Duct Tape?

I was nervous. It was "girls" night. One of only two times I recall ever going "out" anywhere without Gary during our relationship. I was very, very nervous because I never felt I fit in. But I convinced myself it'd be okay..... I offered to bring the salad.

Dina invited me, Bonnie, Leah, Beth, Rachel and I think that's it. Dina's a quiet, shy type. I and Gary did not know her really well but we met her though Leah who I considered to be one of only two real friends I had. I'd met Bonnie before and Rachel but not Beth (who turned out to be a riot).

I was nervous the whole time, feeling like I stuck out like a sore thumb and wondering the whole time, where Gary was. I knew he was going out - figured probably to the Pattaconk - but at that time, it was just us girls, hanging out in Dina's apartment, eating her delicious homemade chicken pot pie and my salad.

I think there was desert, too, but I don't recall.

After a couple of hours, a couple of us phoned our beaus - mine, of course, being Gary. I couldn't wait to see him. I just wanted to be near him and to feel safe.

"They're at the Pattaconk," I informed the girls (Leah's boyfriend and Gary were there), as was "Dee," funny enough - partying with Gary.

So we left Dina's and we all went to the Pattaconk. I was still nervous...didn't feel quite right. Saw him, felt much better, and stood there by him as I drank a Corona. Everyone partied and had a good time. I kind of just wanted to go home. Being with the girls was fun but it rattled my nerves, for sure, and I was saturated with a feeling I can't describe. One of discomfort, of just wanting to go home.

That was months ago.

Dina was a friend, I suppose. And the rest were potential friends... I liked them all, especially Leah. She was a good friend to me, I thought.

Gary hardly knew any of them except Leah and "Dee" - the only two people I considered to be friends of mine. I often joked that if/when Gary and I got married, they would be my bridal party....that's how close I considered them.

But then the break-up happened and I moved. Strangely enough, I moved to an apartment that's literally around the corner from Dina. We were both shocked and delighted! I haven't seen her since I moved but we talked a little on Facebook about getting together and she (again) mentioned that she needed to bring my salad bowl back to me.

Then in August it happened....

She changed her profile picture to one of her partying on Gary's boat, with Leah.

My heart just sank. It wasn't the first time I'd seen heart-breaking pictures of him partying on his boat as if all in life were perfect, while my heart was cracking into a million pieces. I had defriended most of our boater friends because I literally couldn't stomach seeing it. It sickened me in a heartbroken kind of way, not in a disgusted way....just shattered me.

I labored over this for days, finally sent her a message:

Hi Dina

I'm writing to let you know that I think you're wonderful but I am defriending everyone associated with Gary and those who party with him. It's an enormous trigger for me and quite honestly I don't even know who to trust.

Seeing a picture of you on his boat, immediately sends me reeling - it's that bad.

This is not personal because, like I said, I think you're a wonderful person, but I just can't handle any reference or pictures of him or his boat or his activities.

I hope you understand and I wish you the best.

-C

No response.

Today I got a text message that simply said: "I put your bowl on your mailbox"

"Thank you," I responded.

He went out during our breakup and made sure to talk to every single female person who could have possibly been a friend to me. He sunk his claws into them and made sure they went out and partied with him...made sure they saw how much fun he can be...even Leah. Even those who he didn't even really know! People who I could have turned to.

Today, as I was going to the store for milk, I saw a bag hanging from my mailbox.

I got out of the car, walked over to it, and saw that it was hung over my flipped-up flag, duct taped into place.

She went to an awful lot of trouble to make sure she didn't have to see me.

Duct tape? Really? What the hell did he tell you about me that made you treat me like a diseased animal?

Thanks...thanks a lot.

Less than a block away, and not even the courtesy to bring it to my door.

I  could die right now.

People are so cruel.

Scared to Be Seen

My name is Cristina D. Johnson.

I was dreading going. My anxiety rose yesterday, knowing Trevor's dental appointment was today and I would have to go to Higganum. I'd have to go past those god forsaken exits. I'd have to pass by all those memories and worst of all...I'd see one of "them" - one of the friends...one of our "mutual friends."



