyway, I am so in the mood for some trap rap radio, too bad I’m working. In my head, I’m singing “first let me hop out the motha fucking porsh” hahahahaha.

https://youtu.be/aP4WD5iGtJQ

The art of Dying part 2; A personal experience

As I sit here holding onto her smooth hand as she groans, gasping for each breath that I am so grateful to have come so easily, I fight back tears and remind myself as some may say she is dying, her and I have the same undying faith that this is not the end, but a new beginning, a new path, a journey she is creating for herself that I only pray to one day join her on when it comes to be my time. One without pain, suffering, a destiny in which only peace, love and kindness are found. Not because of desire but simply because we are children of a God who wants to continue loving us unconditionally. She is a fighter and I pray that she doesn’t fight destiny in fear of giving up, but unlike any other hospice patient I struggle to give her permission to collect her wings and fly. I love her, she is a beautiful woman inside and out, an observation I have come to make in only a few short months of knowing her. When she wasn’t so ill I dealt with a sassy woman whom was unfiltered like I, one whom most staff couldn’t get to follow the rules for she did not go the direction of the wind but created her own somewhat like Pochohauntas. A strong- willed woman with the best intentions which were often misinterpreted. She was filled with so much anxiety that people around her were unable to comprehend that she had and was trying to offer something. I assume it would be wisdom, pain, and what it was like to be in her shoes. I tucked her into bed for many months and still do. And despite that damn word that did not keep me from getting too close and crossing boundaries I long ago told her that I loved her. I visit her often just to ensure she is not alone and that she knows she is cared for. I have to pee so bad, but today is not one of her better days so I refuse to get up in fear that I may miss out on the opportunity of watching her receive her wings. I feel it and see it. The woman I have come to care so deeply for is taking shallow breaths that could lead to somewhere I cannot yet follow, while also, it could be as I said before just a bad day. But one day whether it is today or tomorrow or sometime in the next couple weeks I will have to accept, process and then celebrate the amazing truth that another angel has been born.

I may not be able to take away the pain

But I'll sing you a song to comfort

One of the love and joy you bring

To my heart when I need it or just want it

I will count your breaths both in and out

And be thankful they still exist

And that is reason one, of many

That make me feel so blessed

I may shed a tear of pain

Although I always promised I'd be strong

But I'm learning that part of strength

Is knowing when tears belong

They belong in my eyes, my head on your chest

As long as you are breathing

Knowing I love you until the day

You tell me you are leaving

June,15,2017

Always enjoy providing peace and reminding those who are close to leaving us that they are loved and that with each breath they are touching my heart in many ways 💞

©Kimberly Edwards

Absent Consent; A story of a broken girl still surviving

            “Sex takes the consent of two, if one person is lying there not doing anything cause they are not ready or not in the mood or simply don’t want to yet the other is having sex with their body, it’s not love it is rape”-Rupi Kaur. It seems simple does it not? Yet there I was saying nothing. Actually crying. Asking for him to stop and trying my best also not to make too much noise causing anyone else in my house to wake up, that would be rude, right? Anyway, I am going to in detail tell you the story of probably the scariest night of my life and not because I really want to relive it as telling it, even on paper may just as easily break me, but as I attempt to use exposure therapy this night I will tell you of. The hope is that by doing this I will one day realize I am as strong as those around me say that I am. In due time, I will be able to tell this story out loud as that will mean it has not ruined me completely as I will have overcome the shame.

“The rape will tear you in half, but it will not end you”-Rupi Kaur. For the last few months I have been engaging in the usual talk therapy and finally have come to the conclusion that my PTSD is in need of something much more aggressive. I understand though, the fear my therapist has in doing this with me as back in January, I overdosed on a cocktail of medications and alcohol in attempt to escape the thoughts that ran ramped, events of that night that were so real to me that my private parts actually felt the pain. Even to this day this still happens, but thankfully not as often. And even when it does, I am more apt to having a major temper tantrum as oppose to hurting myself in the process.

It was week day in October, one of those odd days in which you would forget what season we were in, as it was warm enough to wear a pair of jeans and a light jacket. My best friend and I decided as adults we had worked hard enough and decided to treat ourselves to a good night of drinking and dancing. The two things we do best. Rent the soundtrack was on deck being rewound over and over as Sarah and I sang to each other “Take me or leave me” knowing neither one of us would ever go anywhere. For what may have been the first ever, Sarah was ready to go home but was more inebriated than I. So just as she had done for many times before, I walked her home. Allowed her to lean on my frail body as we walked through yards, cut corners, J-walked and acted as sober as possible. Finally, after a long 25 min walk we made it to her house. Sarah decided to light up and asked me if I wanted a drag of the blunt she had just rolled and my normal response hadn’t changed “no thanks, I hate that shit” she seemed to convince me that actual marijuana was much different than a vape pen and that it wouldn’t cause me to faint like the last time. After saying no a couple times, I gave in just to please her. I choked as inhaled more than one should. What did I know though?, I was not an avid smoker, so I dragged on it like it was a cancer stick. I sucked down some water and coughed until tears ran down my face and then decided to head home.

