"Why?"

"If you understand everything, you must be misinformed." Chinese Proverb

I have been doing nothing but a whole lot of thinking lately. Just driving around, listening to music, noticing the world around me, listening to Her, feeling my heart slowly accept everything she has denied for so many years...

A question I used to always get into trouble for asking as a young girl: WHY?

If I was told to clean my room: WHY?
Take out the trash: WHY?
Set the table: WHY?
Bedtime: WHY?

I always needed a reason. I always had to know the purpose. I had to know why my dad drank so much. I had to know why I couldn't do the same things as my brother. I had to know why the sky was blue, why the ocean made loud sounds, why my dad hated my grandpa, why Jay raped me, why there weren't more drugs around if they made me feel so good, why I was the life of the party on the outside when I felt so dead on the inside...

And my biggest WHY question yet: Why am I alive?

I know I'm not the only one who's asked myself this. But for me, personally, it's a tough question to stomach. I am beginning to realize there is rhyme and reason to everything. I am beginning to feel like although nothing makes sense to me right now, it may make sense in the big picture of my Life. I started thinking...

I have seven suicide attempts under my belt. Seven is a lucky number. Lucky 7. Let me remind you of my seven deadly sins: LONELINESS, BLAME, DENIAL, PAIN, DOUBT, FEAR, ANGER. My rapist lived on Alberta Street. Alberta has seven letters. My birthday is on the 17th. My rapist lived seven exits away from my parent's house. There are seven days in a week. When I was very young, I marched into my parent's office declaring I was writing a book about my life entitled: Seven Days in a Week. There are five senses tied to the body, seven if you include the mind and soul. I only trust seven people in this world: four girlfriends, my brother, my aunt, and myself. It took me seven years to finish college, dropping out when I returned to therapy... I couldn't do both at the same time. The first names to both my blog name & my real name have seven letters in them. My dad drank Seagram's 7 Whiskey. Whiskey has seven letters. I have been in seven car accidents. My address is 270. My work addresses are 670 and 771. I was raped on a Saturday, the seventh day of the week. The first time I admitted my rape was seven years ago. SURVIVE is a seven letter word...

Every single day I take a tired and excruciating step in this world, I wonder, "What's the point of it all? Why? What am I supposed to do with everything I have been handed? Why do I have really good days and really bad days? Why can't I just let it go? Or, better yet, why won't it just let go of me? Why the nightmares? Why the pain? Why the confusion? Why can't I just learn what I need to learn to move on?"

Because Life is not that simple.

Shit happens to everyone.

I am not alone in my survival.

There is not one thing to learn now or later to make it all better, simpler, easier to move forward.

No.

That is not what Life demands of us.

Living is:

Always questioning and trying to understand. Always striving for what you feel, not what you see. Always accepting what you are handed, although your plate is already too full. Always allowing yourself to ride the coaster of emotions because when you don't open your heart, you close your soul. Always playing to win even if you don't know the rules. Always loving when you have been hated. Always trusting when you have been betrayed. Always finding peace when you have been in war.

I know I must heal and learn from my experiences before I can fully accept who I am, but all of that confuses me. Don't I already accept all of this? Haven't I already moved on from it? Isn't this sharing proof of that? Or is it that there will always be new and different learning opportunities as I move forward? My best friends are getting married one right after the other... all of this "settling down" is quite unsettling. But only because I am beginning to think about my future and my children. What if I have a daughter? I don't want a daughter. I don't want her to suffer through the same things I have suffered through. What if I'm not a good wife? Or a good mother? What if my pain and turmoil continues until I destroy my relationship with my husband and children? What if I hurt my family like my family has hurt me? What if my daughter is raped and she fears me as I fear my parents?

What I know for sure: I don't know anything at all.

Except:

Our greatest destiny is to reach that point in our lives when we don't exhaust ourselves chasing after it.

Our greatest learning will come when we realize we will ALWAYS be learning... from EVERY experience, good and bad... and they both happen to all of us.

Our greatest healing will come when we accept we are not alone in our pain.

I wish I had answers. I wish I could fast-forward through the memories and nightmares to a time and place in my life where I am happy, safe and whole. It's mind over matter... If you wear a smile on the outside, you will feel it on the inside.

I am desperately trying to feel comfortable in my own skin again, except that I don't like it. I must constantly shower to wipe away his stains, the branded wounds. I am not white like cocaine. I am not white like my angel from the night I was raped. I am dirty. I am always brushing something off of me, trying to keep any more dirt away, trying to keep my scarlet letter as unnoticed as possible. I am raw and sticky, like his intoxicated tongue slowly raining down my innocent neck, small breasts and nauseating stomach.

I can feel him again.

I saw my friend, Jill, a few days after that night. She asked me what happened in his room. I was shocked.

"Nothing," I told her. "I was just uncomfortable."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. Why?" I let out a nervous laugh.

"Oh. You just looked like you had seen a ghost or something. You sure nothing happened?"

"Yeah. I'm sure. I just didn't want to sleep in there anymore is all."

"Okay. Well, good. I thought he raped you or something!"

I froze. I let out another nervous laugh saying something like how ridiculous that sounded. I don't remember much else about what Jill and I talked about after that. I just remember needing to throw up somewhere but having no where to go... again.

I know Jay will not always be with me. Trust me... I know this.

Or do I??

Maybe this is why I have to see him. But what good will that even do? What will I even say to him? Why do I need to see him so badly? Why do I have to see his horrible and dirty face again???

If you are a survivor, you will understand the confusion, the flashbacks, the nightmares, the guilt, the incredible dirty feeling you can't get rid of, the anger, the regret...

If you are NOT a survivor, you will NEVER understand why we have good days and bad days, how the pain gets deeper as time progresses, why we love you and hate you, why we deny your honesty and support...

I am rambling tonight. I am confused. All I want to do is see him. I just need to go see him. And maybe kill him. I should take a gun and shoot him here and there, just watching him squirm and plead for his life like he make me plead for mine. Just watching the blood slowly ooze out of his pores... and then I would let in the wolves to lick it up and tear the rest of him to tiny bits and pieces.

Is it safe to see him again?

Am I walking into my own trap?

Should I go alone?

Who will I take that understands what this is like? Who will want to be there with me as I confront the biggest, most terrifying skeleton in my closet?

No one.

I have to do this alone.

I have to see Jay right now.

I don't know if I can wait until my birthday.

I may go sooner.

I really don't know much else anymore... except that he lives in Nevada and I have to see him.