Final Post

I am Alexis's dad and I am making this article by request of my precious daughter who lost her fight with cancer January 22nd 2015.

Alexis requested that I make this article to explain to everyone that she wanted to thank everyone for all the prayers and best wishes. She also said she wanted to apologize for misleading so many people into believing that she was getting better. She said she didn't want anyone to see her decline and when her health declined so much she couldn't hide it anymore she broke off contact.

I also want to thank each and everyone who showed my little girl support when she needed it the most. Now my her mom is holding her and waiting for us all to reunite.

Alexis, my sweet, smart and beautiful babygirl, I miss you, I love you and I am honored to have had you as my daughter. Tell mom to save a seat for me and Aimee. We will join you in decades to come.
Love Dad

I Did It Again

It is official, I am not worth being friends with. For the umpteenth time in just under 3 years I have chased off people who care about me. I'm not sure why I do this. Am I trying to chase them off before I hurt them more, or am I trying to hurt them in some convoluted and twisted way in an attempt to get back at the world for what the world did to me. Either way, I'm not worth being friends with.

Part 9 - What Happened To Me - (Question - What was the worse thing he did to you?)

This is a part of my story of what happened to me that I have kept pushing off further and further. I'm not sure if I had been pushing it off in an attempt to avoid it or if it was because I thought I had a lifetime to address it. Either way it feels like I might be running out of time, but then again we are all running out of time I guess.

Back in December 2011 my therapist gave me a list of questions that I could answer and give back to her or keep to myself. I answered these questions then posted them on my blog in a post entitled "A Self Interview" and gave the answers to my therapist.

At the time I did this self interview there was one question I couldn't yet answer and I am ready to answer that question. Here is the question.

When It Rains, It Pours

Years ago when I was just a child I heard the phrase, "When it rains, it pours". I guess that is accurate and my life grants evidentiary credence to that assumed truity of life. Nearly three years ago my dad's, little sister's and my world seemed to shatter into a million pieces when my mom died in a car accident while our family was on our way home from a family get together. A year and a half after that I was taken against my will by a selfish person whom chose self gratification over human decency. I became pregnant as a result of his depravity and in the last few days of finalizing my decision on an adoptive family for that innocent life within me, I ended up miscarrying while sitting in my 10th grade algebra II class. Now, a mere sixteen months after my miscarriage I have found out via a labyrinth of tests that I have GBM which is a rather aggressive form of brain tumors that will likely kill me within eighteen months even with treatment.

Sometimes I feel like God has chosen me to suffer.

I Am Tired Of Being Here

It seems that no matter how much therapy I have, how much I self examine or how much I try to move past what happened to me I can't seem to be happy. I am so fucking tired of waking-up crying, living my daily life crying and going to bed crying. Someone years ago when I was just a little girl told me that we choose to be happy or we choose to be sad. I know that isn't true but it still makes me feel like a failure.

I have begun to understand something about the healing process. We so often have a strong sense of self-blame that causes us to dislike and even hate ourselves. It can be so strong of a sense of self-blame that nothing can alter the way we feel. I know this to be a possibility, and in my case an obvious fact because I literally hate myself.

I Tried To Kill My Dad

A couple of weeks before Halloween my sister and dad went out to do some shopping. Meanwhile I stayed home because I didn't feel like going out and I had homework so I used homework as an excuse to keep to myself. Soon after they left I did my homework that didn't take long to finish and I fixed me a big bowl of ice cream and sat down and watched some TV. As usual there was nothing good on, and being that it was October many of the movies were horror movies. While flipping through the channels I came across a movie that I think was one of the many Texas Chainsaw Massacres. The small segment I saw had girl who looked to be 19 or 20 years old who was being chased by a guy wearing a human flesh mask made from her boyfriends own flesh. Needless to say I changed the channel rather quickly. After flipping through the channels a few more times I gave up on the TV and decided to go ahead and take a shower and settle in for the evening.

My Seven Day Fasting Project - 168 Hours COPLETE

Seven days ago I set out to fast for 7 days with the intention of it maybe giving me some answers to the question of if I want to live, die or whatever, but within a day or two this turned more into a science experiment for my biology class on the effects of fasting on cognitive abilities. Now that the experiment is complete, all the data is collected, all that is left to do is compile the information into a conclusion that I will be able to present to the class and the teacher. As usual I completed my cognitive degeneration test.

