'Porcelain'

TW//SA

Before I begin, I want to say my intention is not to ‘hate all men’, glamorize any experience, receive attention, sympathy, or praise for going through something hard, nor confine this experience to something only women go through. I wrote this because of the comfort I found in reading other people’s stories, and knowing I am not alone in my feelings. I want to provide a safe space for people to know they aren’t alone, and find comfort in community. I want to educate people on the lasting impact they can have in people’s lives both positive and negative based on the choices we make. Selfishly, it is also very cathartic for me to write and share. I want anyone who has experienced this to know they deserve to be validated and loved, they didn’t deserve to go through anything like this. It is not your fault, and I’m sorry if you’ve ever felt that way.

“Sometimes I feel like a wind-up doll. Turn my key, and I’ll tell you exactly what you want to hear.” - The Luckiest Girl Alive. On December 7, 2019 in an act of desperation for male approval I went on a date to see the Christmas lights. His name was Russell. To this day when people ask I rarely say the correct name. I respond with, “I don’t remember,” “I didn’t know him well enough to remember,” or some fake name. I couldn’t bear to let his name leave my lips, as if it has any importance to me. I don’t know his last name, I never learned it, and I never want to. I’m not sure he knows what he did, but it’s something I will never forget.

I came home that night, and as my roommates asked me how my date went I was startled to tell the truth. I didn’t want to understand what had happened. I told them I lost my virginity, while stunned they began to celebrate. It was a coming of age or “college experience” I had the pleasure of engaging in. I could smell him on me for months after that. No matter how much I showered, no matter how hard I scrubbed, or how much perfume I wore he stayed with me. I rarely got out of bed, I drank too often, and too much. However, nothing felt worse than not comprehending why this stuck with me. I knew I had said no, I had said no multiple times. Yet, when it began to happen I didn’t do anything. I laid there limp, and speechless. I previously thought of myself as a strong woman. Someone who would stand up for myself and fight back, but I hadn’t. To me, this manifested that nothing that had happened was wrong. I had no urge to fight back, only to seclude myself. At the time this really made me feel as though I had simply had sex for the first time, if it had been rape I would’ve pushed harder to not let it happen. I had watched people in college experience ‘casual sex’ and I had wanted to believe I engaged in the same thing. Why was it so hard for me to deal with? I felt pitiful and unlike everyone around me. It was as if there was something wrong with me for feeling this way. After a few months I began to look up the psychology behind casual sex, and the effect it may have. Yet, nothing resonated until I fell into a wormhole of sexual assault stories. I knew in that moment I had been raped although I never wanted to talk about it. I didn’t think anyone would believe me because it was hard to trust myself. After all, I didn’t kick or scream, I didn’t push him off. I just said no until I felt like I couldn’t and let him do whatever he pleased.

I’m not sure we talk enough about the guilt and humiliation you feel after experiencing something like this. In my case, this majorly included the respect I lost for myself. I always thought if I were to experience anything to this grandeur I would report it, I would defend myself and deal with everything perfectly healthily. I lost trust in myself to make the right decision. I had not only ‘lost my virginity’ but a part of my identity. I had never been overwhelmingly self conscious or unsure of the person I was. This event changed everything. Not only in the way I reacted to this specific event but in the way I continued to react afterwards. I made no signs of helping myself, or finding support, telling the truth and healing. In the past when people would say they’ve felt objectified I would always agree. However, I don’t think I fully grasped that concept until this happened. There are few things that can make you feel less human than knowing all your pleads meant nothing to someone, that you were just a hole for them to fill.