When I was still at "his" place, people didn't realize that he was deliberately antagonizing me, while I was in the throes of horrible PTSD and DID symptoms. One of the cruelest things he did to me, was taunt me by telling me that he was telling everyone about me and he would not tell me who he told, nor what he shared. I'd spent five years keeping my issues pretty much to myself because I was ashamed of my past, my abuse, and my disorders. I deliberately, consciously chose who to tell what....and it wasn't a lot, and it didn't include many.

So having him tell me that he was spreading these rumors about me to God-only-knows who, threw me in a hole.

"I'm not controlling you," he said. "You can still go out," he said - as if I could or would ever dare show my face anywhere, ever again, knowing  the lies and rumors he'd spread about me everywhere. And I do mean, EVERYWHERE.

I was being tormented daily as he went out and made sure to alienate any possible friend I could have by partying with them and playing the victim. I was trapped. Trapped in shame. Trapped in unworthiness. Trapped in my own world, in his goddamn basement.

Among the "friends" that we had, there was one - Liz - who we weren't necessarily close to, but who we sometimes boated with. Liz was a blast. She was always bright and bubbly and fun to be around.

But as we went through our break-up, he was out partying with every single female friend I knew, and some that I hardly knew. He made sure he pissed on all his territory, including befriending anyone I could have possibly reached out to for friendship or support. Including "Dee" who would proclaim to be my friend, only to go out and party with him. (Yeah, some friend. Go party with the guy who cheated on your 'best friend')

He was partying on the boat almost daily and then almost nightly going to the bars - all of them - to make sure I was revealed (and in my weakened state, I could only assume the worst because of how he was treating me at home, which nobody knew, because nobody asked).

I was scared to go to the dentist today because Liz works there and she's a 'boater friend' - one of the few left on my FB friend's list. In fact, possibly the only one of our 'boater friends' left on my friend's list. I never deleted her because, well, I don't really know.

Anyway, we go to the dentist - but not before I take a risperdal disintegrating tablet - because of my out-of-control angst.

How much had he told Liz? What did she know about me? What did he tell her? What has she heard? She probably hates me! Oh God I don't want to go.

We went in and there she was behind the glass panel that separates the office from the seating area. She had her back turned, her brown hair was pulled up with a bit of it hanging down the left side of her face. She wore a cocoa-colored dress with a beige short-sleeved sweater. I was relieved when the other woman (I don't know her name), spoke to me instead of Liz.

But my relief was short-lived. As soon as the other lady spoke to me, Liz turned around and saw me. I shrank inside. I wanted to melt right then in that moment. I wished I could just instantly become invisible. I felt like I was diseased. Stay away from that girl - she's fucked up kept going through my head. I bet that's what she's thinking.

I could hardly breathe.

She smiled.

"Hey guys!" she said to Trevor and I.

She doesn't mean it. She's just smiling to be nice. She really thinks I'm a disgusting whore or something.

"Hey. Trevor's here," I said. "He's been really looking forward to this appointment!" I said with sarcastic enthusiasm (he needed to have three cavities filled) and also trying to lighten the mood.

Liz opened her side of the glass and started asking Trevor how he liked the new school as well as her experience when she was young at school with block scheduling and some other things.

They called Trevor back. My legs wouldn't stop bouncing. I was mortified. I was sitting there, alone.

She walked out into the lobby. She sat next to me. My heart was pounding.

"How are you doing? How is everything," she asked.

I almost cried, but held back.

"Okay. It's hard."

She proceeded to talk to me as if she cared about me (probably because I'd called and cancelled Trevor's last appointment in hysterical tears and Liz was the one who took the call and I told her I just couldn't do it at that time). She started to show genuine concern and she listened as I spoke. She touched my leg. She assured me and smiled and was kind.

She got up and rubbed my arm, and went back to her desk.

I sat there with tears in my eyes which I quickly sucked up. I was not going to break down at the dentist's office.

Finally Trevor was done and he brought his paper up to Liz.

"Okay you're all set!" she said joyfully.

I said, "You know....do..can I ...." and I walked around the counter and it was as if she knew what I was going to say. She stood and I began to cry, such an ache....God such an ache.

"Thank you," I cried as I hugged her tight. I didn't care who saw.

"You're a beautiful person," she said.

As we were walking out, she hollered at Trevor, "Take care of your mom. She's a beautiful lady!"

I drove home with much less anxiety.

