Journal Project

For one of my graduate classes, we were asked to complete a semester-long project in which we attempted to create a philosophical work in a non-traditional way. I chose to write a trauma narrative in the form of a journal, based on my own experiences. My goal was to give readers who were not survivors of rape a chance to see one survivors deepest and most secret thoughts in an attempt to give them an inkling of what survivors experience. This is not to say that all survivors react this way--everyone reacts differently--but I hoped to convey the range of emotions that can stem from that one life-changing event. My next post will be my critical analysis and explanation of my project. *Major Trigger Warning*



July 3rd, 2005

Dear Journal,

Yesterday I was at Gary's house, so was Dave. Dave was supposed to be meeting his girlfriend for some afternoon romping, and I was going to hang out with Gary. The two boys were smoking weed. I don't smoke, so I didn't have any. Gary kept blowing it in my face. I couldn't help but inhale some of it. I don't remember how we ended up in the basement, but he started trying to wrestle me. I thought we were just joking around, so I fought back a little. Then he started wrestling clothes off, once he got me to the ground. I tried to protect my clothes, but I couldn't do top and bottom at once. I remember he looked at me and said, "You have to give one of them up" so I gave up my shirt. Then he proceeded to wrestle off my pants. So there I was, clad in just a bra and panties. The panties went next. I was still on the ground. He kissed me...we'd done that before. Something was different though...I felt more out of it. He put his hand between my legs. He started to finger me. I was still struggling a little. He said something, but I can't remember what. Something to the effect of, "come on, you know you like it." Next thing I know, there's something a lot bigger than a finger inside me. It hurt. I was tight. I was so shocked; I didn't know what was going on. He rolled off me to get a condom. I sat up...told him I didn't want to lose my virginity. He simply replied, "Penetration is virginity, so it's gone." So nonchalantly, like we were talking about the fucking weather. He's continued, “You might as well just let me finish, it's not like you're a virgin anymore.” I lay down, more in shock than anything, and he finished. There was a puddle on the floor. I dressed in a daze, and walked down the street to meet my dad, who didn't know I had been at his house. I felt like there was something between my thighs keeping them from completely closing.

July 4th, 2005

Dear Journal,

I think I was raped. I didn’t want to have sex with Gary, and yet, we did. I never said I wanted to have sex or that it was okay for him to have sex with me, but he did.

why? Why? WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY GOD PLEASE MAKE IT STOP HURTING WHY DID YOU DO THAT? WHAT IF IT HAPPENS AGAIN? I DON'T KNOW IF I COULD DEAL WITH IT AND IT HURTS SO BAD MY HEART JUST ACHES AND I JUST DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO AND I DON'T KNOW WHO TO TALK TO AND I JUST WANT SOMEONE TO HUG ME AND SAY IT'LL BE OKAY BECAUSE RIGHT NOW I FEEL LIKE DYING.

GOD PLEASE MAKE IT STOP HURTING

PLEASE MAKE IT STOP

PLEASE GOD

GOD

July 6th, 2005

Dear Journal,

Haven't eaten in 24 hours. I was too upset to ride yesterday. In my entire life, that has never happened to me. Horseback riding has always been the one thing that gets me through whatever I was going though. Not yesterday. I went down the barn, groomed Snickers as if I was going to ride her, and then it was just like...I can't. I was thinking about what happened too much. I went to work in a daze, and when I got home and tried to go to sleep, I just laid awake, thinking about it. It makes me sick. Every time I would start to get hungry, I’d think of it and just feel nauseous.

July 7th, 2005

Dear Journal,

I haven't eaten in 36 hours, minus a cup of broccoli cheddar yesterday. I've slept a grand total of 12 hours in the last three days. I can't sleep; I can't eat. All I can do is cry. My eyes are swollen and red. My contacts don't even work because all the tears dried them out.

