An abuse advocate reached out to me yesterday to see if she could help.
Here’s what I had to say:
Thank you so much for reaching out.
I am currently trying (not) to to die of terror. If you could — I would I am certain of it. I told my sister (also a sexual abuse survivor) if I could possibly be in a medically induced coma for a period of time and simply resurface I might take that as an option. She joked and told me she has some connections and could probably sort that for me.
As far back as I could remember I have feared (rightly) for my very life. Tell the truth about powerful predators = imminent death, severe beatings, violent rages, attempted to drive the car off the pier into the water (he attempted to kill is repeatedly).
My father backed up his claims.
It has been four years. I have never met someone more powerful than RZ. Yet no closure has ever come and now I know for sure am not the only victim, it is time to rip it open and then finally close it.
In the meantime I am dealing with a panic that does not respond to reason.
I think the only way people can help is stepping into the arena and advocate. I feel braver when people with clout/credibility lend me theirs. It’s like the Calvary comes when I collapse.
Right now I am on the very edge of collapse.
I think (or at least I hope) ultimately this will be the beginning of the actual end of the matter and in time I can move on to help others who have no choice but to walk this path or die.
—
Yesterday, I went to Walmart to get some coffee cream because these days courage must be caffeinated and sipped slow on account that brave is so low. It took me nearly two hours of wandering to get the cream and get out of the store. I pulled over on the side of the road on the way home because I felt dizzy and drunk on despair.
I am convinced that despair is the alcohol of the abuse. One can get stumbling drunk on it without drinking a drop. Brutality is it’s own bottle; trauma it’s own tetratogen.
It seems to me that the role of advocates is to collect the collapsed and sober them up from savagery. Otherwise they may succumb to sorrow, overdose on the apathy for abuse, pass out from the pain of blame, and aspirate the vomit of their own victimization.
In the meantime, I may send someone else for coffee cream.