friday night - out with my girlfriends to celebrate my birthday. checked out a new restaurant, later, crossed the street to a check out the sex shop, then finished the night playing a game of pool. the outcome, i made a purchase at the sex shop and i really suck at playing pool.

saturday - left home early in the morning with my westie to cheer my parents off as they participated in the ride for dad motorcycle parade. the rest of the day, i was laid up on the couch or floor in utter misery, trying to comprehend how i've developed seasonal allergies at my age. passed out by 8pm.

sunday - caught up on coronation street (my little vice and the only soap opera i will admit to watching), followed by an hour of work as a teaching assistant for a basic obedience training course at the canine school. finished the day working on a blog post.

monday - woke up at 4 am today and dragged myself into work. on the car ride in, i plan and visualize my day and what i will accomplish. but then life steps in. it's waving a huge red flag. soon as i get on the elevator, my colleague starts asking me about a former colleague of ours. we gather into the office of another colleague and learn...our friend and former co-worker was found murdered on saturday night.

saturday - while i was laid up on the couch in the afternoon, trying to find allergy remedies, my friend's body was discovered.

sunday - while i was watching coronation street, the police were questioning my friend's ex-boyfriend where he confesses his crime.

monday - while at work today, through social media and phone calls, we reconnected with former colleagues to share the tragic news, hugged our friends, shed some tears, and remembered our vivacious, funny and wonderful friend.

Not a full week passed before the social media and news stratosphere exploded with the next sensational item.  From attacks on our Canadian soldiers and symbols to the now infamous essay by a former CBC host and the subsequent media blitz, it's been a very difficult week.  My emotions are on edge and I wish nothing more than to crawl into my little hole in the sidewalk. 

While the former inspires my sense of courage and resilience, the latter only triggers the memories and thoughts of my recent past, and the knot in my stomach just clenches tighter and tighter.

He may have gotten his side of the story out first, but being the aggressor, it's his way of manipulating the situation to maintain and control the power imbalance. At least, that's my view of it.

In some ways, I resent having all this media focused on this topic - I don't want to be thinking about it.  I don't want to feel the things I'm feeling, in particular, the sense of shame that weighs deep within me. A part of me is trying to stay objective - I don't have all the facts, I don't know the full story of either sides, so how can I be in position to judge and lay verdict?  I know that we have an opportunity here to engage in dialogue, discussion, and demand action that will bring about meaningful change in our societal attitudes and how we treat one another, regardless of consent.

I hate this kind of vulnerable...I'm focused on not letting his story or their stories deter me from my own healing journey. It's easy for me to feel compassion for these women, because it hits close to home and what I've experienced.  But I hate how shame is creeping back in...I hate how it's smirking at me. 

To consent or not to consent...

I did not consent.

I didn't consent 25 years ago. 

I didn't consent 19 years ago. 

I didn't consent 2 years ago.

But I am still here...feeling exposed, shaken...eventually, I'll get the perspective that I need to overcome all this...but for now, it's just one day at a time...

He had a fantasy.

He described in detail what he wanted...what he would do.
I told him no.

He kept pushing his fantasy.
And I pushed back - No!

He wanted his own key so that he could come and go as he pleased.
I said no.

He had come up to my door hoping that I had left it unlocked.
The red flags came up, but I ignored them.
I was in denial of the danger I was in.
I believed I could control the situation.

He would advance. I would parry. He would pry and ply me, I would dodge and counter.  But then what started off as something consensual one night quickly escalated into him fulfilling his fantasy.

I was pinned - literally - unable to make him stop.
And wondering where did it go wrong? How did I end up here?
I was left torn, broken, defeated, humiliated and shaken.

I was angry. This was never my fantasy.
He apologised - nothing short of passive-aggressive manipulation.
This cat and mouse game was over.
I severed all my connections with him.

But for the next few days, I would sleep in the spare room.
For the next few days, I would lie to my colleagues each time I winced in pain.
For the next few months, I would silently endure moments of anxiety and panic.
For the next few months, I would slowly withdraw into myself.

It's been 23 months since he last walked through my door.
I wish I could say my healing journey is nearly over...
I wish I could say that memories of that night no longer affect me...
I wish for a lot of things...

But it can't be undone...
For now, I struggle with the rising tide of emotions as I relive that night. It gnaws at my gut.
And I struggle equally to stay in the present and to keep moving forward.

Yesterday marked the 24th anniversary of the National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence Against Women.  For years, I've observed this day with detached deference - always thinking of the 14 women, the police officer who responded to the call only to learn that his own daughter was one of the victims, and the senselessness and selfish act of one man.

I think of all the other women who have suffered or survived violence and I would send out a silent prayer of love and courage out to the universe.  Oddly, I would never include myself - my blinkers of denial and shame kept me from seeing or feeling things.  I was 14 years old when the Montreal massacre took place, and I remember reading and watching the news with avid attention. It was sensational, and all the news media were on fire. It was a defining time as a teen - this was something closer to home - it wasn't Hollywood and the reality of it was there was a collective sense of innocence lost. Little did I know then, a few weeks after this event, danger lurked in the shadows and I would experience the first of a series of unwanted sexual attention and manipulation, setting in motion my patterns of disassociation, secrets and hyper-vigilance.

But this year has been different and as I thought of the women, I felt a stronger sense of solidarity and ownership of the significance of this day.  It's as if the cloaks of shame and guilt have fallen off my shoulders so that I can stand with the other women.  For the first time, my heart, mind and soul shout out in unison, "I refuse to accept any more of it."  I am not alone in my suffering.  I was/am a victim of a violent act.  I was/am a victim of manipulation. And further more, I no longer want to be silent.