In March of 2020, COVID19 spiked in the United States, which resulted in more stress and depression for the majority of the country. I continued to deal with this in an unhealthy way. I needed to clear my mind and get out of this horrible event. I continued drinking too much, my grades were not at all where I wanted them to be. In my efforts to make this trauma not define me, it began to define my entire life. The way I interacted with people, the way I treated myself, and the things in which I prioritized. I moved home that same year at the end of May. My parents quickly picked up that something was off with me. I was not ready to speak about what was going on, but their concern heightened and I felt hounded with their voices. I still stood my ground, and refused to speak. My mom took my phone for two days and went through every inch of it. We had a long conversation after that, me, my Dad, and my Mom. They talked to me about the way I was living and how it wasn’t sustainable. I was told that I was going down a scary path, one that could ruin my life if I didn’t take control. They couldn’t believe the person I was becoming. At the time, I was angry. Angry they had invaded my privacy, livid they felt entitled to tell me who I was, and hurt that anything would change their perception of me so firmly. But, they didn’t know the truth, and I couldn’t tell them. I look back on that conversation now and feel so much gratitude for it. Someone saw me drowning, and while boundaries had been crossed, I needed a wake up call. I still couldn’t tell them though. I couldn’t hear what they thought out of fear they wouldn’t believe me. I couldn’t let my Mom look at me as if she could have done more to prevent it, or tell me I could have done more to prevent it. I didn’t want my dad to know I was different, or look at me with any less respect. I didn’t tell them the truth until almost a year after that. I didn’t date, I focused on myself. I could not fathom being touched by a man, I could not imagine having to be vulnerable enough to tell a partner my story, and not feel pitied or used. It petrified me to talk and have someone invalidate my experience in any way.

I’ll never forget the first time I told a genuine romantic interest what had happened. We were sitting on a couch in the living room of my best friend's home. This was one of the most uncomfortable things I had to do. It was Halloween weekend, we had gone to a concert earlier that month and I had been sexually assaulted in the mosh pit when we got separated. I told him what happened at the concert, and proceeded to tell him about other events that had happened to me. I couldn’t look him in the eye while I said this. I felt humiliated and inhuman. He teared up while I talked and hugged me the entire time. I felt safe, for the first time in a really long time. A few months after we had broken up we were talking about how the both of us had been doing. He was apologetic because of the way our relationship had ended, he had told me he cheated on me, and I reassured him I would be alright, saying I had been through worse, and citing my assaults in an effort to appear resilient. He was shocked when I said this, he had forgotten my experiences. I brushed this off too easily, I felt as though he was lucky to be able to forget. I knew I would if I could. I envied him, that he could sit and listen to a story and have it affect his emotions, but forget about it once it was no longer relevant in his life. I still feel jealousy when I think of this, what a privileged experience it is to forget. It’s funny how trauma lives on in our minds and bodies, the people we surround ourselves with can’t even tell we may still be dealing with it. This situation and being cheated on was extremely triggering. Not in a physical sense, but emotionally and mentally I was back in a place where I wasn’t human. I was stuck in an endless loop of looking at myself like I was unimportant, I felt incredibly insecure all the time. I had a safe space, and while it was not anywhere near perfect on either end, it gave me a lot of hope at the time. While he was honest, and the one who told me he had cheated, which is as good as it can get in those kinds of situations. He had still triggered my brain to feel extremely unsafe. Some days I wanted to crawl out of my skin. Nothing I tried would relax the panic I felt constantly. This led to the beginning of learning about trauma induced OCD, and how these reactions and thoughts were almost out of my control.

There are a lot of things that have happened in my life to lead me into having OCD. It runs through my family, in my Dad, Mom, and brother. However, it was not always something within me, it developed overtime through my experiences. Looking back I almost laugh at how I handled this because it was clearly a trauma response. I brushed everything off like it was okay, and I was fine. I took myself back to a place where my feelings didn’t matter, and it was my job to present myself as strong. This was the doll I had become. Turning my key and I said I was okay, told people what they needed to hear. Yet, through this I have to admit I am extremely grateful for this experience in a relationship. It was not traumatic, but instead triggered something, through this I have been able to learn a lot about myself I would not have known otherwise. It has forced me to engage in an intense self awareness that I would not have had the opportunity to feel. There are some things we go through to teach us lessons, I am lucky to have gone through this so young, and to have realized areas that I am working to heal more in. For me this means trusting myself enough to continue being vulnerable, knowing I can handle any other challenge that comes my way, and not projecting my past experiences onto others.