July 10th, 2005

I’m not planning this out in my head. The words are just going to flow. I hurt right now. So badly. I want you to know what I’m feeling. Every emotion. Anger, betrayal, depression, sadness. You can’t possibly understand being violated by the person you thought you could trust. Having a person force you to engage in that one sacred act, that act of love, against your will. Wanting to run, to scream, to tear through your skin and rip out your heart. Just wanting to sleep, to die, to be unconscious, something to make the pain vanish for a while. Hoping that sleep would bring release but finding yourself restless and tossing and turning, or worse, haunted by nightmares that are so much more vivid than what you pictured while awake. The nausea. The constant nausea every time you so much as think the word "food." Why would you want to eat when you'd rather die? The hurt - the realization that you put your faith in someone who could violate it. The self-loathing...thinking if you had just been better, done this, done that, this wouldn't have happened. The somber acceptance that it did happen, and nothing they say will ever change it. The hatred. Hating him for making you hurt, wanting to hurt him, wanting to see his emotions, wanting him to hurt as much as you do so he would never hurt anyone like this ever again. The prayer. Praying, begging, screaming, asking, God why is this happening? Asking what you did to deserve it. Hoping that He will take your pain away. Waiting, and waiting, and realizing that the solace will not come. Wanting to run forever, run so far that no one will catch you or find you, hoping to outrun the pain. Never being able to. Feeling helpless. There’s nothing you could do to stop it. There’s nothing you can do to change it. There’s nothing you can do at all, except try to survive. But part of you doesn't even want to. You contemplate going out into traffic and hoping an ignorant driver hits you. It sounds crazy. It is crazy. I realized that I lost a piece of myself that day. Now maybe you’ll understand a small shadow of what it’s like.

August 21st, 2005

Dear Journal,

I hate him for what he did to me...how he made me think my body was the only part of me that would ever get a man's attention. How he made me feel like I was just an object for pleasure. How he made me lose respect for myself. But mostly, I hate myself for letting him get away with it. I was told he's done it to two other girls. Virgins. It could have stopped with me.

August 31st, 2005

Dear Journal,

I’m back at school now. I can’t focus in class, so I wrote a poem today.

Suffocating

Strangled

Fenced in

Cornered

Can’t take the pressure

Everyone is watching

Listening

Probing

Like I’m an experiment

I need to get out

Run

Hide

Go far away from here

Escape

I can’t take this anymore

Going to explode

I can’t lose it again

This was supposed to be

My solace

My sanctuary

My school

Where no one could find me

Where I would be far away

Now it’s my prison

January 2nd, 2006

Dear Journal,

It’s been months since it happened. I’ve begun doing things I never expected. I have been sleeping around. I started dating Bruce a few weeks ago and slept with him almost immediately. I didn’t mean to, but it just happened. I’m afraid to be alone, I’m afraid of rejection, and I’m addicted to the attention that I receive from guys. As long as a guy will give me the emotional things I need, I can forgive lying and manipulating. I’ll do whatever it takes to get more of that attention, even have sex with him.

I’ve slept with boys in the past few months because I needed their attention. I am convinced that my only marketable feature is my body. I told Bruce last night, I feel like I’m not worthy enough on my own merits…I have to sleep with a guy, because I fear that if I don’t, I will be left for someone prettier, smarter, and/or more willing to do such things. I feel as though I’m in constant competition for the males in my life, and I won’t ever be able to just relax and enjoy a relationship. I have a deep-seated fear of being alone, and an even deeper fear of never truly being respected and cared for.

January 15th, 2006

Dear Journal,

I started seeing a therapist. She’s helping me through this, and making me realize how much of my recent behavior stemmed from Gary raping me over the summer. It has affected me on every possible level.

Rape. It’s a funny word to say. Something you read about in the newspaper but never actually think will happen to you. It happens to other people. It happens in dark alleys. It doesn’t happen in the basement of your ex-boyfriend’s house with your mutual friend upstairs, seemingly oblivious. It doesn’t happen when you’re a virgin hoping to save yourself for someone who truly cares.

And even if it does happen, you call the police right? You do the things they teach you in school. But what happens when you’re out when your parents think you’re at a friend’s house? What happens when it takes you a few days to even fully comprehend what happened? Why can’t I just erase this from my memory instead of feeling like it now defines every action I take and every emotion I feel? How can I keep this from happening to other people? No one should ever feel the way that I feel now. I found these lyrics from Dashboard Confessional that seem so applicable…

This is where I say
I've had enough
And no one should ever feel
The way that I feel now.
A walking open wound,
A trophy display of bruises
And I don't believe
That I'm getting any better