Struggling

(Originally written on August 31, 2009)

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Since making the move, I’ve pretty much just been in my hotel room content alone every day (besides work).  I mean, I’ve been all alone for a week now and have been perfectly okay with it.  And I’m just watching TV to pass the time, watching, like, even on reality shows how those people even have normal interactions with other people.  And, I mean, I’m just not sure that I can ever experience those interactions of a healthy relationship again.  In fact, these tears that I’m crying right now aren’t even for missing anyone in particular – they’re all about the pain from the events that initiated almost a year ago and ended this past May.  The whole thing with Gaston happening right after being raped – that that ended so ugly.  It’s just an even deeper scar than the one left by the rape itself.  And I’m just really not sure at this point if I can come back from that.  I really don’t know.  Because just as much as I enjoy the sexual aspects of romantic relationships, I’m now starting to worry that either

1. that’s all my (potential) future relationship(s) will turn out to be, or
2. that I won’t be able to allow myself take part in any of that at all.

It’s just a really hard realization to come to.  And I’m not sure what lies ahead for me.  I don’t want to be this broken individual for the rest of my life – I don’t.  But I have to do something about it now and I can’t.  I’m in a new place; I’m supposed to be starting fresh and I don’t want to be reliving all of these nightmares that I have already been through time and time again.  I don’t want to bring that up here with me, but I’m afraid that I already have.  And I don’t know what to do about it.

This is my first “breakdown”/”episode” since moving.  I think it’s all because I spoke with my detective today and learned that everything with my case is just not okay.  The police who came to the scene misquoted me in their report, my rapist has said all of the “right things” he could say to clear himself (he admitted to having sex with me, but said it was consensual, which sets it up to be his word versus mine – which, for whatever reason, the government tends to side with his apparently),…  It just isn’t fair.  It just isn’t fair.

When will I stop suffering? I don’t know if I can even hold onto the hope of ever being fixed anymore.  Am I a lost cause?  Is the potential of my future love life all a lost cause? I can’t help but think that all I’m going to amount to at the end of my life is someone with a successful career and a lot of money yet no one to share it with.

Anxiously Waiting

(Originally written on August 28, 2009)

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Went on my rental tour today.  God, it was exhausting.

I think I found a place that I like – now that I think about it, it was pretty much the only place that I liked among all the different ones that I was taken to – but they told me that it will be TWO MONTHS before an apartment becomes available (in any of my desired floorplans, that is)!

God, that means I could be stuck in the B-Dub for two months…it hasn’t even been a week and already I’m anxious to get out…

•     •     •     •     •

The detective on my rape case called me this morning, but I didn’t get his message until this afternoon (because I was on my rental tour).  In the message, he said that all of the reports have come back from the GBI (Georgia Bureau of Investigation) and that he wanted to fill me in.  I called him back at around 4:30pm and when he didn’t answer, I left him a message.  I hope he calls me back this afternoon.  Otherwise, it’d be weird receiving that call while I’m at work on Monday…

Futile Perplexities

(Originally written on June 23, 2009)

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When I got home from work tonight, Napoleon was sitting on his porch drinking by himself (trust me, I’m not judging, I drink alone all the time).  He invited me to join him for a beer, an offer which I accepted, and we got to talking.  Eventually, of course, the whole Gaston situation came into conversation.  A few of Napoleon’s comments keep echoing in my mind:

You need to just get over it.

This is my best friend you’re talking about here.

Provided I would need to remember what you’re saying to me right now, you know I’m going to tell Gaston.

And here I was just seeking a friend to confide with in Napoleon.  I should have known better, he never has been one for understanding in situations such as this.  I mean, Napoleon and Gaston obviously don’t understand what I went through after the whole rape thing and how much it took within me to trust someone again.  I guess I sought a friend in Napoleon because I have no one else to turn to right now; the loneliness makes it difficult.

•     •     •     •     •

Why am I putting myself through so much personal torment and anguish?  Why?  And why can’t I just get over it and move on? It hurts so bad.  There’s no way that this pain could be worth it.  So why?  Why can’t I dig myself out of this hole?

And it hurts really bad.

