You really can escape your problems.
I don't know why people say that you can't.
I just moved home to California. I'm from a teensy town on the coast. It feels like I jumped back into the pile of sludge I hauled myself out of when I moved away to Oregon 4 years ago. All the issues that used to rule my psyche while I was growing up -- feeling like an outcast, feeling like a dumbass, feeling like I had to be the parent in my family instead of the kid, feeling scared all the time -- those things seemed so unimportant in Portland. But here in my home town, they've come right back to the surface of my mind again. I run into people from high school constantly, and that is never a good thing. I have to tell all my old teachers what I'm doing now. Any time I want to go to a movie or a store, I have to drive by the place where I got into a date-rape-type-situation in '96.
But part of why I moved back here was to deal with that stuff. It's like I built up my strength in Portland, making new friends, going back to school, proving myself to...myself, I guess...It's like I did those things while I was away in order to gain enough courage to face the demons that always haunted me at home.
And I have to do this. You know how you just...have to do certain things?
If I stayed away from here, I think I'd always be running. And I'm tired. But more than being tired, I just don't want to be a person that's running from something, you know? I want to be able to drive past the place where I got raped and have the thoughts and feelings that come up be positive, be the thoughts and feelings of a survivor, not a victim.
I feel shitty when I use the word "rape" because I don't think that's really what happened to me. But I do use "rape" as a kind of shorthand for it. Because the situation was really complicated and it's still so mixed up in my mind (even though it happened 10 years ago now) that it's hard for me to find words for it.
A few different therapists and bunches of friends have tried really hard to get me to "admit" that I was officially, unequivocably, and factually raped. But I'm very proud that I can see what happened to me for what it was. I'm not going to call it rape because other folks want me to. And I'm not going to call it "rape" just because it technically fits into their extremely broad definition of the term. I don't think having a broad definition of rape is a good thing. I think it diminishes the power of the word, and we need a word that powerful for incidents of real rape.
But we also need a word for what happened to me. And I guess maybe that's what I'm trying to do while I'm here. Create a taxonomy for these demons I've been running from. There's a whole bunch of literature about the power of naming things, how that's the real goal of science, and how naming is a way of owning. Maybe if I can find the right word, the perfect, succinct, eloquent definition of what happened to me, then I can own it.
Maybe then it'll no longer own me.
I don't know why people say that you can't.
I just moved home to California. I'm from a teensy town on the coast. It feels like I jumped back into the pile of sludge I hauled myself out of when I moved away to Oregon 4 years ago. All the issues that used to rule my psyche while I was growing up -- feeling like an outcast, feeling like a dumbass, feeling like I had to be the parent in my family instead of the kid, feeling scared all the time -- those things seemed so unimportant in Portland. But here in my home town, they've come right back to the surface of my mind again. I run into people from high school constantly, and that is never a good thing. I have to tell all my old teachers what I'm doing now. Any time I want to go to a movie or a store, I have to drive by the place where I got into a date-rape-type-situation in '96.
But part of why I moved back here was to deal with that stuff. It's like I built up my strength in Portland, making new friends, going back to school, proving myself to...myself, I guess...It's like I did those things while I was away in order to gain enough courage to face the demons that always haunted me at home.
And I have to do this. You know how you just...have to do certain things?
If I stayed away from here, I think I'd always be running. And I'm tired. But more than being tired, I just don't want to be a person that's running from something, you know? I want to be able to drive past the place where I got raped and have the thoughts and feelings that come up be positive, be the thoughts and feelings of a survivor, not a victim.
I feel shitty when I use the word "rape" because I don't think that's really what happened to me. But I do use "rape" as a kind of shorthand for it. Because the situation was really complicated and it's still so mixed up in my mind (even though it happened 10 years ago now) that it's hard for me to find words for it.
A few different therapists and bunches of friends have tried really hard to get me to "admit" that I was officially, unequivocably, and factually raped. But I'm very proud that I can see what happened to me for what it was. I'm not going to call it rape because other folks want me to. And I'm not going to call it "rape" just because it technically fits into their extremely broad definition of the term. I don't think having a broad definition of rape is a good thing. I think it diminishes the power of the word, and we need a word that powerful for incidents of real rape.
But we also need a word for what happened to me. And I guess maybe that's what I'm trying to do while I'm here. Create a taxonomy for these demons I've been running from. There's a whole bunch of literature about the power of naming things, how that's the real goal of science, and how naming is a way of owning. Maybe if I can find the right word, the perfect, succinct, eloquent definition of what happened to me, then I can own it.
Maybe then it'll no longer own me.
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Anyway, How are you? You tell us you're going back into a town of skeletons and tough things to face, and then you drop off the planet. Don't leave us hanging girl!! I hope you are well!