Sunday, October 28, 2012

I'm Writing a Book

Alright so I'm writing a book. I'm very nervous about it as it means I have to actually talk about how I feel about the things that I have gone through but there has been enough support from family and friends, I've decided to try. My therapist is always blown away with what I have to share and thinks I need to put it all down bind it up and see what happens. The little thing I've called trauma brain has been telling me not to share anything. "No one will care" , "If they care it will only to be angry at you", "Don't waste time and money on something that no one will want to read", "Who are you to try and preach you are such a sinner". We'll see what happens through prayer and meditation (and several hysterical baths I've taken). Somehow the courage is mustered up. I'm still selling paintings and will continue to update on the same pitiful schedule I already have been updating. Honestly, I am shocked that there has been 1,000 page views of this little online therapy diary. Maybe a book will empower more people. It will definitely have more literary structure and flow than a blog. No idea what I'm in for as I still have a full time job, husband, family, health, therapy, and sanity to maintain. Wish me luck!

Thursday, September 13, 2012

How amazingly perfect to describe that time in our lives

Shadows settle on the place, that you left.
Our minds are troubled by the emptiness.
Destroy the middle, it's a waste of time.
From the perfect start to the finish line.

And if you're still breathing, you're the lucky ones.
'Cause most of us are heaving through corrupted lungs.
Setting fire to our insides for fun
Collecting names of the lovers that went wrong
The lovers that went wrong.

We are the reckless,
We are the wild youth
Chasing visions of our futures
One day we'll reveal the truth
That one will die before he gets there.
[ Lyrics from: ]
And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones.
'Cause most of our feelings, they are dead and they are gone.
We're setting fire to our insides for fun.
Collecting pictures from the flood that wrecked our home,
It was a flood that wrecked this...

... and you caused it...
... and you caused it...
... and you caused it...

Well I've lost it all, I'm just a silouhette,
A lifeless face that you'll soon forget,
My eyes ae damp from the words you left,
Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.
Ringing in my head, when you broke my chest.

And if you're in love, then you are the lucky one,
'Cause most of us are bitter over someone.
Setting fire to our insides for fun,
To distract our hearts from ever missing them.
But I'm forever missing him.

And you caused it,
And you caused it,
And you caused it

Wednesday, September 5, 2012

Officilly have my own art shop!

I have been working on this for a long time. It has been stressful to put myself out there. Friends, family, and especially my husband has been pestering me to do something with my talents. Well, here it is! It's small to start but I'm going to vow to myself to make an extreme attempt to get my artwork out there.
 My first item for sale! SALE! So exciting. This is a painting I did today and what I opened my shop with. Ideally, I will have more prints of the larger things I've painted. There are several paintings I hold very dear to myself and will keep the originals of. However, I'm looking into finding some place to scan my work and print on nice paper.

Monday, August 20, 2012

Heading out to war, My Battle Songs

Therapy update

It's been a year in therapy and so far I've manged to stop dissociating so much. We also just figured out a giant turn of direction in my healing. I'm learning a lot about how a rapist chose a victim and changes their thought pattern. I learned I was conditioned for his perfect approach and it worked leaving me a victim in his wake. I have always worked on hating this person and struggling with strange feelings of desire for him because of what he conditioned me for at such a young and innocent age. This was my first sexual experience and because of it I'm having serious difficulties in my marriage. I'm angry at him. I'm so angry he did this to me. How was I to know though that I would only be used and thrown away? God made sex good and for a purpose and love. It was a gift for marriage and procreation. Now, I'm feeling a strange way towards it. Instead of arousal and excitement I get the bad butterflies and I just try to push through. I hate feeling vulnerable and the image of that first time creeps into my head. I want it gone. I want to know how to love my husband completely and thoroughly the way God intended. I am not a bad wife. I keep repeating this to myself. I will have a break through sometime. I will find healing. God is healer of all things. He can make sex better with my husband. He can heal my heart from this. I trust. It hurts so badly. It hurts me in a place so close to my soul. I ache in the bedroom longing for that excitement to be vulnerable and taken. I don't want to think it's been ruined. My therapist seemed excited that we figured this out. She even said "Oh my goodness we have been working on the wrong thing". She wants to see me more often. I can't help but feel that I'm in therapy over drive. I need it and crave it someone who understands. Someone who doesn't just shove bible verses down my throat and lets me know on a psychological level what has happened to my brain and body response.This is not too big for God to help me through. It's not enough though to wake up and say okay God lets do this. I'm on a mission to seek his healing. Some how through therapy and bible therapy and study I will find healing. I feel as though I am starting over. It's a lonely place.

To all the people who say 12 year old girls don't know what love is

Let's start with something here about 12 year old infatuations. I see it all of the time, try to google "can a 12 year old girl be in love or know what love is". It pisses me off to the inth degree. 2 year old babies know what love is. They know when mom kisses and hugs them they are loved. As we age we experience love in our parents relationship, in our gal pals, or other people on the street expressing love. 12 year old girls get periods now. That means they are emotional and eager to find out what sex and love is. When someone tells a child who asks about sex, "sex is for married people in love". They hear oh to have sex is to have love. What happens if the person explaining this to them is not a believer in waiting until marriage and they say "it is for someone in a committed relationship much older than you are now". Great, they are even more confused. What happens when that 12 year old finds another person who is interested in them in a loving sort of way and they start talking, going out together to after school activities, parties, holding hands, kissing.

Yes, kissing. In my middle school it was a regular after lunch activity to be involved in a kissing circle. What is a kissing circle you might say? Oh, just a bunch of friends laughing and talking in a circle to block two people in the middle making out. When the group decided it went too far they would call for the next two people to start making out. MIDDLE SCHOOL 12, 13, 14, 15 year old kids. I saw a lot of people encourage shy couples to do more than just kiss. Several girls had their nipples sucked on for the first time in a kissing circle. I was one of them and it wasn't even a guy I barely knew. I didn't really even know him at all. It's like an adult version of spin the bottle with no bottle. This was back in like 1999-2003, I can't even fathom what kids are experiencing out there in 2012 and we are nearing 2013. Parents seriously need to keep open communication and instead of telling a kid how it is, listen to what the kid thinks. I'm not entirely sure I was ever asked what my thoughts on all this were at the time. I vividly remember being told I am too young to know what love is or how to express it.

I'm a firm believer that  a 12 year old Christian girl would be able to explain what true love is in Jesus. Also, pretty sure my 4 year old niece knows what Jesus' love is. How can society and parents be telling these young women they can't be feeling something they feel. Long lasting and marital love is definitely different than a 12 year old's preteen obsession but there is a lot more innocence to love that we lose as we age and I believe these young kids feel something raw and powerful that adults try to stifle and remove. Instead of telling kids no so much how about parents or mentors, friends, teachers help a 12 year old learn to express what they feel in a healthy safer way. Get creative people because these kids have to grow up to have healthy relationships eventually and as soon as they come to you expressing the signs that they need help expressing love let's not say "oh you don't know what love is you are too young".