(Originally written on June 20, 2009)

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Martyr tried to convince me again tonight that “God” is taking care of everything.  Kiss my ass.  If there was a god, he wouldn’t have put me through what he put me through all in one fucking year.  I mean, I’m just barely beginning to be in a state of coping with what happened a year ago between me and X – and then now, on top of that, this whole rape thing.  And then there’s Gaston – and I told him before anything between us happened that I had been raped and I couldn’t afford for someone to break my heart.  He promised me that he wouldn’t break my heart.  He promised me.  And then look what he’s done:  just that.  I know I shouldn’t be hurt, but I am.  I just am.  And it hurts really bad.

To the Point

(Originally written on April 10, 2009)

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Yuengling thinks that everything between Gaston and me is done after the whole April Fool’s thing.  He’s torn between thinking it’s awful and funny.  I wish he had spoken up on the former of those two feelings when the idea was originally brought up at Los Compadres because it is one of my biggest regrets.  Actually, my only regret.  I don’t believe in wasting time worrying about what has been done because there’s nothing that you can do to change it.

Downtown at Polly’s Tuesday after the movie, Gaston called me Slutty McSlutterson and asked me if I had ever met Dirty Steve for like the 100^th time (realistically somewhere around the 7^th).  Two insults rolled up into one – how efficient of him!  I don’t feel the need to explain why I was pissed about him calling me Slutty McSlutterson (he wasn’t even drinking –  ANYTHING).  However, Gaston took me home with him to south Georgia back in January.  During this visit, I freakin’ met Dirty Steve and we hung out with him all night.  He asks me this question on a regular basis (often sober) and by now I just feel that he should remember.

I went to see my friends’ band play on Wednesday with Yuengling (the same band I saw when I ran into X).  They played really well and I really enjoy their music and lyrics.  The one that I found most relevant to my life:  “I can’t help but worry about it.”  I just can’t.  About anything, really.

Yesterday afternoon/last night Gaston, Rowdy, Leto (Belle’s roommate) and I sat outside on Gaston’s porch drinking Mint Julips and watching the Master’s tournament.  We ended up grilling out and later on the beer pong table came out.  By this point, Napoleon had returned from work.   Gaston and Rowdy were taking on Whitie (Gaston’s albino friend) and me.  Game 1:  Whitie and I win.  Game 2:  it was time to break out the distractions – Gaston can never help but be fully affected by them.  My distractions, although not modest I suppose, consist of me shaking my butt or putting my thumb on the top of my jeans and pulling them down so you can see that hipbone line.

Out of nowhere, Napoleon announces (he’s still off the sauce for Lent), “I’ve been meaning to tell you – you look like a prostitute.”  Call me sensitive, but this really pissed me off – enough so that it was to the point where I sank Whitie’s and my remaining two cups on my next two throws with ease.  Immediately afterward, I retired to my apartment for the rest of the evening (where, not too much later, my nose started bleeding because my anger caused a sever spike in my blood pressure).  You can try to say that he was just kidding, but as many asshole lines as he has given me, I know better than to believe that.  The mere fact that he shouted it in front of everyone was embarrassing, degrading, and flat-out inappropriate.

Scarlet raised the questions, “How can you call him a friend?  Why do you still hang out with him?”  Those are two damn good questions.  I think it’s because he was the one that helped me after I had been raped.  He called the police for me since I could hardly be understood through my tears, and he was with me while the cops interviewed me and searched my apartment in the wee hours of the night.  That is a debt that I feel I can never repay and that I will always be eternally grateful for.  I mean, we had just been hanging out for about a month by that time and we barely even knew each other.  BUT that is also why this particular comment struck so deep – it made me feel as though he probably thinks I was just asking to be raped.  I’m sure that’s not the case, but that’s how I feel.

I FINALLY had sex today!  Woo-hoo!  And the duration was fantastic and…ahh.  It was just phenomenal.  However, I’m not quite sure what to think because Gaston still won’t let me kiss him – not even during sex.  I just don’t know what to think about that.  I understand that I ruined his trust in me, but it just seems so emotionless (which he can be a lot of the time, but this is different).  I don’t think I could do that again because the only other time (other than the rape) that I’ve had sex without kissing was post-breakup sex with X – which isn’t a very positive association.

We then spent, like, three more hours together watching the Master’s while he wanted to (and I let it happen) cuddle with me – holding my hands, kissing my shoulders, and such.  I asked him if he would ever let me kiss him again and he replied, “Probably.”  With Gaston it is more than just sex, but I just don’t think that our “not-relationship” can continue if the kissing aspect remains out.

“I can’t help but worry about it.”

