title me done

Hmmm, I have battled this subject for such a long time.  A long enough time that I have become quite an expert on the subject.  The vast first hand knowledge that I have is to encompassing to sort through all at once.  I am forced to write my thoughts today in fear that I will become bitter if I do not at least let some of them go from me…out into the infinite whiteness of this computer screen.
        Rape victim…not what is a victim, as we all think we know what that is… but the battle the victim fights…
         I have been a victim.
         My children have been a victim.
And like all victims I have ever met, and it has been a considerable number,  how do we not remain a victim.
I would love to tell you that once your ‘perped on’ you move forward as if the event never happened. I would love to tell you that ,but I cannot…It would be a lie. This is a vast phenomenon of human misunderstanding, human fear, human reactions.
   As I walked myself calm at the YMCA last night I pictured in my swirling mind the rage and disbelief falling from my form as I strove to answer the screams in my head.
         I turned to my young pre teen daughter and told her, “We have not, as a society come any further then Tamar’s’ story  in the biblical days.”
   Tamar is not a well known story in the bible, so if your scratching your head in wonderment your probably not alone.  It is a very short story.  It is contained a  very short number of paragraphs. It is a horrendous testimony contained in one chapter.  
        I use her story almost daily, as victims will continually seek me out.  As I have said the story is very short, and there is not a lot to teach from.  In the beginning of my wavering teachings it was enough to let the other victims know that they were not alone…that this atrocity had been happening for a long time.  Yet as time has merged into a place where I should be able to offer something more then just a comrade in this horrible event, I am forced to look at society and how we fail victims so miserably. It is not enough to shake my head at the world around my little victims as they try to steer through a world that still protects the perpetrators.  It is not enough to understand how a victim feels. That only goes so far.  It is not enough to parrot back how they feel as someone somewhere (everywhere) do not know how to proceed in the fragile world of a victim of such an atrocious crime.  The emotions a victim goes through is to raw to talk about, and It would not be fair to share such  intimate details.  Furthermore it is my firm belief that you as a reader already know…the statistics are truly staggering.  The age old question then rears it’s ugly little head.  Why treat the victims as if they have been wrong in complaining about their treatment…their rape…their total loss of power over their body, their life, and their future.  Why do we re-victimize the victim?
     Even victims will turn into victim abusers.  Why do they do that?  Where they as victims told the age old lie themselves.  Where they told that it was not to be spoken about.  Where they told by not speaking it was inherently telling them that they were not good enough to proceed to the truth. That  their pain was not important.   And in so doing then they made life choices based on the assumption that they were not worth a second thought as they fought to find solid ground.  So they made life choices that did not speak to release and happiness but to pain and despair no matter what anyone else told them.  They forever from the moment someone told them to,  “hush be quiet”, they started telling themselves that their sanctity, their body was only a tool , only something to be used for the power and control of another.
      I know a lot of victims.
          I’ve met victims that sell their body because someone somewhere first made them a victim.  Secondly, someone somewhere told them that it was ok for that to happen to them.  The victim didn’t really believe that but find her only solace with the others like her. Those others that had also been hurt and then told to shhhhhh.  Those who also knew it had been wrong.  those who welcomed them into their personal hell.  Their world that survived in the underbelly  of existence away from the ‘clean’ parts of society. They became a counter -culture into and of themselves. Bound by their own rules. But first they were a victim.
        I know victims who are so angry you  can feel the anger roll from their  bodies like waves of hate.  They are unable to move through the stages of a victim,  because no one was there to give them the tools.  No one was there to offer them a hand out of the pit they had been thrown into. First they were a victim.
       I know victims that  accept horrendous treatment from their lovers, husbands,  pastors, teachers, church  leaders… any one with power over them because they had been told to shhhhh, don’t say anything…and they didn’t.  First they were a victim.