A Commemorative mug for your rape... perhaps a T-shirt?

Procrastination. Ugh. I go to bed before a day off thinking of all the things I could write about only to wake up the next morning completely UN-motivated. As I sigh and fiddle around in the bathroom I even notice the cat box is full and how desperately it needs attention. "Not gonna do it", I tell myself. Poor some cereal and find all the dying electronics to plug in. Here I am, blog open and ready and nothing to write about?

Last night my Husby convinced me to watch The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo. Before you delve into this on your Netflix, I suggest you try reading it first. If your own imagination doesn't steer you away, then I'd take it as a go ahead to watch the film as a rape victim. There were definitly moments where I ripped off my perfectly manicured nails from my fingers with my teeth. I also, had two glasses of wine and between watching and subtitles I could keep emotionally distant to get through it.

After, my Husby looked it up on IMDB to explain to me that there were supposed to be 10 books but the guy died at age 50 or something. My heart sank for him. Why would he write so many horrific things down? Then, that's when Husby says "He witnessed a gang rape when he was 15 and could never forgive himself for doing nothing to help". "Oh! Good!" I thought and pondered that in silence. We went to bed. I put the covers up over my head to dilly dally on my free game apps. I was trying to woo those horrifying rapey scenes out of my head for fear of night terrors and waking my poor Husby before his work day.

Now I'm awake and confused. I've been wondering what I'm supposed to be doing with this blog and it's supposed to be whatever the damn well I please. No Idea how this fits into the bigger picture of my testimony of finding God. I feel a huge knocking at my heart to write more. Just as Steig Larsson has done so well, I to want to capture the horrifying childhood abuse I witnessed in some sort of commemorative way. How? NO IDEA. I thought, just write them all down and make a list. Then, I thought well that is boring where's the drama and the horror in a list? I've already written a few short blips of things from my perspective but then again, not sure how to use it to glorify God. Does everything I do have to glorify him? Yes I decided a long time ago.
                      " So whether you eat or drink or whatever you do, do it all for the glory of God." 1 Corinthians 10:31

Where does this put me? There are so many questions. How can my downfall and that of others bring light into what happened during my salvation? God uses terrible stories all the time to help make a point in his book. Steig used horrifying stories in his as well to make a point. What's my point?

My point is, no matter how much darkness someone stumbles into on purpose or accident there is a all loving God (I've met him) that will forgive all and cover them with light. 1 John 1:5 "God is light and in him there is no darkness at all."

 I feel an overwhelming urge to explain to someone where I have been in hopes that they too can see the light I have found to cover the pitch blackness of what was my death before Jesus. 

Monday, July 9, 2012

Trophy Wife

Congratulations You acted like and adult today!

Today is good. Lately, I've been super lazy. This week I think I skipped taking a shower 4 days out of the week and slept in until noon. Something grabbed a hold of me and magnetized me into the abyss of depression again. Last night I decided to make  a difference today.
I woke up at 6am today and worked out! Me, working out. It felt horrible but after taking a shower and shaving my legs (again me, shave my legs?) I felt like a new woman. It is a big deal to me that I accomplished waking up early, working out, shaving, hair makeup, and GETTING DRESSED in 40 minutes. To top it off, I was able to do this and make a crock pot meal all before my usual time to leave for work. I do have the day off today but start again tomorrow. It's exciting. I am so excited. This feels like a day for an adult award.

Sunday, July 8, 2012

A letter to my first love

Your words torture me. I wish you never said those things to me. Our relationship could never be. I wish you had understood it better then. We were in the statutory category. I was in middle school. You were in British High School and about to go to college. How could a relationship that only existed in letters survive me growing up. You were an adult. I was just a child. Part of me feels that you took advantage of me because I was innocent and willing to do everything you wanted when you wanted. We became best friends and then you visted the first time to my house and it was too confusing for me to process. How in the world a man from a computer arrive to my house and be welcomed in warmly by my family. It is still so strange but there we were  confused and excited. We played games and enjoyed the outdoors during spring break and summer break. You would stay for a month at a time then you moved up to two months. It became too much. I was feeling suffocated. Then my whole world crashed in on itself and I had told my best friend how a man I didn't know came to me in the night and raped me. You were angry that I didn't come to you first. It didn't give you any excuse to say it was all my fault. I hid it from you to protect you. My life with you was supposed to be fun and almost secondary to my life at home or school in Oregon.

What you said to me was horrible. You told me it was my fault and couldn't understand what I had been going through. I was tortured by my thoughts in the day and wanted to die in my dreams at night. Why weren't you there for me instead?

My life was too much to handle so I ended it. I told you the last time you visited that I hated you and wanted you to never come back. You took all my shampoo when you took showers and it pissed me off. I didn't like that you wanted to force me to lose more weight and when I turn 18 to get boob implants. You dick I was already a 34 C. How could you tell me my body wasn't good enough? Were you using me?

When we broke up you told me that I was so ugly my own mother didn't want to keep me so she threw me away and some pathetic family with no hope adopted me. You also said that every year I keep getting uglier and uglier.

Sometimes, when it was late at night and I knew the time difference between Oregon and England was right, I'd try to find you. Sometimes it worked and we talked but it was only for you to tell me how angry you were with me. One time you were even drunk confessing your undying love for me but you couldn't be with someone who accepts they were raped only to do nothing about it. We talked about the trial I might go to but I told you that I couldn't handle it and we settled for a plea bargain. 

I'm older now and I feel that I am beautiful. I have a husband who thinks I am beautiful and he is very tall and full of ass kicking muscles. I wish someone would beat your face in. You are nothing but a weak insecure preying bastard who sought me out of boredom. You thought you knew what love was so you would fly across the country to see me. That is not love. I don't care if you flew around the world twice before you visited me every time. I hate you.

Friday, July 6, 2012

Things to remember when I'm older

This seems like a weird place to be at. A twenty something living in my own house, saving for retirement, being fiscally responsible, paying bills, doing grocery shopping...sigh* I looked back over the past year and I've realized that there has been many accomplishments that are laughable. I'd like to share some of them with the world.

