Dear Girl Behind the Dumpster,
I read your letter last week and I have been meaning to write you. I have been afraid. Though I call myself Fearless I have many secret fears. God asked me to write this last week, but like I said I was afraid. Not of writing you, but of telling on me. You see I was the Girl on the Pee Stained Mattress. Though it was forty, yes forty years ago I still remember everything. I wasn't unconscious not to say one is better than the other just different, but judging by your letter the impact is just as devastating.
I know the how it feels not to want you own body anymore because it is suddenly and against your wishes contaminated. I know the powerlessness of not having a voice or authority over the very skin I was born in. You were unconscious I was too afraid to fight for me. You put on a brave face to spare your sister the anguish she must still feel. I remained silent, I hid his dirty secret not to protect him, but to protect the shame that had attached itself to me that night. I didn't want to become the girl who was raped, but I was her.
Like you I lost all desire to communicate with the outside world. I didn't talk, I didn't eat and I didn't sleep. I relived it, over and over and over again. I dropped out of school, I sit in the same spot day after day. I was afraid to be left alone in the house. I was afraid to go out of the house. The world had become dark and uninviting. I slowly made my way back into the world, full of shame, secrets, and fears.
Twenty-five years later God asked me to write the story not only write it He asked me to give it to Him. I told Him it was a horrible story and I was over it why would He want that? He insisted so I reluctantly gave in. Back then I didn't have a computer, tablet, or a cell phone so I grabbed a loose-leaf notebook and start writing. I didn't know how many tears I would shade that day. Every bit of that night flooded my memory and assailed my senses. I remember details of the room, the smells surrounding me, the fear that gripped me and most of all how much I detested him and his touch. My story was three pages long front and back.I tucked it away in my wallet because frankly I didn't know what else to do with it.
Five years later it became the first story in an anthology. I met many wonderful sisters with similar stories, we forged an unbreakable bond. We have conferences to tell our story. I was the only one that told it in front of men and a television station, they called me brave and I believed them. My rape had become my ministry. I went on to start a ministry. I told my story because it was setting others free and not just women there were many men that came to me secretly after a meeting. I prayed with each one, I prayed that they would forgive, I bound and loose shame off them. I became rape minister extraordinaire.
So you can imagine my shock when a couple of months ago God confronted me with the awful truth that I wasn't all the way free of my own trauma. Two years after my husband died God visited me and said He was going to send me another husband. I begged Him not to, I was awful in marriage. I wasn't a good wife. Please, I said don't do that to me, don't do that to him. He reminded me of this several times over the years, each time I had the same reaction.
I haven't had many relationships I just thought I wasn't good at it so I avoided it. My family was happy when I finally married. I think they were beginning to give up on me. It's not like no one tried. So many kind guys did try. I just didn't think I loved any of them. I remember thinking something was wrong with me, I was so different from my friends. They loved, broke up and loved again. I didn't fall in love. I did get into many relationships when I was young, but none was successful. I was always the third wheel. I never attributed it to that night.
Last year God sent the man we'll just call him Joe to protect the innocent. I think I knew it when I first laid eyes on him. We became friends, he challenged me, encouraged me, listened to me and helped me through a very difficult time in my ministry. However anytime we would start getting too close I would feel this fear rise up inside of me. I felt as if I couldn't breathe and I wanted to run. I was telling my sister Gina about it one night, she told me to ask God what it is. I prayed and asked Him. He gave me a vision of Joe reaching in to kiss me and I smelled the stale alcohol breath of the rapist. The vision scared me, but I had an even worse vision. I had a vision of Joe and I talking and our words were giving each other life. Then my words got harsh and mean and my words pushed him away. God said,"you will chase him to your sisters, and he's a good man."
I prayed that I wouldn't do that. I prayed that I wouldn't hurt him, but I did exactly what God showed me I would do. That's when I realized that I have no control of what's broke inside of me and it has been broken for forty years. I tried to do the work on myself. I thought maybe I still have some unforgiveness. So I prayed for weeks for the rapist. I know I can never hold on to unforgiveness, bitterness, hate or resentment when I pray for someone. I prayed out loud, I prayed in my journal. I knew I wasn't holding on to hate. Finally, I asked the Lord what is it?
