The Naked Mind

welcome

[the-naked-mind1]

I keep doing thing for everyone else. Today I saw my cousin for brunch. I ran some errands after. I went to the second store for 15 minutes, and had to leave before I broke down in front of everyone. I don’t know why I’ve been crying for the past full day. I mean I know why, but I don’t know specially why. I called my mom on the way home from the store and all I could tell her is that I don’t feel good because of my anxiety. This is the first she’s seen (heard) me have an episode. She thinks it’s just stress and my dad being an asshole again. She has no idea, and I can’t tell her. She asked how long I’ve felt like this and I said since I was little. That’s the closest related thing I’ve told her about my “thing”. She said “well I had no idea, you never told me.” All I said was I didn’t know what it was. She doesn’t understand and I don’t want her to. I can never tell her. But I keep doing things for other people. I go to work on an anxious manner, but I have to go because my co workers and clients depend on me. I’m gonna have to go on medication because my mom doesn’t understand or know the root of my problem. I don’t tell my mom what has happened to me because I don’t want to hurt her or put her through the pain of not knowing what was going on when it was, I’m doing it for HER wellbeing and mental state. I want to go away forever. I’ve never been one to think about suicide. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to kill myself. If I didn’t do it, it would be so my family and friends don’t have to go through the loss and wondering “what could I have done?”. This is my doing what everyone wants. If I ever did, it would be one of the few things I’ve done for myself. Again, I don’t want to die or kill myself. I just want to be fucking normal. I don’t want to have these thoughts and feelings. I don’t want to be another fucked up kid. I don’t want this anymore.

[the-naked-mind1]

I’ve been wanting to watch the movie “Perks of Being A Wallflower” for awhile now. I’ve been trying to read the book but reading has been put to the side for a while now. I wanted to learn about the story because of the sexual abuse behind the story. I watched it tonight. I don’t think I’ve ever cried the way I did tonight. It wasn’t a soft cry or a sobbing kind of cry, but more like a dumbfounded kind of the cry. The cry that just comes out of no where and you forget what you’re doing. I sat on my living room floor 15 minutes after the credits ran in a sort of shock. Mine and ‘Charlies’ story may be a little different, but not by much. The feelings and emotions and thoughts he has throughout the movie is what captured me. And now I’m here, on my phone reading about sexual abuse in children statistics and common side effects and PTSD for fucking sakes. I’m completely numb. And what’s worse? I can’t stop thinking about how I’m never going to be able to tell my mother about my “thing” until the person that did this “thing” to me is dead. Numb.

[the-naked-mind1]

six weeks, six days.

4.12.2017

“I’ve never kept a secret from you, and I’m pretty sure you’ve never kept one from me, right?”

“Right.”

This was the first time I lied to Nick. I tell that man everything, no matter what. The good and the bad. I’m the one that always preaches about honesty and trust and just because I didn’t tell the truth doesn’t mean I necessarily lied, I just wasn’t ready. I think I am now.

It was 4th of July weekend, 2015, at Maple Lake, Minnesota. My ex boyfriend for a week’s birthday to be exact. Distance wasn’t good for us and we ended it to make things easier for ourselves; well I did. I decided to spend this time to hang out with my college friends. Had I known what would happen to me at the end, I would have never gone. 

Day 1 was fun. We partied and drank at the our friends cabin that we were crashing at for the weekend. We played some beer pong, sang some songs and slept where ever we fell. Day 2 was good until it turned south. It was the 4th of July. We all started drinking pretty heavily since the moment we woke up. It was a beautiful day so we all decided to take out the pontoon and spend the hot summer day out on the lake knowing we would run into some other friends on the lake. Soon enough, we found a sand bar to anchor out on and get into the water. By this time everything was already blurry for me. I do remember seeing a friend from back home and then everything went black.

Everything that happened next was like slowly blinking and being somewhere different everytime I opened my eyes. 

First, I remember feeling pressure. On top of me. Around my wrists. Between my legs. I was sweating, but my body was just laying on this bed. Next, I remember shaking a hand. I have no idea who it was, and I was so confused. I can’t even talk straight so why is this person acting like everything is okay? I open my eyes again, and I’m sitting on a couch alone, while a few guys are playing beer pong. Black, everywhere again and then I’m in a garage with a guy while he smokes what I remember smelt like weed. And finally, when I wake up again, I’m in the back of a pick up and left in front of the cabin I was staying at for the weekend. How did this person know where I was staying? How did he know where to go? Then, I wake up in the bed I slept in the night before and that was it. No one asked me questions, everyone acted like nothing happened. I remember asking a friend, “what happened?” and “where did you all go?”. All I got back was, “we thought you were with us but we were all pretty fucked up.”.