My skills I've developed include:
- Knowing when you can no longer eat food that was left out on the stove
     - the next morning is sometimes okay unless involving dairy items.
- Drowning flowers in pots
- Covering up hang over hair with baby powder and hair spray before going to church
- Oral sex giving and receiving
- How to wash darks, lights, and colors in the same load
- How to use dish soap as it was intended and some not so conventional methods
- Folding dress pants for interviews so that it looks like I ironed a crease into them
- Top roman noodles in gourmet dishes
- How to vomit on purpose
- Crafting paper goods into decorations
- Sewing holes
- Pining original ideas to
- Vacuuming pets

I've also learned some lessons:
- Don't drive with the parking brake on
- Dawn dish soap does not substitute for dish washing soap
- Cat litter needs to be changed more than once week
- Having twitter followers does not make you feel popular in real life
- Telling people about how popular are on the internet is not socially advisable
- Parents can not text back for hours or days but if you miss a single text from them the police start a search party.
- Wearing utility gloves makes you brave and invincible to poo and spiders

Helpful advice:
Don't go to bed angry with your boyfriend / husband
Remember to feed the cat
Remember to feed the fish
Rinse vegetables before putting them away

Sunday, July 1, 2012

A Poem

I can hear her
She is inside my heart
knocking away at the lock I placed there to bar her in
Knocking constantly
I know what she wants to tell me
These memories I once had I can no longer bare to hear
She was a gemstone from heaven
Her beauty was great and her smile was warm
I can not remove that lock
If I saw her distress cry out of her face I would die
Pain kills me a little everytime I pause to hear her
Knocking, Knocking
Don't let her out, It's probably safer to hide her
That child inside my heart
She doesn't know but the world is different
It is no longer between night and day
The pain is real and the mind can not cope
Oh but if she could see our life here tastes sweet
It would be like dancing among lilies of the valley
-Rebecca (C) TwistedHousewife


Therapy the last time went pretty well. I finally want to move on from this. I am sick of wallowing and crying. The Christian women in my life have brought me so much encouragement. This does not mean the pain won't be there like an everlasting scar. Also the actual body scars are still there.

I am planning a "rape memorial" a "celebration of my life". There was 10 years I hid this away under my bed like some hoarding of memories. My family was not able to cope well with it either. In two weeks I'll be having a celebration. The plan is to invite people who this affected and who were there to offer comfort during my battle to get this man convicted. 10 years is a lot of repression to get through. I'm not assuming 10 years worth of grief will pour out of me at rocket launching speeds leaving me exhausted and empty in the end. I'll still have pleanty to deal with. This week is just mean to allow me time and freedom to grieve what I haven't been allowed to do.

After being raped, I still went to school where I continued to pretend like it never happened. It was a secret. I kept it a secret through high school and the many relationships I tried to have. I felt like it was my job to just pick myself up out of a puddle of cum and despair to help become better about what happened. Just keep a happy face. The years following the incident I felt like a zombie. I was dead. Before I was radiant and a happy child. Post rape, I became addicted to drugs, alcohol, and sex. I faked my way through many sexual relationships trying to find love and fulfillment. I tried to find the next high to mask the pain. If I couldn't get drugs or alcohol to disillusion myself, I'd seek danger and adrenaline. Speeding, jumping off bridges, running across traffic at night, and hooking up with complete strangers in horrible places.

This event will be huge for me. I am worried that my family won't take me seriously or try to help too much and not focus on the healing. It is like my innocence has died and I never got a funeral for it. For that little girl who used to be so happy. This week I am focusing on writing a letter to that child. I'll also focus on the happiness and joy that has come into my life since this has happened. I want to remember that I was not alone. I chose to sin against my parents, leave my house in the hopes of running away from previous grief from a grandparent's death, hop in a car with a stranger, and be transported to hell and back. I used to think I was alone. I was so angry at God. How could he allow a child to go this way in life? He must not love me or I must have earned this horrible fate.

I was broken and in the car (which is usually where I break down). My tears were pooling up inside my chest aching to leave my body. I thought to myself, "How is it, that I am here?"

This was the answer I received from the Lord.

Tuesday, June 5, 2012

A Harem and the Star

This is an example of how vivid I dream things. This particular dream scene came to me last night and is not particularly nightmarish to me but has some elements that really did effect me as being real. I did wake up feeling that this was someone I have once been before or currently am. I DO NOT believe in reincarnation of the soul or having a past life. Most of my dreams have been much too gruesome and intense for me to write down. Due to my own imagination abilities I do find that I have to limit the amount of theatrics in my life (movies, music, horror, the news, etc) or I'd be completely over whelmed and never sleep. NOTE: I write immediately after waking up and only edit things for grammar and to make sense. The details I see in dreams are exactly as written. I'm always interested in knowing what my dreams mean.

PART I of a Harem Dream

I was a Beautiful princess married to a prince in a foreign land.
My skin had a deep caramel tan. I wore charms and bells on my ankles and feet along with fine jewelry of rare gems and stones around my neck. My hair was long and nearly touched my lower back.
During my marriage to the prince we had difficulty becoming pregnant. We tried for years but finally the prince was about to become king and needed a son to become his heir as his father, the present king, was aging and would surely die in a few years.
He sent me with the castle mystic to a place far away in a forested part of the land. There was a hut with several older mystics still practicing magic. They stripped me of all my clothing and tied me down with stakes and rope. They poured oils over my hair and body and chanted around me. One of them was whispering to a handful of what looked like rocks but the more she spoke to them the shinier and more beautiful they grew inside. The rocks became crystal like and glowed from within. A metal gleam bounced around the site as a mystic sharpened her blade by a roaring fire. I was becoming sleepier than ever and had difficulty remembering where I was and who these people were. Burning searing pain seized my lower stomach. I cried and writhed. The blade tore into my stomach again. I could see the crystals now they were bright stars from heaven. They placed seven inside my pubic bone and stitched me up with a purple cloth and clothing string.
I awoke in the palace bedroom with the prince waiting impatiently around the bed. Finally, I had awoken from a two year coma. The king was now barely able to maintain order in the kingdom and the Prince was becoming stressed to no end. He asked how I was feeling. I responded with tears in my eyes and questions on my heart, “I’m alive?” “Yes, but how do you feel?” It turned out that the Prince had been making love to my body in a coma in hopes to place a child in my womb. To his disappointment and soon my end I was not with child.
The street corner the prince threw me to was deserted in the night. Only torch lamps and palace guards were scattered among closed merchant carts. The prince apologized and cried. He gave me a kiss on my forehead and told me it was the best for the kingdom that he find a fertile woman to bare the legacy.

 I was distraught for months trying to scrape out the crystals that protruded around my vagina. No other man would have me. The universe would not bring me peace and I stayed up all night contemplating my own death alone and never having a child.

In a desperate one last attempt I gathered fine linen and stitched myself a most beautiful garment of gold and purple. I washed my hair with jasmine oil and mint. My skin was clear and fresh and I felt alive. The hut I was living in had an older woman who took me in. There was dust on the floor and it had opened windows to the elements. The building was made of tan stone carved out of one rock. It was small but the wind drifted through the window and around my hips and hair.

Under nightfall, my steps would not be detected easily.  In my heart I knew this was the riskiest operation I would ever face. I could feel adrenalin coursing through my body. I remembered the way to the back entrance. Once there, I slipped on my ankle bells and jewelry. I felt like a princess again. I crept slowly up the stone stairway silently. My breath was in my ears and my heart pounded so loud I feared I would be caught and beheaded. I did not belong here.