He told me to write it. It has taken me two weeks to sit down and write. I know it was coming out today. God woke me up with it. He told me that it's intimacy. You see it was easy to tell my story, I owed it, I loved God and he loved me. He walked me through the first part of my healing. I don't like the healing process I have to relive details or drop defenses. I have to feel the pain, grieve and let God comfort me. When I wrote the story that when in the book I laid on the floor and cried for three days.
I knew this would be hard to write. He said daughter you have refused to be intimate since that night. You have given your body but never your love and trust. The reason your marriage was so turbulent was because you never allowed true intimacy. I knew it was true. I gave my body but never could he have that tender area that would leave me vulnerable and afraid. So I build walls and learned resistance. No one could have all of me. Joe got to close to my walls. He suddenly became dangerous to me. I didn't know how to fight as a teenager, I didn't know how to defend my body, so I lay as stiff as I could and defended my intimacy. He stole my body, my trust, my innocence but intimacy was mine it was the only thing I could protect. It was my way of saying, "You didn't get all of me."
I never dropped my defense of my intimate place. I know that now. Joe got to close to it. I had to find a way to fight. I sent letters with words that I intended to cut deep, words I have never ever even said out loud. I was angry and brash. I had to escape. I needed to breathe, the fear had overpowered me. I sabotaged the relationship and when I was good and finished. I said, "see God I knew he wasn't right." I sometimes have a huge capacity for self-deception. I can always make myself the righteous one. God is never impressed with my piety. He's given me no peace since my awful behavior. Joe went on to date someone else and I'm left with the pieces of my broken heart. God told me He's giving me beauty for ashes, but first, I had to give Him the ashes. Several times God spoke to me concerning the situation, I wrote long-winded text, some were nice most still had the sharp point of my dagger as an attachment.
Today, with my head bowed and tears filling my lap, I lifted my ash filled hands and said,"here they're yours, I don't want them anymore."
So, Girl Behind Dumpster, continue to do the work on yourself don't allow that man to steal your intimacy. I'm proud of the way you have handled yourself so far. Keep doing the work to reclaim your life. And I know I speak for the 1 and 3 women everywhere that have suffered as we have, thank you for writing our letter.
Fearless
I read your letter last week and I have been meaning to write you. I have been afraid. Though I call myself Fearless I have many secret fears. God asked me to write this last week, but like I said I was afraid. Not of writing you, but of telling on me. You see I was the Girl on the Pee Stained Mattress. Though it was forty, yes forty years ago I still remember everything. I wasn't unconscious not to say one is better than the other just different, but judging by your letter the impact is just as devastating.
I know the how it feels not to want you own body anymore because it is suddenly and against your wishes contaminated. I know the powerlessness of not having a voice or authority over the very skin I was born in. You were unconscious I was too afraid to fight for me. You put on a brave face to spare your sister the anguish she must still feel. I remained silent, I hid his dirty secret not to protect him, but to protect the shame that had attached itself to me that night. I didn't want to become the girl who was raped, but I was her.
Like you I lost all desire to communicate with the outside world. I didn't talk, I didn't eat and I didn't sleep. I relived it, over and over and over again. I dropped out of school, I sit in the same spot day after day. I was afraid to be left alone in the house. I was afraid to go out of the house. The world had become dark and uninviting. I slowly made my way back into the world, full of shame, secrets, and fears.
Twenty-five years later God asked me to write the story not only write it He asked me to give it to Him. I told Him it was a horrible story and I was over it why would He want that? He insisted so I reluctantly gave in. Back then I didn't have a computer, tablet, or a cell phone so I grabbed a loose-leaf notebook and start writing. I didn't know how many tears I would shade that day. Every bit of that night flooded my memory and assailed my senses. I remember details of the room, the smells surrounding me, the fear that gripped me and most of all how much I detested him and his touch. My story was three pages long front and back.I tucked it away in my wallet because frankly I didn't know what else to do with it.
Five years later it became the first story in an anthology. I met many wonderful sisters with similar stories, we forged an unbreakable bond. We have conferences to tell our story. I was the only one that told it in front of men and a television station, they called me brave and I believed them. My rape had become my ministry. I went on to start a ministry. I told my story because it was setting others free and not just women there were many men that came to me secretly after a meeting. I prayed with each one, I prayed that they would forgive, I bound and loose shame off them. I became rape minister extraordinaire.
