Survivors

Of the many reasons I blog, this is at the top of the list: Meeting, befriending, supporting, and being supported by a woman like Susan. Thank you for this amazing piece my friend…I love your voice and am honored to stand beside you…

 

Susan Daniels Poetry

There is choice.  We can die
from the shame of what is done
to us.  We can wear the names
like letters branded into our skin
and quietly disappear,
become the nothings
they say we are, banished and vanished,
or we can wear our own words.

We can show them
women are not sheep.
Girls are not fruit.
There is no shearing of hair
or reaping a harvest from us.

We learn through breath
the difference between being a victim
and becoming a survivor
is subtle, delicate
before it grows strength:

That shift across the line
of being versus agency
is a thing danced, not learned;
sidestepping guilt and spinning it
back where it belongs
with something simple as a lifted head,
a turn around to shout back
at what is muttered under breath,
or the woman who did not stand in shame, wordless,
but blocked a door 
shouting for police,

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White Space and Gray Matter…

I never thought, when I began blogging, that so much of my white space would be devoted to the subject of rape and sexual assault and abuse

After all, my blog is not called

“50 Shades of Retribution”

or

“50 Shades of Horror”

It’s called 50 Shades of Gray Hair

And as I write that last sentence, I realize I’m doing exactly what my tagline suggested I was going to do

Exploring my own 50 shades of gray matter

And in exploring what tickles me and ticks me off…this matter happens to be one big, fat, hairy, gray one

Matter that took me more than 45 years from the start of it to face, speak out about, seek help for, and begin the process of forgiving myself by working to place the responsibility where it belongs

Not in the heart or on the soul of a 5-year-old, 6,7,8,9…19 year old girl! Or 20, 30, 40, 50…..80 year old woman, if I’m lucky enough to live that long.

No!

It needs to be thrown into the faces, stabbed into the hearts, and tattooed onto the souls of both the familiar and the unknown faces of those with black hearts and ruined souls who felt they had the right!!

Those who felt they were owed!

Those who felt we asked for it!

Those who believe a 5-year-old wants it!

Those who thought it was no big deal!

Those who blame their victims!

The following link shows just how deranged, deluded, and dangerous these predators are.

In their own words…as (forever and ever) remembered and demonstrated by their victims:

PROJECT UNBREAKABLE – an online photography project that aims to “encourage the act of healing through art.”

It’s not pretty

It’s not nice

But it’s real

Very, very real

Please, take a moment and click the above link.

If it doesn’t make you mad, it’ll make you cry.

If nothing else…it should remind you to

never forget or take for granted the power of words.

In the wrong hands, they can fatally wound a heart, forever scar a mind, indelibly stain a soul

In the right hands…they can free the world…one victim and one share at a time

And this shade of gray looks good on me…a fighting shade, a warrior shade, a sharing shade

By all means, choose your own shade

Wear it loud and proud

But do the world a favor…Share it!

Thank you

R

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Related Shares:

http://susandanielspoetry.com/2013/09/24/survivors/

Masks Off

https://50-shades-of-gray-hair.com/2013/09/19/the-answer-heard-round-the-world-wide-web/

https://50-shades-of-gray-hair.com/2013/08/08/number-3-rape-rise-against-punishable-eccentricity/

https://50-shades-of-gray-hair.com/2013/08/07/number-2-rape-rise-against-punishable-eccentricity/

https://50-shades-of-gray-hair.com/2013/08/06/rape-rise-against-punishable-eccentricity/

https://www.facebook.com/RapeHurtsEveryone?hc_location=stream

http://www.reddit.com/user/twistyrockets

The Answer Heard ‘Round the World (wide web)…

Reddit Ask Women asked the following:

“Among women here who have experienced sexual assault, what fate do you want, most of all, for you attacker(s)?”

For me, this is the answer heard around the world…and was given by a Reddit user named http://www.reddit.com/user/twistyrockets

I thank her, thousands thank her, for putting into words what most cannot.

I also thank Join the Conversation for sharing it on Facebook so that those of us non-Reddit users could see it.

Thank you Andrea and Bless You twistyrockets…

Her answer:

I want them to be walking around in a public place, like a grocery store, and suddenly recognize what they did and dissolve into panicked tears. I want them to lie awake at night and spend hours replaying those scenes wishing through choking, pathetic sobs that they could change the endings. I want them to be terrified of being around the opposite sex because it might happen again. I want them to be so deeply ashamed of themselves that they truly believe their own parents would stop loving them if they really knew the truth. I want them to get the cold sweats and shakes whenever someone mentions the word “rape”.

I want them to look at other people who are happy, who have healthy and pleasurable sexual relationships, and feel broken. I want them to feel enraged whenever someone spouts off “just world” philosophy bullshit. I want them to avoid mirrors because they can’t stand to look at themselves. I want them to spend countless nights getting drunk so they’ll finally have the courage to commit suicide only to realize that they’re a coward (just like they already knew). I want them to spend 15 minutes of every hour in the handicap bathroom at work trying to calm themselves down. I want them to feel inescapable panic about half of the time they have sex for years after the fact. I want them to think about my face any time they’re feeling sexual pleasure or getting naked or masturbating and I want that image to crush any hope of arousal.

I want them to explain to a significant other, through hysterics, exactly what happened on those nights. I want them to fear being out in public because it feels like the truth of those experiences is written on their faces. I want them to spend years in therapy. I want people to tell them that their pain is not a big deal and that they should just stop thinking about those nights because honestly, what is it really helping? I want them to feel a deep, unabiding sadness when people tell women not to go out alone or drink too much or wear sexy clothing because they know it’s not going to help a damn thing.

I want them to feel like I know them better than anyone ever could because I was there, I know what they look like when they rape someone. I want them to feel like I’m inside them, all the time, mocking them for every failure, panic attack and sick day. I want them to believe that it’s always going to be like this. I want them to feel like trash, actual use-and-throw-away trash. I want them to feel angry and have no outlet for that anger except their own body. I want them to feel weak and useless. I want them to feel DEFINED by those experiences. I want them to feel like a monster.

I want them to feel like me.