The prince was in his study, awake. I approached the opening and whispered, "my love". He stood up quickly and ran to grab me. I felt alive again in his presence and embraced his shirtless body. The room was warm and smelled of sandal wood. There were candles lit among pillows and soft sheets. I pleaded with the Prince to allow me one last chance to be with him. I felt love in my heart again when he allowed it. “Quick make sure the castle is secure” he called to his man servant. “Yes my Lord”. “Oh and send in a palace nurse” he added quietly. When she arrived her arms were full of blankets and a basin of fresh oils. She romantically removed my home stitched linens and oiled my skin. I was then guided over to the prepared place to lay waiting for the prince. I missed him so in my coma and didn’t have a chance to be with him awake. My stomach glowed. As it twinkled I felt a surge of butterflies fill my face and heart. He approached me in a sarong.

He made love to me not for business. It felt real, as though he did feel love  for me. I clung to his arms and smiled. From below his body pressing in on me, bright white light poured out of me and spread throughout the room. I felt as though I had spun into the heavens and touched the inside warmth of a star.

“Check her” the Prince panted an order to the nurse. “Yes Lord she is ready” she replied. I became confused in my ecstasy. The nurse was coming towards me with water and towels. On top of the towels were long strings and needle sharp items made from bone. The Prince came behind me and held my arms and shoulders down while his man servant was instructed to hold my legs. Fiery pain ran through my nerves as the nurse punched holes into my lips and tied me shut. The Prince kissed me on the mouth hard. The light from within me slowly left the room and day was arriving.

“What will I do?” I pleaded. “You will know what to do. Return to me when you have grown”. He then grabbed my wrist, “wait, you’ll need an offering to the mystic at the door”. The time had passed us and it was nearly dawn. Town was bustling and sounds of people arriving in the streets echoed up the stone structure around us. “Here take this”, the prince handed me a seashell dish filled with bird food and nuts. As I left alone through the corridor and down the steps I approached the old woman. I recognized her from my fertility ritual. She was now shrunken and wrinkled with time. I handed her the dish with bird food and she snatched my wrist hard. Birds flocked in around us chirping and squawking at the dish in the dust. “You are in danger now my dear, run to protect your baby, do not bring him back here, do not lose your way”. She handed me a prism dagger from a pouch on her side. It felt cold and hard in my hand the edges were serrated to a point.

My body tortured me from within with birth pains. The old woman I had been staying with was gathering blankets and clothing to throw in a trunk. As she gathered she chanted slowly in whispers. I could not tell what she was saying exactly. The stones inside of me felt ready to burst and break open my stomach. I fell to the floor gasping and grinding my teeth in agony. We rushed out the entrance. The old lady whistled and another mystic came through the adjacent alleyway with a black horse. Together they hoisted my nine month old belly and I up. “Where had this time gone?” I thought for a moment. Then, the mystics whispered to the horse and slapped it hard on the rump. The constant motion of his body against mine made me want to die right there. He panted hard and smelled of stable hay. The muscles on his back pressed into my labor pain. Tears poured out of my face.
In the forest, the oldest of the mystics alerted the others of my arrival. I collapsed off the horse to the grassy ground immediately. Rolling over on my back I let out a wail. This baby was coming. I could feel the head pressing deep down and fast. My hands uncontrollably grabbed clumps of grass out of the ground in handfuls.  I opened my eyes briefly in a haze throwing my head back in a growl. There were mystics from all over the land in a circle whispering around me. The eldest of them was at my knees with her head buried in to see and coax the baby out. My home stitched dress was raggedy and blood stained from the horse ride in. My breasts were swollen and ached. I had dirt across my arms. My mind was foggy.

Silence fell over the forest. The heavens opened up and light surged down from the stars. It lit up the entire earth. I lay there crying and howling in pain. New wailing entered the world and the eldest mystic held him up in her hands. The baby was covered in shimmer and blood. “A star has been born!” Hollered the eldest mystic and the forest chanting grew loud in excitement. She nestled his tiny body up to mine and wrapped him to me. I cried and glanced down at his face. He was the most beautiful child I had ever laid eyes on. I loved him immediately.

I knew this moment would come when I would hear army trumpets and the sound of men romping through the forest. Word had spread through the land and the Prince was looking to seize the next heir to the throne. Terror. My body ached in worry. I held my baby star close to my chest and prayed over him to the heavens. “Watch over my little star wherever you go and wherever you are, I will find you and I will love you as long as I am away from you I will always seek to find you”.
They tore through the huts with fire torches and arrows. Mystics hurried and screamed all around the forest ground. Slashes came through the thatched roofs and tore open the homes. The eldest mystic packed me up a satchel and supplies. She strapped the baby to my body and sent me off on the black horse. She whispered to the horse and we took off with a sprint down the forest hills and to the nearest towns over.

It was an ambush as soon as I had arrived. I crouched down and screamed “No one takes my baby!” I slashed out at the guards with the prism dagger. It tore open their flesh and blood poured from their wounds onto the ground. I fought with everything I had. I prayed God would give me strength to save my child. The horse neighed and bucked at the soldiers pressing in on me. I was over come and the baby was ripped from my body. The heavens above let out a thunderous crack and it began to pour down rain.

I was left in the mud alone crying and screaming at the top of my lungs “Bring my baby back!”. I punched at the mud and writhed in it. A young lady approached me. She grabbed a hold of my clothing and pulled me into the local bar. A clamoring of glasses and burly men halted as I was dragged crying and wailing to the cellar.

Monday, June 4, 2012

Charming Snake Bites

Hey everyone come see how baddass I look!

The air was sticky with heat. The mugginess held onto my upper lip with dirt and sweat. I had ridden my little mermaid bicycle up and down the cul de sac at least 100 times if not more that day. Evening was setting in and the sun hung low on the horizon. It was that time of day when you rode your bicycle one way and found shade but on the way back became easily blinded as the rays penetrated through tree branches. It was this blinding light that caused me to miss the driveway back home just as my grandparents were helping in the yard. Dad was at the bottom of the driveway with grandpa. I had skid along the loose gravel and bailed on my bicycle. I look back now and know grandpa was just trying to help me feel better because I biffed it on my bike. "Hey come over here! I found a snake!" Grandpa called over to me from the ditch. I stood up and wiped my face with dirty hands. I had on a bright pick bubble gum helmet with my hair a hot mess out the back of it. I hesitated to approach the dangling black snake in grandpa's hand. I breathed really hard. This was my first experience with a snake. "Go ahead and pinch it right behind the head". My tiny feeble hand stretched out in hopes of impressing my elder that yes in deed I can hold a snake! Not a moment after I pinched that sucker's head did the wriggly slick tail twirl around my wrist in a flash. That damn snakes head slid from beneath my fingers. Searing pain burned into the fleshy part of my thumb. I shook and shook but the snake would not let loose and again opened what seamed to be a gigantic mouth  to take a second bite out of my hand.  In my true drama queen nature, I ran screaming up the 50 foot driveway, crying and flailing like I was about to die. I ran through the garage flung open the rickety garage door to a dark hallway. I sprinted through the hall huffing and gasping to the utility bathroom. I was still alive. My hand had four little gigantic bleeding spots. I ran ice cold water over my arms and hands crying and gasping. I still had on the stupid pink helmet. Looking up into the medicine cabinet mirror, I realized something new about myself; I was a complete utter pussy and looked like a bat shit crazy child. I took a moment to breathe and stare at my reflection. I wiped the tears away. It didn't help, the dirt just became muddy streaks on my face. I took my helmet off and washed my face. Dinner was going onto the table upstairs. One last deep breath. I walked calmly up the stairs like nothing happened and the snake incident wasn't spoken about. No one asked if I was alright with my near death experience.