As I think about it now, it's hard to absorb that kind of treatment, those kinds of sentiments. It aches to be treated so compassionately.

My Fault; I didn't realize you were going to take advantage of me.

My name is Cristina Johnson.

I won't even go into the drama of this past week, although it brought me to my knees one night (Saw the ex's father...and a bunch of other stuff happened within two days...just brought me down).

But I am going to talk about the fucked up notion that women put themselves in the position to be raped/beaten/taken advantage of/etc.

******Trigger Warning******

When I was 12, I had a night of hell. I'd just hitchiked from Florida to North St. Louis - the only home I had ever known - on the streets.

First I was robbed and beaten by a group of guys who were clearly on (what was then called "whack" and is more commonly known as PCP). Fortunately, though they knocked me around in the slushy snow, took my coat, and my bags, they didn't rape me.

I was freezing. Winters in St. Louis can be brutal. And in the ghetto, they're dirty, too. Everything is grey, instead of white, like in the post cards. The dirty doesn't go away; it settles in the gutters like dirty crushed ice.

A small white car pulled up. He rolled down his window. I was wet and freezing. He asked, "Did they just rob you?"

I didn't know what to say so I stood there for a moment and he asked again, "Did they just rob you?"

When I didn't answer, he held up a gun and a police radio (or so I thought) and told me he was a police officer and to get in the car and he would help me find my things.

I got in the car.

He took me to a motel...attempted to rape me. Couldn't. He was too large for my little body, but that didn't stop him from repeatedly attempting until finally he put me back in the car. I don't know where he was taking me or what his plans were. Just knew he had a gun.

At one point, we turned down a dead-end road and were surrounded by a group of guys. I know some of their names to this day: Charlie, Mistreatie, Black, Anthony...there were others.

The "cop" stopped the car, realizing he was surrounded. He pulled out his gun. One of the guys was approaching my window, asking me to roll it down.

"It's okay. I ain't gon' hurt you," he said. "My name is Charlie. I know where yo stuff is."

I was scared and confused. I was in a dangerous situation. It was about 2 a.m. and I was exhausted, freezing and just plain confused.

Charlie looked comparatively harmless, considering what the "cop" had done (in hindsight, by the way, I now know it was a police scanner that he'd shown me and not a police radio).

Charlie was a light-skinned guy with a gentle demeanor. "I will take you to yo stuff," he promised.

So after a short stand-off, I got out of the car and Charlie immediately gave me his coat. I was almost instantly disarmed, although I was walking down the streets of the ghetto with six grown men at 2 a.m.

True to his word, Charlie took me to where one of my bags had been thrown in the gutter. Most of it salvageable and thankfully still had my makeup in it.

Charlie told me that I could sleep in his basement, if I needed to rest.

Up to this point, I'd been given no reason not to trust him so I let him lead me to his house. In the basement, it was cold but there was a back room and all the windows were boarded up. In the back room, there was a chair and a bed - that's all I remember - and he welcomed me to sit down in the chair, as he walked out of the room and closed the door.

I heard them whispering... I heard it. I knew it was coming...I could hear them outside the door and the only sensation I can recall is my arms resting on the arms of the chair, as if immobilized, utterly exhausted. I couldn't move my arms.

Charlie came in first. Threw me on the bed. Ripped off my clothes and hit me if I cried.

"Shut the fuck up, bitch!" he would snarl, if I whimpered.

He proceeded to rape me.

Although I'd been molested most of my childhood, I had not (to my knowledge) ever been penetrated.

This was my first experience.

He, like "the cop," was too big but it didn't matter...he forced it to happen and it hurt worse than anything I'd ever known. I lay there, praying to a God I didn't believe in, that he would stop moving. Just stop moving...please stop moving, it hurts so bad.

As he "finished" he called in the next guy but I clamped my arms around his neck, begging him not to get up. "Please no no no!!"

And he shoved my arms away and the next guy came and repeated Charlie's actions.

Each time, I clung to their necks, begging them not to get up. Begging.

As if I was asking for it, right? Laying in this dark, dingy basement, unable to fight off six attackers who did everything they physically could to my body as I cried and begged.

When they were done, they locked me in the basement and they did the same thing the next night....and the next night...and the next night...

Finally, one day, a little boy appeared in the basement. He was about five or six years old. He opened the door and came in and I felt such fear for him. Ironically, his nickname was "Daddy" I found out quite soon.

