Righteous anger

I'm angry.

I live in a somewhat idyllic town about 30 miles east of San Diego proper, and I love it. It's small. I never thought I would like living in a small town, but I do. It's quiet (despite the noise happening at our pool right now since they're re-paving it or whatever it is you do with pools).

I've changed. I'm not the insecure, blind, self-sacrificing little girl I was when I lived in all points Los Angeles. I'm not the lost, drunk, terrified little girl who hooked up with the first cute guy she could find after her divorce...and stayed with him for almost 4 years, as I grew away and apart from him.

I'm definitely not the optimistic little girl who believed him when he said I could crash on his couch. I'm not the girl who ran away from what happened at full speed and full blood alcohol.

I see clearly now. I tell the truth now. And I know all of you now.

I'm fucking furious. I saw a picture of a friend standing with another "friend" (who is actually a friend of my ex, but you know) smiling. She was smiling and leaning towards him. He was doing the same. This seems innocuous yes? Let me enlighten you. A few years ago, while I was still the lost, drunk, terrified little girl (who was getting less lost and more drunk), the friend (my actual friend) was raped. Then some time after, her rapist showed up at a party thrown by my ex's other friend. We made sure he didn't stay long.

Some time after that, the smiling ex's friend in the picture informed me that my friend was probably lying. How do I know she was raped? Was I there? You could ruin a life saying that about a guy, don't say it unless he's been convicted. I ended up in tears that night, for my friend, furious at this "friend" for knowing nothing about rape statistics and reporting, and how many days the "average rapist" actually stays in jail (note: 0). But mostly I was hurt for my friend, who I loved fiercely, whom he was calling a liar, when I had watched her going through agony. I don't know if I told her about it. I didn't know the pain myself at the time. But I would, sooner than I thought.

And when my ex and this "friend" met to discuss the incident that night (without me there, obv), when my ex said he was "so confused" about what to do, because I was his girlfriend and I was hurt and what was he supposed to do? Defend me right? His friend said "well she's beautiful, lets not forget that." As if my beauty was blinding him to he fact that I was manipulating him, by caring for my friend. As if I was using my beauty to get my way.

Honey, if I knew how to use my beauty to do anything at that time, I wouldn't have been dating your friend. Sad but true.

Now, forgive me if I pull no punches. It's been flashbacks and almost tears all morning in my somewhat idyllic town where I left all of that behind. I just walked through Albertson's with my fist clenched so hard my knuckles were white, and I couldn't make eye contact with the people I know in a place where I FINALLY SMILE AT EVERYONE. Because of that goddamn picture. Of this asshole smiling next to the girl he called a liar. It took me right back to the 2 degrees of separation from my own rapist.

Obviously no one knew, rapists are charming guys, I mean they have to be. How else would they get girls alone to rape them. They're your friend. They'll take care of you. "He's a good guy."

So to my ex: Your friend raped me. He may not have been a good friend, but you and your other stupid fucking friend who likes to call women whores and thinks it's totally fine to do so, had him as a guest on your stupid fucking podcast one day, and you told me all about it. You were so excited. You were stoked to have the guy that raped your girlfriend on your show. I know. You didn't know. I didn't tell you that the night you picked me up on the corner of a street downtown and took me home, that you were the only person to answer my phone call after he raped me. You were the only person I could reach, and the last person I wanted to. We fought that day, do you remember? He saw it too. He saw us fight, he saw my emotional turmoil, he saw me as a vulnerable, drunk girl, and he pretended he gave a shit about me. He told me "There are creeps on the metro. Do you like Clint Eastwood movies? Lets go watch some Clint Eastwood. You can crash on my couch and go home when you sober up." And he was my friend, I thought. He skated with me. He had to be a good guy, right?

And when we got to his house, he raped me. When I told him I didn't want to have sex, he didn't have a condom, and I needed to get home, he told me "Hey, hey, we're just having fun," and pulled me back (that's right, I had actually gotten up to leave) and held me there.

And in the days and weeks and months after he raped me, I drank more and more, and pretended nothing had happened. Why didn't I go to the cops, why didn't I tell someone. Why. I was the girl I promised myself I'd never be. The one blaming herself for her own rape. The one trying to pretend everything was fine. But something switched in me. I finally broke up with the ex whom I was no longer in love with, who was not good for me. There was a change. My friends saw it. They were my first supporters when I started facing what had happened to me. 8 months later. When I finally told someone. And I felt love like I hadn't before when my derby wife wrote an angry letter to the league board for me.

And then I felt something else. When I told my roommate, he said "Well, you're just dragging the guy's name through the mud, but whatever." I was so shocked I had no idea what to say. He had just called me a liar. He had outright said that I should not speak up about my assault.

The truth is, that house was a means to get away from the ex. I couldn't afford it, I didn't want to be there, but I had to get away.

And at the end of that year, I told myself, if things aren't better, I'm done. I was actively suicidal. I was planning how I would do it. I didn't have much stuff. I didn't plan on being found by a friend, I wouldn't do that to them. I planned on being alone, with my meds and a sharp knife, and maybe the cops would find me.

But there were other plans in the works, because in June, I found out I was pregnant, and all of the other plans evaporated. My son saved me, in no uncertain terms. His father convinced me to marry him. It hasn't been easy, but I'm happier than I have ever been and I am FINALLY FINALLY myself. Finally the girl that cares for those she loves, but sets boundaries. Finally the girl who calls bullshit when she sees it, but in a digestible way. Finally the girl who can be open and tell people how much she loves them without fear of reprisal.

And when foreign invaders, like that picture, enter my world, instead of making me fearful or self-blaming, it makes me angry. Angry for my friend. Angry at the people who I placated for years so that I could stay in an unhealthy relationship. And, yes, a little angry at myself, but having lived through that, and become who I am, I forgive me.

I forgive me.