Is there a medication for sexual maturity

I'm feeling very confused about sex again. When is anyone not confused at some point in there life about how this act is supposed to go? Lately, I've tapped into my inability to reach an orgasm and discovered coping mechanisms to help me over the edge a few times. Being someone who was forced to have my first orgasm from a rapist, I've found it difficult to allow myself that release. It feels almost too much or too scary. For years in all of my past relationships, I learned that it was easier to fake it and make the experience more about the man. This sort of allowed the pressure to move away from me achieving something. In a Christian marriage situation however, I'm coming up with several issues that I'm trying to work on.

1. How to feel less rushed. It's so stressful to have sex for me. This should be something natural and fun. In my reality though, it's more work to keep the demons out of my head. To cope with this, I've just thought to pray prior to engaging in any potential sexual activity. After all, God did make me for my husband. Also, I work on grounding myself to where I actually am. I tell myself about the room I'm in and the feelings I have. I like to touch my husband and remind myself of his smell, skin, and textures of his body to help me see my husband and not a past memory that could trigger me. This leads me to the first issue: How can I enjoy sponteneity?

2. We all have insecurity in the bedroom. This isn't the way it's supposed to be. We are supposed to be loving and blameless in the bedroom. I'm so mean to myself and trauma brain likes to tell me horrible things about myself to make me not interested in having a carefree love making session. To combat this one I spend time getting dolled up the way I feel pretty. I'll take a shower, comb my hair, maybe use a scented lotion, add some lip balm and tell myself I am gorgeous. I'd like to think it would all be better if my husband spent more time telling me I'm beautiful but I don't blame him for giving up on that because I go right back at attacking all the good things he has said. I can't remember the last time he told me in his own time and own words how I was beautiful because I've always allowed trauma to attack those sweet words. Post therapy, it's become difficult to encourage my husband to try again to tell me in his own because I broke that. Again, I pray. How can I get my husband to call me beautiful and that I take his breath away?

3. I feel like my husband is annoyed with me because I'm so "special" in the bedroom and have to have a particular setting, a certain mood, specific foreplay, and hope I keep from dissociating. I want sex to feel innocent and special. Every time it feels new to me like a first time experience. That's probably because my emotional level and sexual maturity halted at 12 years old. How can I explain that to my husband? What does that even look like?

I feel like I have a crush on my husband all the time. I only look at him and obsess over him when he is around me. I constantly want to have some part of me touching him, a foot, my arm, hand, legs on him, etc. I am totally infatuated with him. I'm always texting him and asking him to give me attention.  I want to make out all the time but lately I've tried to distance myself from him because I fear that my obsessing will drive him away from me. The more I try to give him space, the more depressed and sad I become. I dread him dying or leaving. I cry endlessly when he has to go on a trip for a weekend or most recently I've wanted to back out of weekend plans with me and just the girls so I can stay with him. When we become intimate I turn into mush, giddy, giggly, and shy. I am 23 years old and I am shy to my husband!

I feel trapped in an adult body. Some how it's like I was in a coma for 10 years and now all of a sudden I have an adult life with adult desires but no matured capacity to carry out a normal sex life. (TIME OUT) What is a normal sex life anyways? Maybe that's not what I mean. Normal to me is do whatever you want to do in privacy and safety of marriage that doesn't hurt you or others. My biggest "fantasy" is just to be myself but myself is being innocent with a dominant husband. The sex I dish out is a lot of trying to act mature and dominant and sure it's nice because I absolutely love my husband but the confusion is: How do I explain what I really want?

I want to feel lost in sex like the world around me is gone and it's just us. The reality of it though, is more like I'm sad it ends so fast because it took me 15 minutes to realize what was happening and he is ready to leave the room or fall asleep and now I'm super confused about the feelings I am having and long for more.

OH AND P.S. Zoloft causing your shit not to work the way it's supposed to. All dried up. Sometimes it fizzles but there's no pop. The pill lady told me to take Viagra but that's like $10 a pill. She also suggested toys and lubricants but here's the confusion again: How do I suggest these things to my husband who believes strongly that "God gave us everything we already need".

Tuesday, May 8, 2012

Candied Coiffure

Newest painting
Candied Coiffure
24 x 8 inches Acrylic on Canvas
Contact if you are interested in purchasing or prints
Copyright (C) Rebecca Curtis 2012
No use of artist images may be used

How to trick your husband into thinking you aren't a slob

 I haven't taken a shower or done laundry for 2 weeks but this apron says I'm fabulous!

When my husby and I were engaged, we did premarital counseling. It involved all things about how to blend your lives together forever and the only way out of marriage is to die of natural causes or kill yourself. There is no other way out. Part of the book series we went through discussed the wife's role and skills to help keep the husband and marriage happy. The early months of marriage were blissful and full of whimsy. Dressing up in a sexy ensemble to serve a delicious home cooked meal or doing weekend chores in my pinup heals and unmentionables lead to a happy husband indefinitely. Who wouldn't want to see their new sexy wifey prancing around dusting and bending over wearing little frilly thingies?

Now though, that our marriage is becoming slightly seasoned, things have changed slightly. I work a couple days a week at a dental office and the rest of the time I work on artwork or how to perfect laziness. 

What I never anticipated was that wearing his sweats and old college t-shirts around the house made him annoyed and less attracted to me. He would say things like "gee what have you done all day lazy bones" and even if I knew I cleaned up and down the entire house, it didn't matter. I was still a major slob-o-saurus.

My routine quickly changed when I noticed the compliments adding up. When I'd get out of bed in the morning  the only things left in my dresser had been some fancy lingerie nighties. Throw one of those on and it's like a one step cover up process. Head to the bathroom and throw my hair up in a bandana and I look like a fucking sexy ass Rosie Riveter clean all do all machine.

"Hi sweetie, I made you a  sandwich for lunch"....Doesn't even care it's a piece of floppy cheese on white bread. It's 3 pm and he has no idea I haven't even had a shower yet.