The results are as follows:

My Seven Day Fasting Project - The Beginning

Today at 5:30 pm was my last meal for the next 7 days. I ate two slices of pepperoni pizza totaling about 1000 calories. For the next 7 days I will only consume water. Every 12 hours beginning 5:30 on the 21st of October I will complete 20 simple math problems that are 2 numbers, 3 digits. There will be 5 addition problems, 5 subtraction problems, 5 division problems, and 5 multiplication problems. I will time how long it takes me to perform each group of 5 and test how fasting affects my cognitive ability. I realize this isn't exactly scientific, but the test just give me an excuse to starve myself for 7 days.

On a side not the real reason why I am doing this is because I am looking for answers. Not scientific answers but the answers to the question, "Do I want to live?" I figure 7 days of fasting will trigger a self preservation instinct in me and answer that question for me. I'm not saying that I will starve myself to death or kill myself by other means if that self preservation instinct never kicks in.

Part 8 Of What Happened To Me

TRIGGER WARNING

It has been a little over four months since I sat down and wrote anymore of "My Story", the story of what happened to me during those 23 hours I was held against my will in my rapist's van. I'm not sure if I will be able to get much out this time but I am going to give it a try and see how far I get. As always, to the best of my recollection; this part of my story starts off where the previous part ended.

I guess it was around 8:00am September 3rd, 2011. It had been about an hour since he had untied me, and for that hour he hadn't spoken to me, touched me, or for all accounts did anything other than sit there on his cooler full of ice, drinks, and food and stare at me. I lay there on that crappy blow-up mattress and didn't really move at all. In all honesty I felt like I wasn't really there, I felt numb, and as if my mind was separated from my body. I can't remember if my back, legs, and everything else he beat was hurting. I don't really remember what my body felt like. I sort of felt like I was floating above myself and that my body was no longer part of me. Of course now I know why I felt that way. I was disassociating. From what I can tell it was my body's way of protecting me from what was going on. I think maybe I might have been semiconscious and phasing in and out of micro nap sleep cycles. After all I know I was exhausted both mentally and physically.

May 26th - What Could Have Been

This is a weird time for me for several reasons, but the main reason that comes to mind is because of what the next seven days represent. It represents what could have been and what would have been coming to an end for me and beginning a new for someone else. The more I think about it the more it sort of boggles my mind and leaves me feeling empty. It's that empty feeling that I am having trouble wrapping my head around.

May 26th, 2012 would have been a very difficult day for me. It would have likely been the most painful day I had ever known and it would have likely been one of the most emotionally trying day. May 26th, 2012 which is only one week from today would have been the due date of the child I lost while I was in a restroom at school. It would have been the day I would be VOLUNTARILY handing over my parental rights and responsibility as a parent, to someone I entrusted to do the job I think I am/would be too young to handle. It would have been the day I gave birth to a child who's biological father is in prison and will be their for more than 26 more years because he is a rapist.

The Mayonnaise Jar and Two Cups of Coffee

I saw this and I thought I would share it here because I like the message of it. I got this from this Facebook Page - (Impossible 2 Possible).

The Mayonnaise Jar and Two Cups of Coffee

When things in your lives seem almost too much to handle, when 24 hours in a day are not enough, remember the mayonnaise jar and the 2 cups of coffee.

A professor stood before his philosophy class and had some items in front of him. When the class began, he wordlessly picked up a very large and empty mayonnaise jar and proceeded to fill it with golf balls. He then asked the students if the jar was full. They agreed that it was.

A Mother's Love

Today is the 2 year anniversary of my mom's death, I wrote this as a message to her.

A Mother's Love

She was so young, only seventeen
tears of pain streamed down her face.
Her breaths were deep and labored
while her flesh tore and bled.

A few years later the insidious two's
would drive most to patience end.
Her loving heart, ever so forgiving
chased me around to keep me safe.

Return To Therapy - And A Memory Of A Bad Day

Sometimes things don't seem real. It feels like my life is a dream that I am unable to awake from. A dream that is keeping me trapped and held prisoner in my own angry, painful, tearful, and never ending sludge of a memory. I am really scared and I have no idea what I should do to feel better. I have tried everything but nothing works.