      I know victims that need,  achingly need to use something…anything to make the angry voice in their head be quiet for just a minute so they can be human for just one second. They use any sort of substance, so they can halt the hate tirade that lives in their head endlessly. The inner shouting voice that tells them that they are not good enough for fair treatment.  The loud accusing voice that tells them that they deserved to be treated like a mattress. First they were a victim.
       I know victims that reside  more in then out of mental institutions because they cannot find their peace with what has happened to them.  No one took the time to look them right into the eyes and tell them that what had happened to them was wrong, and they are right to be angry.  Their fractured thoughts are so jumbled that they have to be medicated to not attack themselves.
 First they were a victim.
I also know a lot of victims that live a semi-normal life hating and pushing people around them so that they feel powerful, if only for a minute.  They need to feel powerful because they once  at one time was so powerless.  They made it through to appear normal to the world, but they hate themselves daily. 
 First they were a victim.
        Each victim is my victim.  Because they were first His, and He has taught me to reach out to them with dignity, compassion,  with no judgment or control over how they get through to the other side of the abyss they swim in.  I cry for them when they can’t see me cry.  I won’t let them see me break.  I am a tower of strength for my vics…I am their goal, the way they want to live, the way out of the pit. I offer my shaking hand to them.  I warn them that there will be pain, utter pain….and they will hate me…and that is ok too.  Cuz while they are hating me…I will still be loving them …pulling them forward through their personal debris. 
 But…I can’t fight the world, can I?
Society is a stubborn mistress that seeks to annihilate  the panic stricken of the hurt and abused.
You know those pictures on the internet. The ones that are a picture of something but if you stare long enough you see the hidden picture.  When I look at the picture I immediately see the hidden picture.  Victims are like that to me.  Their victim-ness jumps out at me.  I instantly see the pain and disbelief they try to hide.  
But that is not the point of this writing.
My plea is for us , as society to stop  treating victims the way you were treated and bring civilization to the standard it should be...we have been arguing this argument  since biblical times beginning with Tamar.
       Let me tell you about this tough chick named Tamar.   Tamar was a princess.  She was King Davids daughter by one of his wives.  King David also had several sons by other wives.  The point is that Tamar and ansolem were half siblings.  They both lived in the grand castle, with each having their own servants. Anmon was in love with Tamar.  She was very beautiful.  She and her  full brother were two of the most beautiful children of the castle.  Anmon could not stop thinking about her day and night.  He grew frail from loving her from afar.  His cousin told him of a plan to finally have her for himself.  So he did as his cousin suggested and pretended to be sick.   When the king came to check on him. Amnom told the king, his father that he needed Tamar to cook for him I his chambers so that he could feel better.  The king ordered it so.  When Tamar came in to cook for her brother she was merely being a good sister.  She was doing the right thing, the proper thing.  In short she was being a good girl and following orders.  Amnom told her that he could not eat unless she brought it to the bed for him after he had told all servants to go.  She did as instructed as did the servants.  As soon as the servants were gone Amnon tore at Tamars clothing.  She begged him not to do this thing. She reminded him that it was wrong. Wrong against God, wrong in society.  She reminded him that the king would give her to him if asked.  He did not care he had to have her and he did.  As soon as the rape was completed. His disgust for her was as encompassing as his lust had once been.  He told her to gather her robes and get out.  Tamar knew that this was a certain kind of societal death for her. She would be reduced to mere servant now. Her future was gone.  She would never be allowed to marry of have children of her own.  Her life was over. She plead with him again to marry her, so that she could have some sort of life, some future beyond servant hood.  He not only refused to listen to her.  He ordered his servants to escort her out and bar the door.  
         Our little Tamar refused to go away quietly though.  She tore at her glorious virginal robes to indicate her loss and screamed through the streets.  She was not a silent victim.  She had been wronged.  Gotta love that brave chick.  But what did she have to lose? She had already lost everything.  He had taken everything form her.  Everything she had held dear to her.  




To be continued…