Even years after December 7, 2019 I still find myself reacting in trauma responses. Sometimes I find myself doing things I would never have done in the past, in some effort to prove that this didn’t hurt me. On an episode of Bojack Horseman Diane says, “Because if I don't, that means that all the damage I got isn't good damage, it's just damage. I have gotten nothing out of it, and all those years I was miserable was for nothing.” This resonates with me. I’ve overcompensated in relationships and let too many people treat me as disposable because of the respect I lost for myself that day. I’ve felt obligated to become a ‘special’ person, to show myself this didn’t break me. However, the more healing I do the more I come to terms with the fact that it did. Not in a literal sense, I am a functioning human being, I enjoy a lot of parts of my life. Yet, I feel empty often, things trigger me more often than I’d like to admit, and I rarely know how to feel safe. In these moments I've embraced the wind-up doll. I say what people want to hear, and provide comfort even when it isn’t needed. I act as though I am fine even when everything in my mind and body is everything but.

“Sometimes I feel like a wind-up doll. Turn my key, and I’ll tell you exactly what you want to hear.” - The Luckiest Girl Alive. In response to this trauma I often still feel like a shell of a person. I am told too much I am ‘wise beyond my years’, and give incredible advice. These compliments have built up my confidence and simultaneously blinded me. The past 3 years I have found my worth in what I am to other people. I work hard at school, my job, and often spread myself too thin with other issues. I wanted to be seen as a remarkable person, never a victim. I wanted to feel important. I feel validated as I am able to get along with almost every person I meet, and define myself as interchangeable or flexible. I rarely express healthy anger in an effort to be defined well. This anger often manifests in out of context moments. I want to succeed in all areas of life, and accept little mistakes. I have lost a lot of my own identity in trying to gain some respect for myself by seeming to have the right answers to various situations and reacting as perfectly as I can bear to. I struggle in being affectionate with people I love, and when I am, it feels forced. I have a hard time regulating my emotions, and feel triggered by the strangest things. Although I am learning, I am growing, I am healing, I am finding myself and finding comfort in vulnerability. I want to share my stories often. I don’t want to define myself as a survivor, but as a victim. These are not stories I have ‘survived’ but rather felt required to navigate. This was not a growing experience I needed to go through, but one I was forced into. One no one should have to go through. This was a victimizing experience, one I am learning to live with.

A major part of my healing process has been surrounding myself with people expressing healthy emotion, and practicing healthy affection. A lot of therapy has also been beneficial. I am fortunate to have all the resources available in order to heal. Although I am not sure I will ever feel completely ‘healed’ I understand this is something that is going to come up in the future even when I don’t expect it. I think a lot of things in life are out of our control. I even think there are some things that are not meant to teach us lessons. There are some things we go through to make us stronger, that teach us what we should do next time, and help us love ourselves more. This is not one of those experiences. There is no ‘silver lining’ or light at the end of a tunnel. Without this experience I still would have grown as a person, I still would’ve found new parts of myself and felt proud of myself. Some experiences are simply traumatic. While we don’t get control over what is done to us, we do get to choose how we react to it. Wallowing in our misery hurts no one more, but ourselves. I have found a lot of strength in vulnerability with the people I spend my time with. I have found a lot of power in relearning who I used to be, and finding how that works in conjunction with who I am now. Finding confidence in who I am, and comfort in who I was. It is our responsibility to find ways to heal from our traumas, in order to not hurt others in the future. I am proud of who I’m becoming, and working on being proud of who I have been. I want to be an open person, who is vulnerable and authentic. I love my own company more than I have in a long time, and I am working to find comfort in uncomfortable spaces. I am grateful for the tools I’ve been given, the people currently in my life that make me feel safe, and reassured. I hope I show enough appreciation and love for them.