I started seeing my therapist again on Thursday. Although I know that she isn't judging me in a negative way because I stopped seeing her for 4 weeks, I still feel like she sees me as a failure. Of course I am smart enough to know that it isn't her that sees me that way, it is me. The way I am feeling is the epitome of a double standard in that I would never think that another survivor is a failure if they were in my exact shoes. So why do I KNOWINGLY judge myself so egregiously incorrect? If someone who was in my shoes told me that they feel like a failure I would tell them that there is so much empirical proof that shows them to be an amazing success, but when it comes to telling myself the same things I REFUSE to accept it.

Random Rant

My life sucks, and that's about all I have to say.

I have deleted my blog about 7 times and brought it back up, I don't know why I keep doing that. I don't have the courage to make any meaningful posts anymore, nor do I have the courage to delete it for good. I don't even have the courage to keep going to therapy. I haven't been to therapy in 3 weeks. I just don't know why I even try... It is all pointless...

Question 10 of 10 (Therapy Assignment)

Question Submitted by M.M. 

Q: Where do you see yourself in 10 years.

A: I am going to break this question up it three ways.

1) Where do I want to be in 10 years?

a: I think I want the same thing most people want, I want a good education, and well on my way to a good career. I want to be comfortable enough in my own skin to be in a romantic relationship. I want to see a possibility of children by the time I am 26 and have 1 by age 30 and maybe 1 more by age 34. I choose those ages because I want to still be in my lower 50s when I see my kids become their own adults.

I want a husband that is strong willed, intelligent, and nurturing to our children and me. He needs to realize that happiness and individuality is important, and that a big house and fancy car are just life's perks and not life's goals. He must be willing to understand what me and other survivors has gone through so that he can not only be supportive, but a cornerstone that an unbreakable foundation can be built upon.

2) Where do I think I will be in 10 years?

a: I think I will be sort of in the same position as I am currently in, too scared to face life, too scared to face strangers, and too scared to consider any type of intimacy. I think I am going to be jumping at every sound that I hear behind me and still running to a safe place just because I see a similar van or someone who looks similar to that guy. I think I will try and fail at a career and end up working at some type of position that an automaton could do so that I won't have to think. I can see myself so stressed out that I am forced to enter in a mental health facility so that the courts believe that I will be safe from myself. A part of me longs for an existence in a hospital where I am virtually catatonic and kept in a semi conscious zombie like state with some really strong drugs. I'm not sure that is a fix, well I am reasonably sure it isn't a fix, but I think it would be better than feeling a constant gnawing pain that makes me want to kill myself.

3) Where do I think I am now?

I think I am going through the motions in a foolish attempt to trick myself into thinking that healing is possible. I think I am in hell trying to swim to shore but each sluggish attempt to swim only pushes me further into the burning lava where is can burn my heart and eyes. I think I am pessimistic instead of optimistic and I am at a loss as to how to fix it.

Question 9 (Therapy Assignment)

Question submitted by an anonymous poster.

Q: In light of all this, have you given up completely on the idea of ever having a sexual relationship? And if not, why not?

A: I have never been interested in a sexual relationship, not because I think it is gross or something like that but because I am 16. Now after this happened the thought of any form of sexuality that I am involved in gives me the willies. Even something as simple as kissing would make me uncomfortable. I think kissing would sort of feel gross now because of the fact that it will remind me of what happened to me and at this point in time it is hard to ever assume that I could separate the nasty feeling of that van from any future relations. Does that mean that I am planning on never being in a relationship? Nope. Sometime in the future I want to have at least 1 child and I think I would like to have a husband.

Have I given up on the idea of a sexual relationship? Nope, but I never really had thoughts of a sexual relationship. I think as long as I continue therapy and keep myself surrounded by good supportive people I will eventually be able to handle a sexual relationship, and just maybe view it as something good instead of just a necessary thing for me to be involved in a relationship. The only way it would be off the table is if I can't heal from this.

Fork, 911

Last Thursday wasn't a good day. It wasn't just a day absent of good, but it was a bad day. I guess I should be use to it by now being that all of my days are bad days. I want all of my online support friends to know something, I have been lying to all of you. I'm not really sure why I have been lying. A part of me believes that if I lie to myself enough by telling myself that I am going to get through this I somehow magically will. A part of me is also scared that I will hurt others so I lie. I tell people that I am okay, but even worse than that I pretend that I am okay. I put out this totally fake persona that is literally meant to deceive everyone around me so that they don't know the truth. I will get to the truth later in this post perhaps.