Introspection

(Originally written on April 2, 2009)

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I honestly just don’t give a shit anymore.  I know that I should (especially since I’m still jobless), but my former sense of productivity has diminished, leaving me in this state of indifference.

And I realize that this is the beginning of a vicious cycle:  I currently have a 4.0 GPA in grad school.  I may be letting this very qualification – that may better help me to get a job – fly out the window just because I have not yet obtained one.

Yes, I agree with you, that justification is ridiculous.

I think I’ve just reached the ultimate state of senioritis.

How do I get out of this?  What can I do (at least for the one month that I have remaining of school) to pull myself out of this?  Is it just a delayed depression effect of the rape combined with my current situation?  I have never felt so careless before in my entire life.

Samantha insists that I meet all of the classic symptoms of clinical depression.  “Elliott, you are just focusing on all of the negatives.”  I hate to admit it, but perhaps I am.  BUT I have no idea what to do about it.  I’m already on a high dose of an antidepressant.

Right after Beast and Martyr started having problems, I started seeing a counselor, Angel.  He really helped me get through that whole situation; then, just a few months later, he helped me through the whole X thing.

Gradually, I weaned myself off of seeing him, especially once he started giving me reaffirmation by saying things like “You are doing much better than I would have expected,” or “You are really handling this well.”  Which, perhaps I was…at the time, but I stopped seeing him because of this “false/temporary” sense of confidence that I had.

Then I was raped.  That, as expected, threw a wrench into my whole situation.  So, I began seeing Angel once a week.  Given my delicate state, he gave me his e-mail address and cell phone number, which is HUGE for someone in his position to do.  He was really there for me and helped me come to a lot of realizations that I could not have arrived at on my own.

It really touched me that he was willing to take his time off the clock to help me.  I mean, he took the risk of giving his personal cell phone number to a patient!  By no means am I crazy, but I could have gone nuts with that.  But I never would.  I trust that he probably figured that about me way before making that decision.

Well, I actually went over my allotted insurance benefits last year – mainly because I really needed a lot of help with the whole combination of the Beast and Martyr, X, and rape situations.  So now I’m hesitant to start seeing him again because I can NOT afford to do that again.

HOWEVER, by the turn of the same coin, I don’t want to burden him by e-mailing him or calling him because he doesn’t get paid for that.  He really does a wonderful enough job that I would feel as though I would be taking advantage of him by doing that.

Storytelling 2

(Originally written on March 22, 2009)

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As I sit down to type today, Peabody is sprawled out on his back in a sun spot and Lilly is perched atop my shoulders.  Ah, I wish today could just be a lazy Sunday…

So to revisit stories from yesterday:  When I was roofied back in April, long story short, I reported the incident.  The morning after, I was suspicious and immediately went to get a drug test.  It came back positive for PCP.  After viewing the security tape, we ended up finding out that it was, in fact, the older guy at the bar that I had suspected.  BUT, he paid with cash and the bartender didn’t recognize him as a regular.

I also reported my rape immediately after it happened, and that investigation is still under way.  We actually know who the guy is, but he is denying it and the detective on my case is a bit of an idiot.  I don’t feel like talking about this particular story at this point in time, so I will revisit it later.

I really just want to stress that, even though it’s painful and humiliating to have to relive such a traumatic event, IT IS SO IMPORTANT THAT YOU REPORT RAPE AND RAPE-RELATED INCIDENTS – IF FOR NO OTHER REASON, TO POSSIBLY PREVENT IT FROM HAPPENING TO SOMEONE ELSE.  Even though, for example, the guy who roofied me is unidentifiable, by reporting my incident, the police now have a file on the guy that can be used to help nail him later.

I really wanted to write more today and get off of the rape topic, but I better hit the books in prep for those two half-midterms I have tomorrow!