When I met "Daddy" I was afraid to leave the basement because I felt protective of him. I knew he was being abused and neglected and I knew his daily visits down to see me were a refuge for him.

The guilt I have carried over this ever since then, is tremendous. I, like most people, wonder, "why didn't you leave then, when you had the chance?"

I've hated myself for not leaving when I could.

But then something happened that changed everything....

After another round of rapes (they often brought more guys in), they brought Daddy in as I lay helpless on the bed. Helpless to do anything. They held my arms and legs and they lay Daddy on top of me, nude.

They pushed his buttocks to simulate sex and hooped and hollered and laughed as if it was the greatest thing they'd ever seen. No sex happened, obviously, but when Daddy looked up and saw me crying, while also hearing his big brother and his friends urging him on and telling him how good he was doing, the child was completely confused.

It was after this, that I was "sold" by Charlie to a pimp and endured another week of gang-rapes and beatings. Being primed to "go on the stroll." But that's another story.

*****End Trigger****

So I put myself in that position, didn't I? My fault, right?

Just like this weekend when a male friend came over and crossed a couple of lines. I was here listening to him tell me that he loved me, all the while putting Bill down (who I quickly and unequivocally defended). I told him repeatedly not to say those things to me but he continued.

He never touched me - just verbally was out of line.

Last night I was accused of putting myself in that position.

To me, this cut down to that 12-year-old. That guilt that sits there like a ball of  tar in your gut. The incessant chanting in your brain about how bad you are, how wrong you are, how you fucked up, how it's all your fault because if you'd done or if you'd done that or if you hadn't done this or hadn't done that, then this shit wouldn't have happened.

Right?

So it IS my fault??

Don't get me wrong. Cognitively, to a large extent, I understand no woman (or child or girl) deserves or asks to be beaten and raped. But cognition is far different than the emotional baggage of such a trauma. And when the same trauma happens repeatedly, you start to believe, yes...yes it must be my fault...

And then someone comes along and unknowingly or not, blames you for being taken advantage of.

There are absolutely no words for how lost I feel right now.

Living in Limbo

My name is Cristina D. Johnson

Had another nightmare about "him" last night. Third night in a row, only last night I woke up crying.

There are good things happening, of course. I mean I have the help and support of some wonderful people.

Therapy's been tough because of the concept of boundaries and relationships. I suppose it all goes back to living in that black-and-white world. Yes or no. No gray.

In therapy, though, it's obvious that things are out of whack here at home. My new apartment is beautiful. I have an antiquated kitchen but it's super roomy. All wood floors (except the living room) and I have a dining room, living room, and upstairs I have two bedrooms and a bathroom and then, upstairs (where I am now) is my private space - my 'writing room' as I call it - and outside each window is nothing but trees and green. The breeze blows through the windows and I hear the rustle of the leaves and it should be soothing.

But I feel like I'm in limbo - I feel as if I have lived here now for about two months and I haven't exhaled. So much is uncertain and I sometimes feel like I'm being taken for granted (hence the conversation about boundaries in therapy).

Part of my apprehension is knowing "he" has the power to take it away from me and he knows it, too. I would like to think he wouldn't be so cruel, but then again, if history is any indication, there's really no limit to the cruelty so who knows? I don't know..... I feel so stupid.

Bill helps me a lot. We talk every day: morning, lunch time and after he gets off work. He swears he's not going to let me go again. There's something very powerful in hearing him say those things. Not that he only says those things, but he says other things - beautiful things - and he's absolutely wonderful to Trevor, who adores him.

Bill knows I question my relationships now - an unfortunate truth - and he says he's glad I do this. I am grateful for that space - for that lenience and compassion. He's the only one who truly saw the every-day struggle I went through after the break-up so he knows how deep it goes. During those days and nights, he nursed me so gently. I will never, ever forget this.

Yet at the same time, I can't help but feel this timeless kind of love for him. It's always been that way between us. Very unconditional. Very honest. In many ways, he raised the bar as far as relationships go. In many ways, "the other guy" never would or could measure up, even though - to his credit - he had some redeeming qualities.