I was sitting at the lunchroom table at school last Thursday next to a few people I get along with. I don't want to call them my friends because that too would be a lie. If I said I had any genuine friends at my new school I would be lying, I only have people I get along with. Everyone else around me was talking and eating their lunch, but I was just staring at the ingredients label on the back of my single serving milk. Like everyday at school I was simply wishing I wasn't there. I kept fumbling with a band-aid that was on my left wrist from where I accidentally burned my wrist on a skillet when I was cooking supper the night before. It wasn't a bad burn by any means, but it was a little tender and felt a little uncomfortable against my sleeve. One of the girls that was sitting at the table with me noticed that I was messing with the band-aid and she asked me, "What happened? Did you try and kill yourself?"

I didn't reply back, I pretended that I didn't hear her. I pulled my sleeve down over the palm of my hand to cover the band-aid hoping that she would just shut-up, but she didn't. She said to everyone else at the table, "Look, Jaime tried to kill herself."

No one at my new school knows what happened to me, so I guess i can assume that everyone's actions are out of ignorance. As soon as she lied and told everyone that I tried to kill myself, some laughed, one wanted to know why I would do that, and another one asked to see my wrist. I don't know why but for some reason I showed everyone my wrist. I guess I thought they would see it's just a band-aid and let it go. The band-aid goes across my wrist, not up and down. The same girl that began the whole ordeal then laughed and said, "Look, Jaime is too stupid to even do it the right way."

I understand that she was just trying to be funny and she had no idea of what I am dealing with, but it just hit me the wrong way. I picked up my half full milk carton and poured it on her notebook that she was studying out of. I then said (verbatim), "Bitch, I know how to kill myself if I want to kill myself. I know to cut my wrist lengthwise so that the bleeding will be harder to stop."

I then opened my purse and pulled out 4 bottles of prescription medication and said, "Even if I didn't have a knife which I have plenty of at home, I could down a few dozen of any combination of these and that might do the trick. If I wanted to be sure that my attempt to kill myself was successful I would jump off the overpass to the interstate and let an 18 wheeler run me over, that would do the trick."

I pulled my sleeve up and ripped the band-aid off my wrist and then asked, "Do you want to see me bleed? You must want to if you think suicide attempts are so funny."

I grabbed my fork off my lunch tray and jammed it against my wrist and dragged it up my arm leaving four bleeding scratch marks about eight inches long. "Is that enough blood for you?"

Again I dragged the fork up my arm making myself bleed even more. I did this five or six times before a teacher grabbed the fork out of my hand and escorted me to the front office.

As you can imagine this caused quite a stir, but it wasn't like I had a knife that could actually cut me. The only thing the fork could do was make scratches that bled a little, not even enough to warrant any medical attention. The school called my dad at work and told him that there was an emergency and that he needed to come to the school right away. The school dean and counselor was treating this as an attempted suicide and they actually called 911. So now there is a policeman standing in front of me, a fireman EMT, and a priest (being that I go to a catholic private school). Dad comes running in the front door just after he ran past a cop car, ambulance, and fire truck in the parking lot. I can only assume that dad assumed the worse walking in. Dad looked confused because he saw that I was okay. Long story short my dad filled them all in on the fact that I am having some emotional issues while I just sat there. He didn't go into detail, he just told them enough so that they knew I was in therapy. They suggested that I leave with dad and talk to my therapist before I return to school.

Thursday's are my normal therapy days so dad and I went home and then left home at 2:30 to take me to my therapy appointment. As you can imagine the things that happened at school became the subject of discussion in therapy. My therapist kept asking me question about how I felt before all of that, how did I feel when that girl made those comments, and how did I fell as I was scratching myself with the fork. The truth is when I was scratching myself with the fork it felt good, the pain felt good. I felt like I deserved the pain and I felt like I was getting what I wanted. I explained that to my therapist and then she asked me, "What are you thinking about as you look back at what happened at school?"

I didn't even think about the answer, I simply blurted out, "It would have worked better if I had a strait razor."