The trip ended and we headed back home. I didn’t say much and I stopped asking questions. I got home and forgot about the whole weekend and went on with everyday life. Now we fast forward 5 weeks later. 

I was working for a company for the summer, doing 50 hours per week, waking up at the crack of dawn during the weekdays. I thought I had a stomach bug or the pre workout I was using was making me sick because I started puking in the morning. This kept going on and I couldn’t understand what was going on. My period was late. About 3 weeks late. My ex boyfriend lives 1,000 miles away how am I fucking late?. And then it happened. I got a message from a boy named Bryce. 

“Hey Bianca, I had a lot of fun with you this weekend. Lets hang. ;)”

Have you ever seen something, a picture or a note, that makes your heart drop in .01 seconds? This message did that to me. I was feeling a lot of things. Angry, hurt, disgusted, and scared, most of all. I took a pregnancy test and sure enough there were those two pink lines. My life was over. The only thing I wanted to do was call my sister. I told her everything, leaving out the part about me being unconscious 90% of the time. I didn’t have time to deal with that issue yet. She made it simple for me, she said, “You have options. You can deal with it and raise this baby, you can have this baby and find a good home for it or you can end the pregnancy. Whatever you choose, whatever you decide to do just know that I love you and I will back you up all the way.” Two days later I called the women’s clinic and scheduled my abortion. 

When you get to these types of clinics they first have to escort you in because of all the protesters that stand out side telling you what you’re doing is wrong and will send you straight to hell. And trust me, I already knew that. You sign in and they have you sit with a whole bunch of other women about to do what I am. Some with their boyfriends, husbands, kids or alone. Some had smiles on their faces and were laughing at the stupid movie playing in the waiting room, others were reading their books or scrolling through Facebook. I felt nothing. Soon, I was asked to come to another area of the clinic to answer some questions like how old are you, what’s your ethnicity, did you use protection, was there consent. I don’t remember what I said but I was soon brought to another room where you have to get an ultrasound. 

Its dark and cold and depressing. Here they scan your belly and tell you how far long you are, which then determines which options you have for terminating the birth. “You’re six weeks, six days. Would you like to hear the heartbeat?”. What kind of fucking question is that?! Do you think I want to hear my unborn child’s heartbeat that oh by the way I can’t keep because the father raped me? I swear these people that work here are just fucking machines that don’t understand the effects and the aftermath. But then again, no one forced me to make the trip here. I kindly say no and am told I can either terminate using the pill that makes you very sick and everything gets flushed out within a few days or by suction that takes everything out right then and there. I had to work the next day so you can use your imagination. I waited until my turn, got it done, had to wait again all while puking the entire time. Why? I don’t know why. Got a few shots, drank some water, laid down, checked out and left home with a plant. They give you a fucking plant. Here you go, you just killed a fetus have a plant. I went home and slept until the next day. I never spoke about it again.

Here we are today. I’m okay now. I wasn’t for another year after. I’ve had to deal with it on my own and I had my sister there for when I really got stuck. I know I wouldn’t be doing what I am today if I didn’t. I wouldn’t have figured out that I wanted to get in the beauty industry, I wouldn’t have moved to a new city and go to a new school and meet completely new people. I wouldn’t be as free and excited about the future if I didn’t make the decision I did two years ago. I still feel guilt, and anger towards the situation. If I just spent that weekend home or if I didn’t drink as much I would’ve never had to do what I did. 

I know in the end I’m not at fault. No one goes to the lake or out with friends thinking something like this is going to happen. You shouldn’t have to. I’m a careful person, I always have been. I never told Bryce what came of it, and I never asked him why he did what he did. I just hope I never have to see him ever again in my life. He’ll never have to live with the decision I made. He’ll never know the guilt and the pain that I had to go through. I guess he’s lucky. 

[the-naked-mind1]

My Father

10.26.2106

He’s the one person who knows exactly how to make me feel like a piece of shit. I’ve been out of his house for the past 4 years and he still has this ability to control me; my feelings. To tell you the truth, I don’t ever remember a time that I didn’t feel so little whenever he would talk to me. Can you really call someone who only financially helps you a “father”. Yes, he tells me he loves me. Yes, he helped my mother raise me, but whatever happened to not believing every thing a man tells you.