It was not until I began walking down the street that I realized just how drunk I was. As I swerved towards the road and back at 11:30 at night I found my way to Urban outfitters and stood there to make a couple calls. Who in my contacts wouldn’t kill me for calling them this late at night to drive me home? I decided at that moment a friend of mine whom I had known for many years would probably be willing to come and get me. I was aware of the fact that he liked me, and at the moment, my intoxicated self, kind of liked him too. He answered and made his way to Urban within 15 minutes. My intuition must have been spot on that night because I called my case manager and left her a message with his name and let her know he was taking me home and mentioned that if anything were to happen to me please give the police this information. I’m not quite sure if I really believed anything bad could happen because, without hesitation I got into his car and told him all about my night. He doesn’t drink anymore, but he did ask if I had any weed left. Thankfully I could answer no to that one. We pulled into my drive way and a big part of me was feeling lonely and decided having him come up and perhaps spend the night (just to sleep) wasn’t a bad idea.

My inhibitions were lowered and my sexual desires took over as I removed my clothes and put on my favorite silk cheetah romper. As I sat next to him on the bed he commented on scars from my past, stories of which he had not yet known of. I took the liberty of explaining that numerous sexual assaults along with parents who were uncappable of providing the love and support I so desired had caused me to believe I was not worthy of love and attention. Being the thoughtful person I am whom remembers most everything I asked him how he was doing with his sobriety. Much to my surprise he was doing quite well. I then crawled over him to the side of the bed I commonly sleep on hoping he and I would spoon. He turned me over like a rag doll and began to kiss me. With past memories of trauma, I did not respond, but laid there and allowed him to do as he pleased. I didn’t care either way what happened. Alcohol had given me permission to engage in sexual activity. He then inserted his finger inside me and although my body was saying no, as I found it to be quite painful I allowed for this to happen. Within minutes he began to perform orally, yet still I had no objection. But once again I found his fingers inside me and decided that it was too painful so I got up and find my battery-operated toy, something I had just discovered and allowed myself to use occasionally in attempt to get to know my own body. Within seconds I realized this was not helping and he had no desire to be a part of this interaction. I turned over yet again with the means to go to sleep, but really this time I was ready to go to bed.

He curled up next to me and began to insert himself inside of me. I reached down to remove what I thought were his fingers because I was no longer interested only to find out he had removed his pants part way so that he could have sex with me. Now this is where it gets blurry, I am unsure if I mentioned to him that the other stuff was fine with me, but I did not want to have sex so I placed my hand back under my head and closed my eyes. I then found him attempting yet again to force himself inside of me. As quickly as I could, I said to him “please stop I don’t want to have sex.” He ignored my request and wrapped his arms tighter around my chest making it impossible for me to move. I began begging him to stop and asking him what he was doing as my temple began to ache with pain as he forced himself inside. I cried with hopes that he would understand that I really meant it, I was not interested and wanted to be left alone. Once I realized my tears meant nothing and my words were as empty as all trust I had ever had in men I stared at the wall and waited for this to end. I held my legs as tightly together as possible and due to the excruciating pain contemplated whether or not I should give up the fight. In the past I have done that. Tonight I made myself do something different. I fought which meant I allowed it to hurt because I refused to give up by squeezing together my thighs. After what seemed like forever he pulled out and turned over. I got up out of my bed and ran to the bathroom.

Staring at my reflection in the mirror I asked “what the hell just happened? What do I do now?” I allowed the broken girl staring back at me to cry and then washed my face only to see a beautiful disaster. I returned back to my room and told him I really didn’t sleep well with others in my bed and that I wanted to be alone. With that he buckled his belt and left my room. I ran downstairs to lock the door behind him fearing he would come back. I raced to my room and called the only number I knew that would not judge me and could possibly help. The advocacy center picked up and as I stood in the corner putting on new clothes and collecting my pajamas I told her “I think I was just raped.” She called a cab for me and offered to meet me at the hospital.

Within ten minutes the SANE nurse explained what would occur and although it was for my own benefit I was violated again with a metal speculum and swabs. I laid their as tears rolled down my cheeks re-living what had just happened. Within an hour the nurse had bagged up all the evidence she had collected and told me that I had been torn and bruised, but that it would heal. What do I say to that? I mean yea, I’m glad I’ll heal, but what about my heart, my mind? They would never ever be the same. I had gone into the day a partially damaged porcelain doll with some metaphorical bandages covering prior sexual assaults that had been pieced together with tape, love and therapy only to walk out of the hospital bleeding from inside out.

I returned to my home the one place I ever felt safe only to see a young woman staring back with tears in her eyes and an empty voice. It’s now been 8 months and I have yet to sleep in my bed. I have given up snuggles with my cat to lay in a dark closet where my shoes used to model the places that I have been, obstacles over- come and progress I have made. Many days when the sun goes down I look around my room and become an empty shell of a woman. Staring off into space with my hand covering the area he tore with my legs held tightly together hoping the pain will go away. And when it doesn’t, when I cannot snap out of it, I reach for the nearest blade and watch myself bleed in attempt to feel something other than the pain my entire body has taken on. I am here, but I am gone, you may reach me on the phone, but my heart has taken a leave of absence and as of now there is no return date. Just an arm of bandages caused also by absent consent.

©Kimberly Edwards

https://youtu.be/xnr7SxmHWGc