So now everyone at school thinks I am suicidal, my dad thinks I am suicidal, my therapist thinks I am suicidal and has asked my dad to keep a closer eye on me. More than that, I think I am suicidal. That's the truth, but that's not the scary part. The scary part is that the realization that I am suicidal doesn't scare me. Shouldn't it be freaking me out? In all honesty, I am somewhat calmed by the thought of my own death. I also realized something; the only reason why I haven't killed myself is because I don't want to hurt the people who foolishly care about me. I don't care about me, but I do care about others. I just wish I knew a way to convince people what I already know, THAT I AM NOT WORTH CARING ABOUT. If I could convince them of that truth, I could bring my pain to an end, I could cry my last tear, and I could leave those painful memories behind.

I guess I am just being stupid and the douche bag of a busy body whore from school was right. I just wish no one cared about me so I could do what I need to do to end this pain.

Update: March 7th, 2012 - 5:30 pm

Since people think I am going to kill myself or over reacting I just thought I would add this last part.

Just because I am suicidal doesn't mean I am so stupid that I will kill myself.

Question 8 (Therapy Assignment)

Question Submitted By BradDavisDude.

Q: How has this whole tragedy affected your trust in men and do you think you will be able to trust men enough to date again?

A: In general terms it has affected my trust in men, especially at first. I think it is because my assailant happened to be male and because men are nearly always so much more physically stronger than me. It makes me feel vulnerable to be around men. I don't want people to misunderstand me, I don't think all men are dangerous or that all men are willing to rape. I have simply acknowledged that with the vast majority of men, if they made the choice to hurt me, I am physically less able to defend myself because I am not as strong as a man. That realization makes me cautious and I imagine that extra caution will be something that I have for the rest of my life.

A: I think I will be able to date again, but with me it really isn't dating again. I have never really been on a date in the first place. So I guess the question is do I think I will be able to date men in the future. The simple answer to that is yes, however the reality of it is a little different. I think a traditional meet and date scenario is less of a possibility. What I mean by that is that I would not do the whole blind date thing or go on a date with someone that I don't know. There is two exceptions to this rule. If a trusted friend knew this person, or we went on some double dates. Other than that I think I would have to become "REAL" friends with a guy before I was able to trust them enough to go on a date with them where I could potentially feel vulnerable and alone.

Eventually I do want to go on dates, I want to marry, and I want children, but more than that I want to trust myself and others so that those things are possible. Until I learn to trust again, dating is simply impractical. Of course I do have to admit that part of the process of learning to trust again may involve putting myself in situations such as a date where I feel vulnerable so that I can then face my fears. I just know I'm a long way off from there, and I have trouble foreseeing a time when I will be there.

Immediately After My Assault - The Hospital

I am going to describe the 16 or so hours immediately after my rapist released me so that others who make the choice to report their rape can know what to expect. Please keep in mind that I am not going to give a step by step procedure simply because I don't remember the details.

When I was released I wasn't simply shown the door that led to my freedom. Instead he drove me to the street in front of my house and opened the side door to the van then pushed me out onto the ground. I wasn't given the chance to put my clothes on and was shoved out onto the ground naked. In all honesty I didn't know where I was at as he drove away and when I fell on solid ground I was surprised. He told me several times that he was going to throw me into the Ohio River and let me drown, and I believed him. After I fell to the ground I stood on my hands and knees for a few seconds and waited for him to finish me off. Instead, I heard his van drive away and I turned to look just in time to see him drive around the corner several houses down the road. Suddenly I realized he was gone, I was free, and still alive. I began to look around and it dawned on me that I was home, that was my house no more than 100 feet away. I picked myself up off the ground and ran into the house where dad and my little sister Aimee was sitting on the couch. I screamed for my dad as I burst in through the door. I have never seen my dad get to his feet as fast as he did, and the way he took charge was somewhat comforting. Dad grabbed a blanket that we keep on the back of the couch and wrapped it around me and then he told Aimee to go into my room and get some clothes for me to wear. The first thing dad said to me was, "Everything is going to be okay now". It was also the thing I needed to hear the most at that moment. Dad and Aimee had to help me get my sweat pants and t-shirt on because I used the last bit of strength I had left to run into the house.