Oh, you thought that only applied to men you're attracted to? Well, the older I’ve gotten the more I’ve realized a very important lesson (one that I’m still trying to carry out myself). Do not settle. Do not settle for a man, any man. Do not settle for love, love from any man. 

I get so fucking angry when I think about the amazing relationship I should have with my father. The one that most of my friends have with theirs. Am I happy for them that they don’t have to go through what I do and have? Of course. Do I envy them? Absolutely. My mother never had a good relationship with her father and I think it kills her that I can’t have that either, and she obviously blames herself, but she love me and my siblings more than I think my father could ever. She’s my backbone and my rock. She’s my everything. That lady is going straight to heaven. 

As for my father goes, I hope he finds whatever he’s looking for in this life. I wish I was enough for him. I wish he knew how badly I want a healthy relationship with him. Sadly, the only thing he loves is his alcohol. 

[the-naked-mind1]

Tyler

8.24.2016

I think it’s safe to say that the majority of people who have dated through out their lives can always remember the one person who made them feel alive and broken at the same time. You were young, you were in love, you thought love should be difficult because that makes it real, right? I think of Tyler. I met Tyler my second semester of my freshman year in college. I just got out of a Valentine’s Day date (the worst date ever), and I wanted to have a couple drinks after getting home. I found a party with friends, saw Tyler, played strip beer pong, went back to his dorm, hooked up and the rest is history. We had our breaks and he especially had a wandering eye problem. I remember the feeling I would get when he would ignore me for no reason, belittle me, and make other people (girls) feel more important than he made me feel. If you know what I’m talking about then you can understand the sick to your stomach feeling that goes along with it. This boy had me wrapped around his finger. He took advantage of my loyalty and dedication to the relationship. This went on for 3 ½ years. Tyler had his problems, which turned out to be deep rooted and more severe than I could’ve have imagined. It got to the point where he was depending on me to go on with every day life (I wish I was exaggerating). We ended things October of 2015. A year has almost passed by and I’m completely fine. I AM COMPLETELY FINE/HAPPY/CONTENT WITH LIFE. And this is my message: you cannot live for other people. You can not take on other peoples burdens when they don’t want to help themselves. You cannot fix people. You cannot make homes out of people. The horrible and true fact is that shit just doesn’t fucking work out the way you want to. And whether you believe in God or luck or whatever, when the time is right you will find that certain person that’s just right for you. As for me? I needed my myself the most. I needed to learn to love myself again after I let an undependable boy take control of my feelings and confidence. The person I needed to spend the most time with was me, to grow, to discover my wants and needs, to make mistakes and to have some fucking fun. Don’t give your heart to people so freely. Watch out for yourself. Love yourself enough to want only the best and not settle for mediocre. And most importantly, have patience.

[the-naked-mind1]

Never

7.16.2016

Never would I thought I’d ever start a fucking blog to talk about the darkness that has clung on to me for so long. (Quick disclaimer: I created this blog to tell people my experiences, dreams, fears, fuck ups, and everything else in between. Therapy doesn’t work on me so here we are. I’m here for you too.) Now when I say “darkness”, I know it may come off dramatic but in my defense there is no other way to put it. So let’s just jump right into it. 

At the age of 4 years old I was molested, raped, taken advantage of by a person. (This is the first time I’ve ever wrote/typed that out, weird. Also, I chose not to disclose who, what kind of relation or the age of the “person” as that is not what is important in this story/experience.) Let me just say that I didn’t realize this until I was much older. 20 years old to be exact. Don’t worry, the molesting stopped by the time I was 10 years old. You’d think I would have figured this out earlier on, and I can’t speak for every child who was molested at a young age, but to be completely honest I didn’t know any better. As far as I knew, this happened to every kid. You may be asking, “why so much later in life?”. I’ll tell you exactly why.

I was in my sophomore year of college. I had my issues that any 20 year old girl would have: money, love, future plans, bills, and family. Maybe it was the stress that triggered it or the fact that my closest friend took his own life, my parents were having problems with my father’s alcohol abuse and my boyfriend at the time was borderline suicidal and absolutely depressed. One day, all of the memories and old demons came back to me in an instant. Everything I subconsciously repressed for so many years came back in an instant, and at the most difficult time of my life. I didn’t know what to feel and I often asked myself “are you sure this actually happened?”, “are you confusing this with something else?” and the one I still ask myself when I find myself alone with my thoughts, “why me?”. So many questions that I’ll never get answers to. But anyways, let’s get into this a little bit deeper.