I have yet to call it home. It's "the house" or "the apartment" and Michelle (my therapist) says that's because everything is still unsettled. (Also I have Bill's cat - Snowball - and I'm not supposed to have animals so I'm scared of that and not sure how to handle it yet).

Michelle says we can't even get into trauma work until my life is no longer stressful and in crisis. She's right. I can't even think right now. Just scared of everything.

Most of the time in my life - in the past - I have not had to worry like this. Things just were, what they were and I never expected to have a home - always expected to be abandoned or kicked out or whatever. But now that I'm trying so hard to actually have a home, I am terrified of losing it.

Everything is in limbo and my back sometimes feels like it could snap.

Feelings

My name is Cristina D. Johnson

The past couple of days have been hard - dissociated the other night, got overwhelmed by thoughts and memories of "him" and today....just started uncontrollably crying - again, thoughts of "him" and berating myself for feeling.

Sitting in the parking lot at Stop and Shop bawling, hitting my steering wheel and inside, screaming at myself, "Stop it! Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!"

I don't want to feel anything. I don't want to feel this pain and this confusion. I'm confused about what I feel. What do I feel? I am rather new to this. I've never really been allowed to have feelings - mostly because I didn't trust my feelings. Didn't trust anything about myself so I just go with the crowd, run with the traffic, do, act and be whatever everyone else is...because I don't have a fucking clue who I am.

Now I have these fucking feelings that I can't help but feel and it is killing me. It's confusing me. I don't know what to feel or if what I'm feeling is right or wrong.

I feel so deeply betrayed and hurt and dear God so wounded....so wounded. Part of me that was once bitterly angry, is now just bleeding pain inside. I was never anything - I never mattered and oh God how that hurts. God how that hurts. I was nothing. I was dispensable. I was unimportant. Nothing I wanted, ever mattered. Ever.

Oh God that hurts.

And there won't ever be closure. There won't ever be amends. How desperately I wish he could see my pain. How desperately I wish he could know how much more damaged I am now, learning through our break up that I was just...nothing.

Ever.

Damaged where I was already beaten and battered, and I dared to let him in and once he was in there - in the end - he ripped it to shreds and left it that way, gaping, shredded to hell.

It makes every relationship complicated. Every relationship terrifying. Even my relationship with myself.

I loved you so much.... I gave you so much more than I ever gave anyone...told you more than I've ever told anyone....trusted you more than I ever trusted anyone....invested in US because I believed in us. In the end, when I needed you most, you took what I gave you and used it to hurt me so deeply. I didn't know what to do, except fight back and I did until my fight was gone. And now there's just this huge, immobilizing pain and I am beyond confused.

You said to move forward. That you found something better. You carried on with your partying as if I never existed. As if we never existed.

I've got something better too but because of you and because of all this pain, I don't trust any of it and that hurts. That hurts everyone....everyone and it makes me feel like a horrible human being because of people who are trying to help me and I can't even trust  them. What kind of person am I?

What's wrong with me? Why can't I just do what you did? Why can't I just "move forward" like you did? What's wrong with me?

What's wrong with me, that I don't know what to do about feelings? I don't know anything about it.... I don't know what to do with them and I can't help how I feel. I can't stop it. It hurts so much, that I was nothing.

Relationships and Rescue

My name is Cristina D. Johnson.

Today, as I was helping my son out, I drove past exit 7 and then exit 10. It was bittersweet - my former home. The two main exits. On the way back from Middletown, I cried as I passed them again, but I quickly wiped the tears away, refusing to be hurt.

"That's kinda normal," Michelle (my therapist) told me later. "That's pain. That's anger. That's part of grieving."

I started to cry.

I think I started to cry because a part of me never wants to admit I ever loved him. Good riddance. You were no good for me. You sucked. Etc. It's so much easier to be angry.

But once you get to the tender spots, the pain is there.

I had a heavy session today and it left me feeling kind of drained, berating myself...angry at myself, questioning myself and every relationship I've ever had of all time.

I have to say this is hard - this is hard for me to write. Hard for me to admit to and one of those things that I haven't yet had the chance to ponder. That's the problem (or has been the problem) with this whole "healing process": things are so crazy and out of whack and there's so much to do that when I have one of these spellbinding, earth-rattling, nerve-cracking, tear-jerking sessions, I don't have time to sit on it and really reflect because I'm so worried about everything and everyone else.