Storytelling 1

(Originally written on March 21, 2009)

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As I have mentioned, X is my ex-boyfriend.  We dated for five years and just broke up this past May.  Remember, I’m only 22, so I essentially spent one-fourth of my entire life with him.  He was my high school sweetheart, by the way.  Once we started college, everything was great for the first couple of years, but tell-tale signs that it wasn’t going to last began arising:

• We took a “break” (which was my idea), in order to see what else was out there.  My reasoning behind it being that neither of us had ever been in such a serious relationship and should see what else is out there in order to appreciate what we had as well as find out what we wanted.  X only dated one girl during this time, a coworker.  I think I was just looking for someone new and exciting without having to give up the wonderful sex that I had with X.  Anyways, we ended up getting back together after about six months of being on “break” (which was also my idea).
• The morning of Valentine’s Day my sophomore year, I received a call from the local jail.  It was X.  He and another one of our friends from high school, who were both 20 at the time, had gotten arrested the night before for getting drunk (underage) and being idiots.  For some reason I will never understand, they decided to go to the parking deck by the dorm where I lived freshman year and break off the gate that raises to let cars in and out. He couldn’t get a hold of either of his parents and needed me to try calling them and leaving messages.  Just how every girl wants to start out her romantic day, right?
• I am a very driven, goal-oriented person.  X, on the other hand, has no motivations or ambitions in life.  He is a bartender at a restaurant downtown, and probably will be for a long time.  It took him three-and-a-half years to graduate from a two-year college.  He didn’t care about his grades at all and would always say, “I don’t like school, that’s why I don’t care about trying.  It’ll be different once I get a job and actually enjoy what I do.”  For one thing, even if you love your job, you aren’t going to enjoy every responsibility that comes along with it; and second, you aren’t going to learn how to work diligently with a snap of your fingers.
• As mentioned above, X wasn’t exactly the brightest crayon in the box.  I would always edit his papers for him and even when he was 22, he constantly confused there/their and its/it’s.  Even after correcting him several times, he still never retained any of it, like he just knew that I would fix it if he screwed it up again on his next assignment.  He also frequently needed me to define words that I would use in regular conversation (I can’t think of any at the moment).  These things just made me feel as though I was dealing with the intelligence of a child in a way (p.s. exaggeration).
• He was always coming up with these “get rich” schemes.  The last one I was around for was two Januarys ago – his brilliant idea was to start a dot-com company.  A T-shirt company, to be precise.  I don’t feel it’s necessary to go into detail as to why that’s stupid.  He was always coming up with these sorts of ideas, and he got upset with me when I wouldn’t excitedly and whole-heartedly support him.  I was just being realistic about the situation.
• Towards the end of the relationship, I realized that I had driven myself into a depression and closed myself off from all of my friends except X.  I was having a hard time dealing with everything that was going on at home, since Beast had just walked out on Martyr.  I really needed someone to confide in, and sought for this comfort in X, which never filled the void, of course.  He would sit there in silence and at the end just say something like “That sucks.”  No shit.  So then we would just get in arguments over that.  I would then find myself picking arguments over trivial matters, as if I wanted to be unhappy.

So I decided to break up with him in May, expecting that we would get back together, just like we always did.  Boy was I wrong!  Turns out that he had been cheating on me with the one and only coworker that he never introduced me to.  Even better, they were in an official Facebook relationship a month-and-a-half later!  I was blown away to feel so betrayed by the one person that I felt knew me best and I knew inside-out.  I thought we could tell each other anything – why hadn’t he raised the issue sooner if he wanted out of the relationship?  His answer:  he felt bad for me and didn’t want to hurt my feelings.  Wow.  They’re still together.

When we first broke up, he thought we could immediately just become friends.  Well, he learned quickly that wasn’t going to be the case!  We ended up not talking from July until November.

On October 18^th, 2008, I was raped.  It was the day of my University’s Homecoming game, and I started on the booze train early at the tailgate with Mimosas and Bloody Marys, continuing with my two flasks of bourbon during the game – mixed with Coke and shared with friends, of course.  I don’t remember this, but Makeout Boy, a guy I had dated briefly this past summer, and I apparently got in a fight, during which he told me to “Just leave!”  I am a very intelligent and careful person, but this was the dumbest decision I have ever made:  I walked from our tailgate across the street to downtown by myself.  I guess I thought I was invincible, because I was roofied last April and, thankfully, I was with a group of friends and made it home safe and unharmed.  This time, however, was not as fortunate.

Anyways, I contemplated telling X for a few weeks and then broke down and just decided to call him one day.  His reaction was outrage and he told me he was coming over immediately.  While he was over, his girlfriend called and became furious.  So it was then decided (by the two of them) that X and I couldn’t be friends until I had a boyfriend (she’s younger).  It is amazing how quickly he switched over from being supportive to avoiding.

Two nights ago, I ran into X in public for the first time.  And what a surprise?  He was an asshole.