So you can imagine my shock when a couple of months ago God confronted me with the awful truth that I wasn't all the way free of my own trauma. Two years after my husband died God visited me and said He was going to send me another husband. I begged Him not to, I was awful in marriage. I wasn't a good wife. Please, I said don't do that to me, don't do that to him. He reminded me of this several times over the years, each time I had the same reaction.
I haven't had many relationships I just thought I wasn't good at it so I avoided it. My family was happy when I finally married. I think they were beginning to give up on me. It's not like no one tried. So many kind guys did try. I just didn't think I loved any of them. I remember thinking something was wrong with me, I was so different from my friends. They loved, broke up and loved again. I didn't fall in love. I did get into many relationships when I was young, but none was successful. I was always the third wheel. I never attributed it to that night.
Last year God sent the man we'll just call him Joe to protect the innocent. I think I knew it when I first laid eyes on him. We became friends, he challenged me, encouraged me, listened to me and helped me through a very difficult time in my ministry. However anytime we would start getting too close I would feel this fear rise up inside of me. I felt as if I couldn't breathe and I wanted to run. I was telling my sister Gina about it one night, she told me to ask God what it is. I prayed and asked Him. He gave me a vision of Joe reaching in to kiss me and I smelled the stale alcohol breath of the rapist. The vision scared me, but I had an even worse vision. I had a vision of Joe and I talking and our words were giving each other life. Then my words got harsh and mean and my words pushed him away. God said,"you will chase him to your sisters, and he's a good man."
I prayed that I wouldn't do that. I prayed that I wouldn't hurt him, but I did exactly what God showed me I would do. That's when I realized that I have no control of what's broke inside of me and it has been broken for forty years. I tried to do the work on myself. I thought maybe I still have some unforgiveness. So I prayed for weeks for the rapist. I know I can never hold on to unforgiveness, bitterness, hate or resentment when I pray for someone. I prayed out loud, I prayed in my journal. I knew I wasn't holding on to hate. Finally, I asked the Lord what is it?
He told me to write it. It has taken me two weeks to sit down and write. I know it was coming out today. God woke me up with it. He told me that it's intimacy. You see it was easy to tell my story, I owed it, I loved God and he loved me. He walked me through the first part of my healing. I don't like the healing process I have to relive details or drop defenses. I have to feel the pain, grieve and let God comfort me. When I wrote the story that when in the book I laid on the floor and cried for three days.
I knew this would be hard to write. He said daughter you have refused to be intimate since that night. You have given your body but never your love and trust. The reason your marriage was so turbulent was because you never allowed true intimacy. I knew it was true. I gave my body but never could he have that tender area that would leave me vulnerable and afraid. So I build walls and learned resistance. No one could have all of me. Joe got to close to my walls. He suddenly became dangerous to me. I didn't know how to fight as a teenager, I didn't know how to defend my body, so I lay as stiff as I could and defended my intimacy. He stole my body, my trust, my innocence but intimacy was mine it was the only thing I could protect. It was my way of saying, "You didn't get all of me."
I never dropped my defense of my intimate place. I know that now. Joe got to close to it. I had to find a way to fight. I sent letters with words that I intended to cut deep, words I have never ever even said out loud. I was angry and brash. I had to escape. I needed to breathe, the fear had overpowered me. I sabotaged the relationship and when I was good and finished. I said, "see God I knew he wasn't right." I sometimes have a huge capacity for self-deception. I can always make myself the righteous one. God is never impressed with my piety. He's given me no peace since my awful behavior. Joe went on to date someone else and I'm left with the pieces of my broken heart. God told me He's giving me beauty for ashes, but first, I had to give Him the ashes. Several times God spoke to me concerning the situation, I wrote long-winded text, some were nice most still had the sharp point of my dagger as an attachment.
Today, with my head bowed and tears filling my lap, I lifted my ash filled hands and said,"here they're yours, I don't want them anymore."
So, Girl Behind Dumpster, continue to do the work on yourself don't allow that man to steal your intimacy. I'm proud of the way you have handled yourself so far. Keep doing the work to reclaim your life. And I know I speak for the 1 and 3 women everywhere that have suffered as we have, thank you for writing our letter.
Fearless