So I'm writing about it here, being painfully honest.

We (Michelle and I) talked about Gary and Bill.

When I went into my relationship with Gary, I'd expected something different than what I got. We didn't always have bad times. Sometimes, we "got" each other and those were really magical moments. Sometimes....sometimes it was a beautiful thing. One time in particular, it was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever experienced in my life (he'd know what I'm talking about but it's too personal to go into). My point is, that it wasn't always that bad, although it was always unstable.

I had a picture of Gary in my mind; a picture he put there, the day we met. I thought, "He's the one. I could do this. I could spend my life with this man because he'll teach me things. We'll go to museums and operas and plays...." I truly loved him. I still do in a far away, aching place. In the most authentic part of me, I want nothing but happiness and peace for him.

I idealized him, as Michelle said.

Now, she says, I demonize him.

I suppose there's some cognitive truth to that, although I have my own little pocket of broken secrets in my heart....utter pain and disbelief. I'm still so crushed, so hurt. I cry now, because of the deliberate nature of some of what happened.

"Maybe it wasn't deliberate," Michelle offered. "Insensitive, cruel, cold, callous? Yes. But deliberate? Maybe not."

I argued this - pointed to several things that were done that were deliberately hurtful. So painful.

Then the conversation turned to Bill. I sighed a heavy sigh.

Bill and I dated for three years. He was always good to me, always. Consistent, charming, loving, affectionate, passionate, honest, loyal.

We split up because we valued our friendship - that was in 2006 - and remained roommates and best friends. In 2007, I started dating Gary.

I told Michelle how it seemed like no time had passed when I most recently saw Bill. Same Bill, same friend, same everything, except a little stronger and a little more driven.

"What's wrong with Bill," she asked? I had a hard time coming up with an answer.

She proved her point.....

The black-and-white view I have of relationships and how it's always, always, always been that way: demonize or idealize. There is no gray.

This pains me. It hurts me so much because now I feel like I'm broken somewhere and I don't know how it happened or what caused it and I just feel like a total fuck-up. I looked back at the relationships in my life and it's always been that way - even with (I cringe to admit) my own son, Tony.

I told her about when I ran away - I was 11 when I hit the streets; 12 when I hit the truck stops - and somehow in my mind, I thought (even at that tender age) "I don't know what I'm looking for but I know I'll know it when I find it...and I know it'll be in a man."

Through every rape and beating, I believed something would happen and magically, somehow, this person hurting me would stop and realize what they were doing and realize - yes, I need rescuing, not beating, not rape, not abuse or neglect or judgment. Somehow this man would love me.

All my life...and I cry here now, sitting here, thinking about all the black-and-white relationships, all the idealizations and all the demonizations....Oh I'm so sorry.... I didn't know.

Yet I can't take all the blame. Or can I?

Like a record, playing in my head, "What's wrong with you? What's wrong with you? What's wrong with you?"

Oh this hurts to admit.... this hurts. This hurts to own and it hurts not to know what to think or do or say or believe. I don't even know what to believe. Can't even trust myself. How can I trust myself?

How many people have I hurt? Certainly there are those who've hurt me, but how many people have I unintentionally hurt by my idealizations and vilifying?

And at the same time there's this part of me that argues that I have a sort of old-fashioned part that wants to be a caretaker - I can cook and clean and do laundry. I can do all those things. I can "mother" and I don't mind it - I'm good at it. I'll show you....I'll show you I'm worthy....

Of being rescued?

Maybe?

For you - Gary - It's not all your fault. I loved you so much. I believed in you, perhaps too much and I'm sorry for that. But you also hurt me, so deeply. Perhaps not deliberately, as Michelle pointed out, but God... now I'm lost. I don't even trust myself.

For you, Bill - my best friend ever - I love you and I am so grateful to you and for you. I am afraid.

For you, Cindy - I've marveled at your wisdom and insights these past few months and I've needed the validation you've given me.

For you, Ron - Thank you....you know for what.

My head is spinning. I am so confused and I hurt. I hurt deep in my heart. I feel like such a failure. Like why didn't I catch this? Why didn't I know this? I could have fixed this? I could have been far ahead of the game if only I knew this about myself..... why? Why? WHY?

It's the same thing I've done my entire life.... (ugh I hate this part): waiting to be rescued.