I'm reminded of the song The Reason by Hoobastank.  It is one of my anthem songs. My therapist had me memorize the lyrics, repeat the words over and over again and letting them touch an emotional place within.  In the beginning, this song would bring forth a flood of tears and pain, but now I find solace, reassurance and hope:

I've found a reason for me
To change who I used to be
A reason to start over new
And the reason is you.
I've found a reason to show
A side of me you didn't know
A reason for all that I do
And the reason is you.

Changing my own personal narrative of my circumstances has helped me to see things with greater clarity.  I feel more grounded.  I feel more assured than I have ever been in years as I continue to confront my past and my present so that what comes next will be a better tomorrow.

It's beautiful outside today...first main snowfalls of the season and there is a pure yet rugged feel to it all. The snow is cradled in puffs by the tree branches but every so often, when the tree can no longer bear the weight of the snow, the branch gives a little tug and releases the snow.

I'm inspired by this view. It's been a productive few weeks since my last post - I feel I have momentum on my side and I'm loathe to let this opportunity slip through my fingers. There have been a number of "Aha!" moments as well as acceptance that have aided immensely in uncovering my authentic self.

Shame is a topic I've been exploring and for me, this is a topic that I found most difficult to voice.  I know my shame, I cradle it like precious cargo. I've also treated it like a companion or something comforting like tea and cookies. And all the feelings that arise with my shame, I've kept them locked in a vault. And so this past month, I have faced them through visual exercises - drawings, post-it notes plastered against my wall, and in my journal writing. It's often been a confusing and anxiety ridden experience. I have a number of records that I play on my broken record player inside my head that make it hard for me to really see and uncover the truth.  Here are some of my top ten records:

• "I'm broken. I'm damaged."
• "I'm not worthy of love."
• "I'm only worth a secret and pussy."
• "This isn't true love.  It's just a game."
• "I have to work hard and prove myself because I'm not good enough."
• "I'm not desirable. I'm ugly."
• "I have to stay in control."
• "I'm a bad person."
• "I'm invisible."
• "Don't let the secrets out...let the world think I am OK."

All my past abuse and rape experiences are my shame, but the result of one of the past experiences deeply affects me still and it's a secret I've buried deeply for a long time.

Secret Reveal #5: I am not disease-free.

18 years ago - He was my first sexual partner and as a young woman, I was both naive and ignorant. I was self-conscious and lacked the confidence to stay firm about what I wanted, one of which was safe sex. I thought saying "NO!" would be sufficient enough and that he would listen to me. But when I didn't play along with what HE wanted, he would become aggressive, and that night was no different...he pinned me down and was deaf to my pleas. The result - I ended up going to the campus clinic and the doctor diagnosed me with genital herpes a week later. I was mortified. I was shocked. I was angry. I was hurt. I was ashamed. When she asked me if I knew who and how I had contracted the virus, I replied in matter-of-fact tone and described what happened. She asked me if I wanted to speak with a counselor and I said, "No thank you. I'll be all right."  In hindsight, I wish the doctor had been more persistent and insist I speak with someone about my experience. Back then, friends said I should have reported him and the date-rape to campus police. I wish I had listened and acted on all their advice.  But I couldn't. The chains of shame already claimed me as a prisoner.

Present - I shared this shame with the women of my therapy group last week - it is my scarlet letter. It felt good to release the weight...like the branches releasing the snow. Their compassion and support was truly appreciated in helping me face this shame aloud. And in acknowledging the shame and secret, it's given back a piece of myself. And hope.

This post has been percolating and brewing in my thoughts since the inception of this blog. I haven't been able to articulate what it is I want to say...so I write, edit and delete this post each time I sit in front of my computer.  Perhaps I'm just not ready to say what it is I want to say...but I push forward hoping that in writing, things will reveal itself.

The Internet is a fascinating and vast place. I believe there are a number of people who have queried words and phrases in search of answers. I know I do. I have this innate need to understand, to decipher, to unravel, to find...something, anything...that will help make sense of things, especially now more than ever. I can't remember what compelled me to google "child abuse" and "rape", but one night, I landed on the HAVOCA website. On their homepage was a table with the title "From Victim to Survivor to Thriver" by Barbara Whitfield.  Initially, when I read that title, I had already labelled myself a Survivor...after all, I was self-aware of my secrets and situation, and I had my "Type A" personality working on my behalf to ensure that my life was in control.

As I read through the Victim column, my head and heart began to spin. My inner ME began to silently scream, "Yes, yes, yes!  That's how I feel...that's what I do...THAT'S HOW I SEE MYSELF!"

There is truly nothing more humbling as an experience as when you face your shining honest self, and "denial" hurriedly scurries back into the shadows.  It was one of the most powerful moments in my life, the night I faced the hidden secret I kept from myself.

Secret Reveal #4: I am still a Victim
Some of the statements/phrases that resonated with me:

• I don't deserve nice things, 
• hyper vigilant, 
• damaged, 
• confused & numbness, 
• overwhelmed by the past, 
• my stories/secrets stay hidden, 
• I place my own needs last.

This revelation stunned me and yet, I also felt a sense of liberation. I realized, for the past two decades, I had NEVER acknowledged to myself that I am/was a Victim. I was so desperate to continue with my life and to project the impression that I was OK.  I got caught up with the idea of "I am a Survivor" that I convinced myself that's who I was. In doing so, I skipped a number of important steps in my healing process.

The chart certainly shed a lot of light into my own personal motivations, my behaviour in relationships and my approach to life.  But more importantly, it helped straighten the view and perceptions I had about myself that was created over 20 years ago...and hence, the re-writing of my personal narrative begins with this acceptance. I have yet to reach true Survivor status...I am striving for it, and with the help of my counsellor and now my group therapy sessions, I know I am well on my way towards that goal.