@missy @lyxzen @rambo y'all buckle up, because this one's gonna get heavy.
I was debating on whether I should or shouldn't post about this. I've read so many blogs for this week's homework, and they were all so positive and uplifting. I wondered if I should post something similar... But in the end, I decided I should post the truth, not some watered down, sugar coated version of who I am as a person. I don't think you can really claim to know a person without knowing the dark parts of them.
I mean, there's nothing quite like dying, coming back to life, and immediately being raped to knock some fucking sense into a person.
This story comes from a very egotistical part of my life. I was a really obnoxious teenager. I had this insatiable need to do everything big. Go big or go home, I would say. Anything you could do, I could do harder and faster; especially drugs. At first, I was almost a novelty. Everyone knew I could out drink anyone at the party. Everyone knew that if you did one line, I'd do three. If you ate a couple percocet, I'd swallow a handful. And eventually, everyone realized that I was a fucking mess. I lost a lot of friends over my reckless behavior, but more importantly, I lost myself.
I had just turned twenty. It's shocking that I remember (most of) this as well as I do. I was with a friend, and he offered to buy me a little coke. I took it without question, and I remember fiddling with the twisted plastic baggie in a parking lot, anxious to get back to the house and cut lines. I should have been suspicious that he wasn't interested in doing any coke himself. I should have known better than to take a free eight ball from someone without there being some kind of catch. But I didn't. I stuffed every gram of cocaine in that bag into my nose within a few hours.
The next thing I remember was waking up on cold concrete. I was outside of my car, where I had been snorting drugs and talking my friend's ears off. I was shivering uncontrollably, and could barely move. I crawled to my car, pulled myself in, and looked in the mirror. Even in the streetlights at four in the morning, I could see that my lips and face were blue. I collapsed in the seat, and my friend came running towards me, asking if I was okay.
"Yeah I'm cool," I said.
"You fucking died, girl."
I didn't know what the hell he was talking about. He told me that I tried to get out of the car, and I just fell onto the concrete and started seizing, before stopping moving and breathing altogether. My heart had stopped. And he was about to leave me there for dead.
I was still shaking when he dragged me inside, telling me that I was fucking crazy and stupid, telling me that I owed him something, that an eight ball wasn't fucking free. I still couldn't move my limbs properly, and had no chance of fighting him off.
After he'd finished with me, he dragged me back to my car and told me to leave. I was in severe shock, and couldn't do anything but wordlessly get into my car and drive home. I was terrified and confused, I wasn't really sure what had happened until hours later when it all hit me like a fucking train.
I was never the same after that night. I'm still not the same. I still struggle every day with recovery.
I haven't touched hard drugs since. In a sense, being raped may have saved my life, while changing who I am as a person fundamentally. I don't talk about it like it destroyed me, even though it almost did. Do I wish it had never happened? Of fucking course. For three years, I've struggled to simply exist without feeling used up and worthless, but if it hadn't been for that night, March 16th, 2012, I probably wouldn't be here right now. Everything happens for a reason, and I believe in that without a shadow of a doubt. I am here and I am living and breathing for a reason.
I truly believe that SuicideGirls has something to do with my future. I can only hope!
Also, this post totally doubles as a sneak peak for my third set that I will be uploading tonight! Lol surpriiise! Hell yeah 👌