Dad didn't ask a lot of questions as he drove us to the hospital. I didn't think much about it at the time as to why he wasn't asking questions, but I was glad that he wasn't. I don't think I could have answered any questions in the immediate few minutes. I think dad only asked one question and it was, "Are you okay?" When I started writing this I couldn't remember what my reply was or even if I made a reply, but I asked dad about it and him and I talked for several hours. Dad said that I didn't give a verbal answer, nor did I nod my head. Dad said that I signed the word "no". I only know a few words in ASL (American Sign Language), "no" is one of them. Dad on the other hand knows ASL because some of his family is deaf. I sort of remember dad calling the police, but the memory is kind of clouded. Dad told me that he called 911 and told them that he was on the way to the emergency room because of an assault and severe injury. They wanted to know the nature of the assault but dad didn't really know how to answer but he told them that the police needed to be there.

There was a nurse with a wheelchair waiting by the emergency entrance when we pulled up. I was wheeled into an examination area where the only thing separating me from other patients was a network of curtains. The nurse began to ask me what happened to me, but I was unable to get any words to come out of my mouth. I don't remember dad saying this, but he told me today that he told the nurse that I may have been sexually assaulted. I do remember the nurse asking me if I was sexually assaulted, and I sort of remember nodding my head yes. Dad told me that the nurse told him that we would be moving to a private examination room. I don't remember her saying that, but I do remember being wheeled into a room that had four walls and a door, it was a private room, and it was the first time I remember feeling the slightest bit safe in more than 23 hours.

A different nurse who is specially trained to talk to sexual assault victims came in and asked me if I was sexually assaulted. She said I had to tell her "yes" or "no" so that they could know how to proceed. "YES" was the first word I spoke after he released me. The nurse asked me if I was filing a report or just needing medical attention. Dad told her that the police have already been called and that they were on there way. Out of all the things I remember one of the most vivid memories I have from the hospital is the sound of dad's voice as he was answering questions for the nurse. Most of the questions at this point were routine and consisted of my name, age, medical history, etc. Some of the other questions were, "Was you raped? Do you know who raped you? How long ago did it happen? Have you showered or bathed since the rape? I had trouble answering these questions. My mouth simply refused to work, but somehow I managed to answer. Dad's voice cracked while he was talking to the nurse. She asked dad to step out into the hallway with her for a minute. I looked at my dad and he knew I didn't want him to leave. He grabbed my hand and told me that he would be right back and then he walked out with the nurse. I have really good hearing and I could hear what the nurse was saying to my dad. At the time I was a little angered by the nurse for telling my dad that he needs to be strong, he needs to hold it together, and he needs to be brave for me. It felt almost as if she was scolding dad because he cared about me. I know now that the nurse did the right thing. She knew that I needed dad to be a solid foundation for me so that I could be strong. My dad told me when we was talking about all of this last night, when I was writing this that he struggled to keep himself together. I knew he was emotional that night but he seemed far stronger then than he described himself to be.

The nurse needed us to give consent to perform evidence collection. We both gave verbal consent and signed a consent form. After signing the paper she repeated to dad and I several times what we were giving consent to. She explained that they were going to collect DNA samples from fluids in my vagina, scrape my fingernails for skin, take pictures so they can document my injuries. She told me that this was going to be a long procedure and that it will make me feel very uncomfortable. She wasn't lying, it seemed like it took forever, and I felt so exposed, but it wasn't as bad as it was in the van. I knew I was safe, and dad being with me really, really, really helped. I couldn't have done it if he wasn't there.

After the consent forms were signed the nurse left to go get the evidence collection kit. A detective who works with sexual assault victims walked in and began to ask me question. He asked many of the same initial questions that the nurse asked. As soon as he realized that I knew my attacker he wanted as much information about him as possible. I gave the detective the name of my attacker and told him that he what street he lived on. It must have taken me 10 minutes to get just his name and where he lives out of my mouth. The detective didn't waste anytime getting that guys information out to other cops who then tried to find him. By the time my rape examination was finished, my attacker was in handcuffs. It would be the next day before I knew he was arrested.

Evidence Collection:

The first collections they gathered was semen samples. They collected several samples, I guess to make sure they had a viable sample. They then documented all of my injuries in written form and with a camera. Every time the camera clicked I wanted to scream. Every time my hospital gown was lifted or lowered, I cringed and wanted to disappear. It was a horrible experience but it was a necessary one. They took dozens of pictures of all my injuries while simultaneously evaluating my injuries. They didn't treat any of my injuries until after they collected all the evidence. That makes sense because I imagine they wanted to make sure they didn't taint the evidence. After the physical evidence was collected I had to give a much more detailed account of my attacker and what he did to me while the doctor and nurse were actually treating me for my injuries. After about 4 hours they had all the pictures, samples, and statements and they could actually start to clean me up and treat my bigger injuries. I had an x-ray done on my left arm, ribs, wrists, jaw, and head.

