A little over a month ago I went through something that was life-altering. I have been terrified to share my experience, while simultaneously feeling like I have to tell everyone I contact in an attempt to explain my state of mind and behavior. Like I have VICTIM tattooed on my forehead. Like every can see that I am a complete, hot fucking mess.
Someone I felt I could trust, that was my friend, took advantage of me. There is no way for me to explain the feelings that have come with this event. There is a very real sense of loss. That something has been taken from me that I will never get back. It is tangible, like a physical piece of my being has been stolen.
My days have leveled out more often than not, but the days and weeks following were the worst kind of roller-coasters. Some days I will be perfectly fine, and then I just am not. It's like the world is caving in on me and I am completely alone. All I can do is wait for the storm to pass, and hope that the people around me can be patient in my struggles.
Shame and loneliness seem to color my world most of the time. I am ashamed for so many reasons. That I put myself in a vulnerable position. That I can't remember. That I am still struggling. That it is muddled and difficult to define and explain. That I can't just slap a label on it that others will accept and understand. That I can't just move forward. That I am afraid of so much now. That the anxiety and fear can come crashing down on me with no warning and all I can do is hope it passes faster than last time.
My mom came to stay with me for the week after this happened. She was wonderful and knew how important it was for me to be engaged in something physical in order to process what happened and how I felt. So we started tearing apart my house.
The place I am staying at was built by family in the early 1900's. Only family has lived here, but as my great-cousins became older the house was neglected and difficult to maintain. At some point they installed carpet throughout the entire house except the laundry room and bathroom. The house felt small, dark, and depressing really.
So my mom and I went to Walmart, bought some tools we had no real idea how to use and went home with a half-baked plan. We took down all of the cabinets, removed the hardware, and scrubbed everything down. Then, we started ripping up the carpet in the kitchen. Underneath the carpet was industrial style tile, so we started tearing that up as well. What we uncovered was this gorgeous old-style plywood.
Over the next week my mom painted the cabinets and hardware and I spent days scraping adhesive off of the wood. Everything was trial and error. Almost everything was more difficult than necessary, but it was an amazing process. I can't explain how satisfying it was to strip away years of neglect and abuse to uncover something that has become truly beautiful to me. There was literally years of dirt and grime built up on almost everything in the kitchen. It didn't matter though. After about a week and a half, I had this bright, beautiful kitchen, new skills, and a confidence that I can do new things by myself. That mistakes can be wonderful learning experiences and even end up better than your best laid plans.
After finishing my kitchen, I immediately moved into the living room. Yesterday I finished staining the floors, I put together a table set, and I bought myself fresh flowers.
I'm not going to say that I am ok. I don't know that I will ever just be ok. This experience has changed me in very real ways. How I view the world and the people around me. But I get to choose how I respond. I get to choose whether I let someone else's callous and disrespectful actions define me for the rest of my life.
I am choosing compassion. I am choosing to give myself the time I need, even when I feel like it is taking too long. I am choosing to lovingly peel away the neglect and abuse I've experienced in my life and trust that there is something beautiful and whole underneath.
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