Friday, May 4, 2012

Lasting Impressions and Safe Touches

My definition of what it's like to dissociate from the movie Rango and the secondary character Beans

How to have sex with a rape or assault victim. That may seem totally un-attainable or un-imaginably horrifying. If you are a victim it may seem that you don't want anyone to know and in a way you've decided to prove to the world you weren't affected by the incident. You might be a person who wants to run and hide from any physical stimulation. A simple close contact with someone's arm may make you cringe and flash back. I'm not a specialist and the only reason I know how to make this work is due to years of therapy gone wrong, years of promiscuity gone wrong, trying to work out the kinks with my best friend in marriage, and more helpful therapy 10+ years after the event.

#1 ALWAYS ASK BEFORE DOING eventually I was able to get to the point where I could handle more sponteneity in touching without retreating inside myself to battle with ferocious emotional monsters. Most of the times that bothered me I cannot remember due to the heightened emotional discomfort and physical triggering.

With the relationships I did try to have post rape event, I struggled the most. I wanted to prove I could be normal and do normal dating almost immediately after. These relationships failed in huge ways. There was lots of happy times and good memories made but my own immaturity usually cast them down in a fiery Holocaust within weeks or months. I did have several long term relationships but struggled to feel safe and accepted. They were shallow or I spent most of the time retreated in a triggered state for months even years.

If you were with someone before and after a rape incident NEVER ASSUME ANYTHING WILL BE NORMAL AGAIN. This was one of the hardest things for my family and I. My relationship with all men changed in my family. I did not accept hugs or loving touches from any male figure uncles, cousins, even my father. What was once a loving environment became very hands off. This might be the case with your (insert person relationship spouse, partner, friend etc.)

What happened to me and might be the case with others, is that my memory turned blank in certain places. I had forgotten what it was like in that event for my rapist to do XYZ to me but my body remembers. To this day I still have unexplainable reactions and I can only assume that some where in my trauma the reaction was implanted on my body permanently. It has taken years and years and years for me to work my feelings out towards these triggers, the way my body will react to certain touches, how to keep my mind/body calm in a sexual environment to avoid flashing back/dissociating/or freaking the freak out.

- FEAR I'd say is #1. Isaiah 41:10 says Do not be afraid, for I am with you. God is a great comforter in all aspects of my life and I rely heavily on this passage. However, that doesn't mean I won't go through times of extreme fear of the feelings, triggers, or emotions I encounter.

- Pulling away for no reason
-Stop or be silent for no reason
 Just be prepared for anything and everything to just happen at the drop of a hat. You probably should just be on guard at all times. It takes a very special spouse to be in a loving relationship with their partner after a rape incident.

-Don't be shocked. Remain calm while someone is having a moment. I say a moment because there is not a very good explanation of what happens to a victim as they are on the verge of dissociating or freaking out. Remain calm, speak calm, sometimes don't speak at all, just freeze like red light green light. When Red light is up you freeze or game over.

- Be ready for vomiting at any point. Bucket under the bed and work your way up to allowing your person to run away to the bathroom quickly. Stay calm. For my situations that involved this it worked much better for the person I was with to just not speak at all. Don't ask if I'm okay. Wait a few minutes and if you suspect the person would benefit from assistance silently just offer water, tissue, back rub, a soft "you are okay."

- Unexplainable discomfort, painful face expressions
-Being over stimulated
-Unable to handle any stimulation to any body part at any time for any duration
-Questioning normality, sanity, awareness, perception "Is this real?" "Am I really doing this?" "Are you sure, am I sure?" "Do people do this?" "Is this normal or okay".
-Showering, bathing, often after sex for any amount of time. Check on your person though I dissociated a lot in the shower at any given time.
-Feeling trapped or suffocated
-Being startled easily. In my situation I have done all sorts of things after being startled: Dissociated, cried, horror movie screaming, fighting, hiding, fainting.
-Night terrors
-Innability to understand sexual advances vs. non sexual advances
-Pain vs Pleasure confusion

If at any point your person doesn't seem to be acting normal, none responsive, or you just suspect something is wrong be a considerate partner and ask them if they are with you and if everything is okay. Part of having healing in a rape victims sexuality is having a partner who is aware of the situation at all times. It makes it difficult to act primal but it's important.You can ruin a lot of healing if you aren't aware of where your person is at mentally.

One of the hardest times for a rape victim is the moments right after a sexual activity of any kind and any duration. You may think it's normal to get up and leave the room or disappear from your person momentarily but they could be in desperate need to be coaxed back to reality. Again, it is very difficult on a rape victim to have sudden changes of any kind. Help your person out by communicating what's happening. Examples might be "I'm getting up to get a drink of water I will come right back", "I need to go to the restroom", "Can I get you anything?" "I need to stand up/sit down/turn around/move/jump/anything" "Can I move your arm/leg/hair/head/pillow/blanket etc." Keep a calm attitude and minimum frustration sounds even if it's difficult to move something or communicate. Your person might be dissociated and may or may not remember the things you say under your breath or directly to them. Remain sensitive and loving.

With a rape victim they may cry at any moment for any reason. Don't ask a lot of "why" questions because chances are they have no idea how they are feeling or why the feeling has come into being. It just is and work on calming techniques to bring your person back to a state of calm awareness. You might not get to have successful sexual encounters for a long time or they are few and far between. The healing takes a lot of years and positive encounters.

Monday, April 30, 2012

Runaway Innocence

This past weekend I set out on a painting journey. A larger canvas has always scared me away for several reasons. It was mostly the depth of empty space I would need to fill to call a painting worth it. Cost and time weighed in heavily but I over came all obstacles and purchased my first (what I think to be) gigantic canvas.  Something I've never attempted before.

I wanted to paint something familiar to myself. This painting was floating around in my head for a few days. I knew it was going to be personal after all the therapy I've been working on.

What would you bring with yourself if you were running away? A child would be ill prepared for all that's out there in the world. After all, it's a scary and unfamiliar place. Who would you meet on your journey? Where would you sleep? How would you feel once you've realized you were out there, alone?

Maybe it's time I start selling some prints. Any interest and I'm jumping on it.

Runaway Innocence Original Acrylic 20x30 Canvas (about 5 more inches got cut off in this photo)
All Artwork (C)Copyright Rebecca Curtis

Saturday, April 28, 2012

Part one of a giant painting

I started again. I took $40 and finally got myself more canvas and paint. Today I painted for 8 hours. The time flew by and I had no idea where it went. My poor husband was wondering if I became obsessed or something. When you have a huge canvas the possibilities are so endless I just got lost in acrylic.

Friday, April 27, 2012

A Man Actually Turns Away Sex To Call Me Beautiful

This has been a personal thing for a very long time. I have never wanted to open up and talk about it but lately I have been asked by several different close friends and even some not so close friends the hardest question. It's the same question all the time but sometimes asked in different ways. "How do you have sex even though you were raped?" "How has rape affected your marriage?" "How do you feel you are serving your husband in a Godly way despite being raped?" "Can you still have sex like a normal person?"