While waiting for the x-rays to come back I was given stitches for all of my cuts, and was hooked up to an IV. They wanted to make sure I was re-hydrated properly. I was also given something for anxiety and some pain medicine that pretty much knocked me out. I don't remember too much for the next several hours. Dad told me that I was sort of like a zombie. The last clear memory I have is the doctor injecting something into my IV line and him telling me that it will make me very sleepy. About 3 hours later I was becoming aware of what was going on around me and I was lying in bed in a private room. I had a cast on my arm and several bandages. Dad was still there with me and so was grandma. She drove 5 hrs to be with me. Aimee (my little sister) was at home with my aunt.

I stayed in the hospital for the next 10 hours I think before I was released. It was late Sunday evening when I finally got home. It had been more than two days since I felt the comfort of my home and I was glad to be home. Dad has so many questions, so did Aimee and grandma but they didn't press for answers. I was too scared to be in my room by myself and as much as possible I stayed in the living room with dad.

Over the next few days dad looked through the literature the hospital counselor had given us and he found a therapist for me to talk to. I spent more than 3 weeks waiting for the wounds to heal, and the bruises to go away. I began my blog before my bruises were gone, I guess I needed a way of venting without using verbal words. I guess this is all I have to share right now. This was harder to write than I thought it was going to be. It's going on 4am and I have to be up for school in 2 hours. I might skip school, I'm pretty sure all I would do is cry anyway.

"God grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change; the courage to change the things I can; and the wisdom to know the difference."

Question 5, 6, and 7 of 10 (Therapy Assignment)

Question Submitted by M.M.

Q: Since your assault, what has been the most meaningful/helpful thing that someone has said to you?

A: It is so hard to find specific things that people has said to me that has actually helped and I think it will be different for everyone. One of the more persistent feelings I have had since my assault is the feeling of stupidity. Me being so easily manipulated has done so much more to harm me in terms of self-esteem than anything else. This causes me to blame myself, more specifically it causes me to call myself stupid. I tell people I am stupid all the time, sometimes it is directly or jokingly. I call myself a retard online when I make mistakes, and in my real life when I mess up on something I call myself a ignorant bitch. I know I shouldn't do that and I try not too but it still happens. I have noticed that I go out of my way sometimes to prove to others that I am not stupid, I guess I am hoping that I will believe it if I am told enough times that I am not stupid. So I guess the most beneficial thing is for someone to not tell me that I am smart, but treat me as if I am not stupid. Telling me I am smart or not stupid I don't think matters because I seldom believe people more than I believe myself. I am my own worst critic and I trust my negative opinions of myself while simultaneously distrusting any positive opinions.

Question Submitted by M.M.

Q: What is something you have longed to hear someone else say to you since your assault but that you haven't heard yet?

A: That is simple on the surface but not so much in reality. The only thing I want to hear that I haven't heard is, "It's okay, it was just a bad dream".

I know that's not going to happen and I know if someone did say that they are more nutty than me. I don't think there is anything "Realistic" that I have longed to hear, I have thought about this for over a week and there just isn't anything. There probably is something that I need to hear but I don't know what it is, but that might be because I am too retarded.

I think validation of what I am feeling and thinking might be the things I want to hear the most, but the problem is I want to hear the bad validation along with the good validation. When I say that I am stupid I secretly want people to agree with me so that I can futilely convince them otherwise. I think it comes down to me wanting the right circumstances so that I can feel as if I am not responsible for my ignorance, sort of like it is a handicap. I know it doesn't make any sense.

Question Submitted by M.M.'s husband.

If you could travel anywhere in the world, where you would you go and why? This is a question from my husband (he is in town visiting); he does not read your blog but knows about you through your correspondence on my blog. I hope you don't mind that I submitted a question from him.

A: Well this question has some unrealistic answers and some realistic answers. Unrealistically I would like to go to heaven to be comforted by mom. I know heaven is sort of outside the world but I said it was an unrealistic answer. More realistically I would like to go sightseeing and visit the 7 wonders of the ancient world and to actually see the original US Constitution, not the facsimile that people so often see. I think Japan (Tokyo) and Australia would be on my list as well.