The Truth

Let me start where my last conversation ended, Rape.

Before I expose this information, let me assure that this was not done in haste. I contemplated the effects of my action and the effects of inaction. I've thought about this cancer that is now festering inside of me and the pain I feel every second. I'm not writing this for empathy, nor am i writing this for advice. I'm writing this because I know of nothing else to do. This anger and depression that now follows me every second is almost palpable. I thought about blocking this from some people to save face, yet it feels as though I'm lying to myself if I do that.

As this point I ponder three questions:
-Do I really want to tell you?
-Do you really want to know?
-How deep do you want to go?

Throughout our lives we very methodically construct our outward images for others to see. We build our resume to give us professional credibility, and we build our circle of friends to give us support and justify our beliefs. We have our personal and professional lives, which remain separate.

I've learned many years ago during my three year stay in military school, regardless of the situation you find yourself in or the barrier that you face, you perform. The collective is more important then the individual. This perspective has been slowly leaking into my mind and emerges whenever I face trauma. I internally shut down and force myself to "forge ahead" as they used to say in "The Forge" or Valley Forge Military Academy and College. This mantra is not only blindly repeated my military school cadets but is has nearly become societal dogma proliferated by our social and educational institutions in this country and abroad.

I recently taught my students the function of a common American professional greeting. I taught them to first start with a greeting like, "how are you" followed by their full name, etc. When I moved to the part of possible responses to the question "how are you," I wrote two answers on the board: I'm fine and I'm well. One of my students asked "what if I'm not fine." I was caught off guard. I leaned back in my chair and pressed my hand against my chin, starting to sarcastically smile, "well unfortunately, no-one cares if you are not doing well." I think about my response and realize that it's the truth. When someone asks you "how are you," you don't respond with, "horrible, let me tell to about it," you put on you or best face and say "great."

Well let me be painfully honest with you, I'm not fine, as a matter fact I'm feeling pretty bad and hopeless.

You probably have a image of me that was fostered by my successes, both professionally and personally. If you know me personally, you know that I am very particular with my life. I choose not to drink, smoke, do drugs, drink caffeine, and am a practicing vegetarian. Also, I do my best to be very cautious of the influences that surround me. I now have a new career teaching English in a foreign country, pursing a dream of travel and cultural immersion.

Part of the story, or at least the part that you don't know, consists of me running away from Philadelphia, running away from something I did not want to leave. Running away from the person I loved. Japan was convenient because it sounded like a great opportunity and I would be so far away that nothing which happens in the states could affect me, yet I have been found.

I've held on so tight, embracing the pain that tears through my soul like a tiger through a carcass. Shred by shred, I watch my hopes and dreams of a life I thought possible, be devoured by the beast of alcohol addiction, yet as I stand begging her to stop, I am powerless.

The irony of life is sometimes astounding. I recall, almost 6 months ago while working for a non-profit in high crime area of North Philadelphia, I witnessed something which I've just gained enough insight to understand. During one of my daily walks from Subway sandwich shop to the main office, while approaching some abandoned housing, I saw him. First a shaking hand which materialized into a shaking body that was perched upright on the front stairs of sone abandoned row housing. I started to move away when I noticed a hand clutching his chest and one wrapped tightly around his arm, this was the arm of a woman, holding him with all her might, tears of hopelessness streaming down her face. As I passed, she didn't even avert her glance as I passed within a few feet of her. "I can't imagine that" I sad to my friend who was walking with me, "I can't imagine trying to hold to something that is already lost." She was holding with such determination, she was holding on with all the life in her body.

Im angry... no I'm furious at this situation. How can this happen to her? This doesn't fit into our story. This doesn't happen to the person I'm investing my heart and soul into but the truth is someone also tore into her, only while she was unconscious, passed out drunk on a couch. I will spare you the grotesque details that plague my mind.

Cheating would of been easier to deal with, at least I could come to the realization that she intentionally destroyed my trust and gave her body to another man, but what now?

She didn't give her body to another man, yet she blacked out in a house she didn't know, with people she had never been acquainted with. I think back to the time, December 24th to be exact, yes the day before Christmas, when she called me crying and screaming my name, asking for my help. Chills shot down my spine, as I ran into the cold night air at 4am to my car. I was able to make out an address in her screams for help. It was a police station far from where she was drinking in center city Philly and when I arrived, she had no idea what happened. From that day, I told her that if she continued this behavior she will either die or get raped. Well now the only other option is death.

Part of me is angry at her for drinking to the point of blackout, to the point where someone can remove her clothes while she lay unconscious and drunk on a couch. If someone were to get her drunk with the intention of taking advantage of her or slipped something in her drink, I'm not sure how i would process that besides wanting to find that person...but she drank so much alcohol her body shut down and she did this of her own fruition.

One of my students brought up the topic of Love and asked if I had ever loved someone and I sad yes, "I actually love that person now." Progressing through the usual line of questioning, the conversation moved to, "why are you not together"? "Well," I said "that's a complicated story." She leaned in as though wanting me to divulge the details to which I hesitantly responded "it's a painful love, a very painful love." She shook her head and said "you are too young for a painful love." I only wish that were true.

So if you ask me "how are you," I will delightfully respond "fine." I will hold the facade we create for ourselves, less the seething anger and pain that festers in my heart and mind starts to ooze from my pores, then my body will have given me up.