 Why Should I be like the Veiled Woman?
First, I don't know if all the people asking me questions have been or know someone close to them (besides me) that have gone through some sort of victimization of their sex life. Second, I don't ever want to disrespect my marriage by sharing a lot of details with the world on this. However, I will try to allow God to fill me with helpful words to shine a light into something that would be so dark and evil without him. Also, I should not be taken as a serious biblical quoter of some kind because a lot of what I have to say is my understanding of God's book and his plan based on what is actually written down in the Bible.

#1 thing women need to remember is that God made sex. It was his perfect design and they are a perfect design. Adam was in The Garden of Eden with animals, bugs, plants, and of course God. I'm sure Adam and God hung out all the time. God taught Adam all about the world and had a perfect relationship sharing and discussing mysteries and wonders. God noticed Adam needed a helper and a companion who was a human. God  put Adam in a coma and took a rib from him to make Woman. Adam exclaimed "This is now bone of my bones, And flesh of my flesh" Genesis 1:23.

In the Song of Songs Solomon 1-8. The two lovers express erotically their love for one another. They describe each other to one another as being the greatest man and women ever. She calls on the wind to spread her sweetness to her lover so he knows to come into her garden and taste of her fruit. He leaves her garden and exclaims how he has had his fill of her milk and honey. God's plan for sex is supposed to be for two lovers to drink of each other and share intimacy 1. for reproduction. 2. for comfort  and 3. They get their fill from each other and don't wander.

The problem with being a rape victim is that I have altered God's plan for sex and came up with my own based on my own understanding and events in my life.
1. For attention
2. To manipulate
3. Power
4. Forcing someone to do what you wanted.

The problem with my thinking was just that; It was my thinking not God's. For years I have thought on my own and for my own without God and am realizing now that it is painful and difficult to alter my thinking back to a God centered mind set. It is not impossible.

I had thoughts that would eat me up about how I am ugly, wasted, used up, not good enough, and disgusting. God has told me otherwise and through reading the Song of Songs I've come to find that God is actually speaking directly to me and directly to all other women.

How beautiful you are, my darling!
    Oh, how beautiful!
    Your eyes behind your veil are doves.
Your hair is like a flock of goats
    descending from the hills of Gilead.
Your teeth are like a flock of sheep just shorn,
    coming up from the washing.
Each has its twin;
    not one of them is alone.
Your lips are like a scarlet ribbon;
    your mouth is lovely.
Your temples behind your veil
    are like the halves of a pomegranate.
Your neck is like the tower of David,
    built with courses of stone[a];
on it hang a thousand shields,
    all of them shields of warriors.
Your breasts are like two fawns,
    like twin fawns of a gazelle
    that browse among the lilies.
Until the day breaks
    and the shadows flee,
I will go to the mountain of myrrh
    and to the hill of incense.
You are altogether beautiful, my darling;
    there is no flaw in you.
Yeah, it's weird to think that God is a lover but God created man in his own image and likeness with the same emotional scale. God thinks of us like this. When I am terrified of presenting myself to my husband I remember God is watching me and sent my husband to love me in this way and I the same. My husband, bless him, probably cannot come up with these words because he is human but I know this is how beautiful I am.

This does not mean I don't still have PTSD in the bedroom or that certain bedroom events don't cause my husband and I emotional pain. This just means that I've slowly discovered more about God through this process and what it means to be a lover. Being a rape victim is very unique. Sometimes all we do is tell each other we look good to one another and fall asleep in each others arms because maybe it's just not the time to do more and that is okay.

Hey Superficial Party Girl

I am seriously finding this song haunting and depth penetrating into my soul to that party girl I had been. In therapy I'm always asked what would I say to that girl who did ____ at different times in my life. I can never come up with anything to say. I usually stare off or cry. I'd say this exactly.

Wednesday, April 25, 2012


I cannot believe today is here. I'm trying to stay focused and go out of this place with a bang. I gave my work my resignation yesterday to jump ship and hop aboard a new one. This new job is pediatrics. I have no idea what God has in store next but he will keep me steady. This has been a strange journey where I have learned much and grown strength in myself that would never have been there. I am pretty sure my bosses gave me hell for months and months but they don't realize I am a child of the Lord. There is no amount of earthly grief that can keep me from Him who holds the world and my future. Praying for my next adventures in Peds!

In all you do give God glory the meak are made strong and He will not let you fail.

Thursday, April 12, 2012

A Caterpillar

How is it so that the caterpillar weeps?

She weeps in her shell
She cries as it rains and her weakness there will never show
laying there trapped tightly waiting and watching for the light
they shout fly, fly, fly. Fly out.

If we could fit two into one and hold each tiny wing enwrapped in the other
would it then be safe and not so unfamiliar?
They two could plan the final escape together
blissfully whispering among the branches, leaves, and winds to one another

How is it so that the caterpillar weeps?

She cries and she weeps in her tiny shell
She cries as it rains and her weakness there will never show
Lying there trapped tightly waiting and watching for the light
They shout fly, fly, fly. Fly out.

We will all become manifests of butterflies and glide up amongst the clouds
there we will see the light and glory shine down upon our sorrow
He will hold the faces as they burst and grow from inside their shells
How marvelous and amazing is this last and final event

How is it so that the caterpillar still weeps in its tiny shell?

Lingering and waiting watching for the light that seems to never come
At last the final breath is breathed and she feels the warmth and light inside of her
Up into the sky higher, higher the glory will carry her out
Among the wisps’ of clouds and stars warmed and dry she looks down

How is it so that the butterfly weeps?

She cries and she weeps in her tiny shell
She cries as it rains for all the rest of humanity
lying there trapped tightly waiting and watching for the light

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Belly Dancing and a Choke Hold

I opened the door. It had black streaks and stains on the outside panel. Security must not have been a worry here. The handle was unlocked and the brass coating was chipped off in places. It felt like ice in my hand even with mittens on. I clamored inside to find everyone taking shots. My bright pink snow coat seamed out of place in the mist of tank tops and torn jeans. I was the second female in this party. College men were joking around in Arabic. Of course I only had learned curse words and picked out a couple here and there as the conversations grew louder with Vodka and Red Bull for fuel. The guy I sort of knew was no where to be found. Standing awkwardly in the door way, I slipped off my black ballet flats. I had on bright pink slip socks that just covered my toes. The other girl there laughed at my feet. "What the heck are those!?" She shouted across the living room. I went to explain the socks but none was needed. I was being beckoned towards the kitchen for shots.

Tiny ceramic tea bowls were being filled to the brim with Grey Goose. The guys swarmed the opening to the kitchen to watch us. There had to have been at least twenty Saudi Arabians watching me hook arm in arm with this other girl. We downed the first shot wedding style and poured another. My eyes burned and I ached for relief. The second shot was downed. The girl tore away and reached into the mini refrigerator. She popped open a can. It made a cool crisp break in the top and sprayed out ready for me to sip away my scorched throat.

