“The rape joke is that you were crazy for the next five years, and had to move cities, and had to move states, and whole days went down into the sinkhole of thinking about why it happened. Like you went to look at your backyard and suddenly it wasn’t there, and you were looking down into the center of the earth, which played the same red event perpetually.
The rape joke is that after a while you weren’t crazy anymore, but close call, Miss Geography.”
The joke for me is that I couldn’t admit it for 9 months
I was terrified to admit it happened even to myself and still struggle with depersonalization disorder and dissociative anxiety
The jokers are the people who wonder why rape goes unreported, yet are so quick to judge on something they have never experienced, how droll indeed.
The joke is the frilly black and white polka dot dress I wore that day in excitement and anticipation, becoming torn and tainted in the struggle. Instead of keeping it for evidence, I stashed it in a bag and threw it away when seeing family in South Florida.
The joke is how I started to hate myself and whenever someone else hurt me I would self harm because I couldn’t stand hurting another after being violated so completely.
The joke is the addiction struggle
The joke is the medication tango
I became my own abuser, how ironic is that?
The joke is how I am still so afraid.
How sex with anyone I actually love is near impossible at times because of this fear, and the fear of the fear; What if the flashbacks return? Will I cry and shake uncontrollably afterwards?
When I couldn’t look my parents in the eye upon telling them, I just remember my mascara-tinted tear stained lashes staring down at my “It can’t rain all the time” Crow tattoo. It was the hardest thing I ever did.
The joke is how my father now has Parkinson’s and can barely remember my name, does he remember? I sometimes wonder. The joke is how I don’t want him too, he is in enough pain. The joke is how I often wish I could forget it all too, but I can’t while sober.
The joke is how my recovery is bringing so much back, and how often days feel like an uphill battle to make peace with my own mind.
The joke is it happening in a producer’s office overlooking the filming of Sherlock Holmes 2, and having to explain to anyone how Sherlock Holmes is a trigger for your PTSD feels both ridiculous and ridiculously insane.
I really don’t want Sherlock or Doctor Watson mixed up in my abuse trauma, it’s hardly their fault this happened.
The joke is how I know I need to face this, but right now my brain feels too overwhelmed to try and joke.