My first memory of my experience was in my bedroom. The pink bedroom I personally decorated with Nsync posters, beanie babies, basketball gear and my rock collection. We played a “game”. To be honest I don’t remember anything resembling a game. I’m not even sure I remember every detail that happened. All I remember is being weighed down and being very uncomfortable. As a child, I was never a tattle tale. I mind my own business. This is probably why I didn’t tell mom or dad about it. 

Moving forward and as the years passed by and as I got older, the “games” didn’t stop. If anything, they started happening multiple times a week. Being touched turned into being forced to touch, which turned into being introduced to pornography at a younger age than most people. In my mind, this was normal, I didn’t know any better. This sounds stupid and ridiculous now, but back then that was just life. 

I’m honestly done talking about this. The point of this post isn’t to tell you about my molestation story, this is about telling you my thoughts, opinions and my growth from it. 

(Edit) I wrote the first draft of this blog last week. I got overwhelmed and didn’t care to tell the story anymore. I realize this is a tough thing to talk about but this blog isn’t only about me. This blog is being made to hopefully help someone out there experiencing or has experienced the same things I have. I’m baring my heart and soul and am being emotionally naked for you guys. It’s not just about me. 

The molesting became more harsh as time went by. It’s amazingly fucked up how I never caught on to how wrong this was. I went to school, I played sports, I hung out with my friends, I went to church and Sunday school, I had sleepovers and never once did I feel this behavior was odd. Again, I didn’t know any better. I’m also not going to try to blame the school system or any adult figure but I can truthfully say I never got one of those “tell a parent or a trusted adult if anyone ever touches you” talks. It just wasn’t brought up back then as much as it is now. 

The one thing I did feel as I got older was guilt. I remember always feeling guilty for nothing. I could never pin point it. I suppose this was the universe telling me something was wrong. 

At the age of 10, I was in the 5th grade, the games stopped, dead in their tracks. The person didn’t give me any reason or any excuse. It just stopped, and I can’t explain to you how confused I was. This didn’t make me happy nor did it make me sad. I don’t remember feeling numb. I just remember going on with my life as if nothing ever happened. I believe this was my mind erasing all of the memories far back into my brain. 

I went on with my life, never telling a single soul. I went to high school, had a serious boyfriend, graduated, attended college….all while subconsciously hiding this big fucking fat secret. And here we are today. 

I go back and forth about the whole experience a lot these days. As I said before, I’ll never get the answers I deserve and to be honest I don’t think I want answers anymore. Instead I think of different theories in my head as to the big question, “why?.

Maybe they (we’ll just call it “they”) didn’t know what they were doing and figured it out when they finally stopped the acts. Maybe this happened to them at a young age too and to them it was also “normal”.Maybe they were mentally unstable.Or maybe they were just a disgusting human being with a disgusting mind. 

I’ll never know, but what I do find odd is that I find myself at time defending their actions. I don’t know why but I get this strong feeling in the pit of my stomach that they didn’t know any better. At this point of my life I have fully accepted the fact that what has happened to me was not right. I have accepted that it’s not fair and it’s not okay but, if I have learned anything from this it’s that whatever your story is, whatever the troubles and trials you have been through; you can move on. I’m really fucking surprised that I’m not even a little screwed up in the head. I don’t know how but I can comfortably tell myself “a really bad thing happened to you but it’s time to move on.” And that’s exactly what I did. I harbor no hate in my heart nor do I point fingers at anyone for what happened to me. I’m fortunate enough to be able to move on from my past and live as normal as I possibly can. 

This has been the best therapy I’ve had and trust me, I have tried everything to get past this. If I have any advice for anyone who is going through this right now it’s SPEAK UP. I wish I had the balls to say something. You can’t think of the aftermath or the consequences. Protect yourself, save yourself and tell someone who can stop it. To anyone who is dealing with this years after it has ended: you are not alone. I’m not gonna give you the “grow and learn from it” bullshit. You wanna be mad? Be mad. Be mad as hell. You deserve to be. You didn’t ask for this, you did not deserve this and this doesn’t define who you are for the rest of your life. Be angry. But, when you’re tired of being angry and blaming the world, know that you are important and you matter and you can and will move on with your life. Don’t let “them” win, don’t let “them” take away the amazing life you plan to live. 

You’re not alone. I’m here for you. 

The year is 2024. When I wrote this, I wrote it and deleted the app. It’s been well over 10 years and to be honest, this shit still have me fucked up. I’m sorry.