My body was unbalanced. I leaned on people and walls to make it around the room. More men had showed up and were playing cards on the floor. Losers were to take the shot in the middle and down it before the next round began. Smoke filled the air and turned it to a heavy smog. I plopped down next to them and asked to join in English. A Saudi responded in Arabic. I had no idea what he was telling me. "How do you play this?" I shouted at him drunkenly. "He says no women allowed to play this game" another answered me. "What?!" I responded aghast, "Teach me". No one made a sound and kept playing. The other girl had heard me upset from the kitchen and came to grab me off the floor. More shots. The several men who had watched us take shots were back. Some had cameras. Arm in arm we downed another shot. Bright lights flashed over my closed eyelids. Everyone was laughing and cheering at us.

The other girl and I started dancing and jumping around the living room. Music filled my head and clouded out the shouts of Arabic. The music didn't have any lyrics I could understand. A woman's voice wailed to the flute and stringed instruments. Bass bumped in my bones. Saudi men filled in the space around us so we were encircled by strong incenses and foreign cologne. They were clapping their hands above their heads to the beat at us. I closed my eyes and just danced in circles hand in hand with this other girl. I tried to block out the idea that I was a piece of meat on a string dangling above a pit of hungry wolves. Screw the world I thought. I'm just going to dance for once in my life without care. I was a drunk blow up air balloon flailing and bending in the wind. I had no idea how to dance to this foreign music.

A Saudi appeared through the cloud of cigarette smoke. He had long curly hair that poofed out to the sides of his head. The jeans he had on were torn at the knees. "Let's see your dance jameelah" he said slyly. The other girl and I pretended to belly dance at this tall dark figure. "I'll give you forty dollars to flash your tits or ass". Butterflies filled my entire body. "What?" I looked at the other girl for reassurance. "He wants to see that ass" she grabbed at my waist jokingly. Standing back arms crossed I asked for proof of the money. A black wallet came through the air. I caught the leather between bother hands and pulled open the new folds. A fifty dollar bill and two twenty dollar bills were in the wallet. I threw it back with confidence. This was not part of the plan when I set out to come to this party. I turned around and slipped down my jeans half way off my bottom. Hot pink boy shorts peaked over the top of the denim pockets. "There!" I shouted. "Now give me the money!" He stood up and said "No." The other girl pulled my jeans down the rest of the way leaving me gripping at my knees to pull them back up. She slapped my ass hard. I turned around and grabbed the two twenties he was waving in the air. The stairs were a couple feet to the left. I ran hard towards them. I took each one two by two grabbing the banister for stability.

The guy I was looking for was in a bedroom with the door open. I flung myself onto the bed next to him. "Hey! I just won myself forty bucks for showing my undies". He didn't respond to me. "Hey!" I jumped up and down on the bed. "We can go out for a dinner date or something now". He rolled over and grabbed me down from my jumping and smothered me with kissing on my neck and chest. "Hey! See". I threw the money down at him. His breath smelled sweet and smokey. "I'm too high for this". He mumbled and put his hands over his face. My harassment was useless. I ran back down the stairs.

" Give me back my money". The Saudi stopped me at the bottom of the stairs. "NO" I hollered drunkenly back at him and continued to push past him towards the other girl in the living room. "Give, me, back, my money." He grew taller and pulled his poofy hair back with a pony tail tie that was strapped to his wrist. "What for? I did what you asked and you made a deal". My mind started to sober with adrenaline. "You are not worth even ten dollars". My heart beat violently and I began to have that moment where in school they talk about fleeing a situation or standing ground to fight. I have always ran from fear or coward ready to ball up and be impenetrable. Never once had I shown the tenacity to defend myself or stand up to anyone. I typically work on the notion of quick make everyone happy so we don't fight. Recalling all of my previous health ed classes none of the options were give up and give them what they want. The alcohol must have been coursing through my veins and limiting my ability to size this man up because my right hand, unbeknownst to me, rose up above my head. My eyes squinted tight and I struck the Saudi, who was much larger than me, square in the side of the face with a strong flat hand. It stung my skin on impact and no sooner did my nervous system pick up what had just happened, I was grabbed by the throat. Tight, hot, hands were wrapped around my trachea. My breath was coming in gasps and I could feel myself being lifted from the ground. Loud shouts of Arabic filled the room as it closed in on me. My arms went up towards his to pull down and release the vice. Several men grabbed at this Saudi's arms and yelled angrily in his face. His eyes were dark and full of hate. My body was thrown hard into the wall and I crumbled down in the middle of the card game. Shot glass and vodka crushed under the weight of my foot. It burned for a moment. "RUN!" The other girl screamed.

Running up the stairs, I fell. He grabbed at my ankles to pull me back down. I held tight to the banister and pulled myself away. I made it to the room full of marijuana smoke again. A wimpy wooden door kept me inside. I pressed my weight against it. "Help me!" I screamed at the top of my lungs at the guy high in the bed. He laid there staring at me. Knock, Knock came the knuckles of the other girl against the wood. "Let me in, Let us in!" She stammered. I cracked the door to see her face and three other Saudi men ready to fall into the room. Behind them running up the stairs, was the Saudi I slapped.

Tears poured out my eyes in the other girls arms. We curled up on the bed together next to the idiot who couldn't tell what was reality. She held me tight and told me it was going to be okay. The three men pressed their weight against the door and groaned in agony to keep me from being murdered. Each bang on the door was thunder inside my chest. This Saudi must have been on steroids. I had never known any of them to be this aggressive or have such a beast stature. He kept attacking at the door and pressing his whole body weight into the fortress.

The window was right behind me. The air coming through the screen gave my arms goosebumps. I jolted away from the nervous grip of the other girl trying to hold me calm. Remembering how my parents had taught us how to press out the screen in the second story bedroom in case of a fire, I punched hard at the corners. Out it went onto the roof in a clamor. The Saudi's were cursing at each other through the door. Their strength was giving up and I had to leave somehow. Not saying a word I jumped up and out of the window. The tiles were like sandpaper on my feet. They stuck to my socks and marked me with black dirt. I crawled towards the top most point on the roof. It was dark out and there was only the sound of a madman perusing me through the window. I could hear him break free through the door. More Arabic. I held the roof tight and shivered. Waiting. Silence took over my head. I buried my face in my knees and held onto my legs tightly. "Take your money back!" The girl screamed.

His car was a black BMW with lights underneath. The bass of his stereo thumbed when they turned the car on. Cursing in Arabic a group of them got in and I could see them drive away. Silence again. My heart rate was coming down some and I realized, Holy shit I'm on a their roof! My body wanted to whimper and cry but adrenaline kept me from releasing my emotions.

A familiar face peaked out from below the steepest portion of the roof. The guy who was too high to help me was now offering a hand down. For a moment I hesitated. I tried to think how am I supposed to trust this pot head to get me down. Nothing mattered now. I just wanted to go home.