Then I ran into my old roommates from last year. The there of them there, all close to each other and whatnot, and introduced me to the people they were talking to as "the girl who used to live with us." I don't know, I haven't actually seen the 3 of them together since last November, and I hadn't engaged in an actual conversation with any of them since February. These three women were the ones that I had been closest to exactly a year ago. They were the ones that I trusted, my best friends, the people who I owed so much to. They were my roommates, my dinnermates, my playmates and my work-out mates. We were a 4 and we were going to be together forever. Then things changed. I don't know... seeing them tonight just triggered this rush of memories. Memories I'd rather not have rushing over me on a Friday afternoon.
The Mayfield 12 girls (named for the apartment we all lived in) were the people I went to first after being raped almost a year ago. They were the ones that noticed my relapse into anorexia first, confronting me many times a week. They were the ones that did not believe anything I was saying, that tried to convince me I had made it all up, and had locked me in rooms to "talk" about the lies I convinced myself had happened. They were the ones that told me I was the living dead, that I was being punished by God for my disownment of religion, that I was a liar and a brat. That I was attention-seeking and hypersensitive. They were the ones that "proved" how what happened could not have happened, that tore my story apart time and time again. They were the ones that I fled from multiple times in the middle of the night because I couldn't take their crap anymore. They were the ones that attacked my supports, attacked my mentor, attacked my delicate attachment to life. They were the ones that KNEW what happened and didn't happened, who were the expert authorities on my life becuase I was too far "gone" to see it for myself. They were the ones that said they'd always know I was a liar, that I made it all up, that I was looking for attention, that I created the entire situation and that it was entirely all my fault. They were the ones that sat at the Panel about Eating Disorders in February to "make sure I wasn't still lying" and they were the ones that left the horrendous comments on my journal in October and November and February. They were my best friends and they were the people that hurt me so incredibly badly -- they were the ones that broke a broken heart a thousand times over.
Seeing them -- feeling their eyes. They ask "how are you?" and say it twice. I'm not some reject that doesn't understand English. They look at me and there is this patheticness in their gaze, this dehumanizing look of somenoe they hold in the utmost contempt. One said how she had a book that reminded her of me... it was on eating disorders but was "far too feminist" for her -- thought I'd like it. I appreciate the gesture... but still. Haven't seen each other in a long long time, why do they ask about the eating disorder and not, say, about me? My family? My classes? My interests? My life? No. It's a comment that still holds me accountable for what "i did to them" last year.
I don't know. I just don't know. They were my three best friends in the whole world. And now we rarely speak, we hardly talk, and we avoid each other at almost all costs. They were people I trusted everything with and everything was used and turned against me. They knew every detail of my life until November --- and they systematically tore me down time and time again. I'm not sure how to describe the situation that was in that apartment after I was raped. I was terrifed to spend time there. I wouldn't talk to anyone on the phone in my room because I was afraid they'd hear what I was saying and use it aginst me. They threatened to lock me in my room, to emit me to a hospital for treatment because I was getting too small. They sat me down and systematically destroyed what little voice I had to articulate what had just happened. They convinced me I was worthless at life, that I had no point, that I caused all problems. They left me rude messages on my board, on my computer, on my door. They caused my first panic attack and they caused a rape survivor to flee into the night because out there was safer than inside. Then there was being in that room, forced to stay there because I was unwelcome in the common areas. Forced to stay in that place with that bed and with that damn headboard. So many sleepless nights were spent there, so many terrified tears fell from my face into those pillows. There are stains on the carpet from my crying. There was so much pain in that room.
Which is why I lept at the chance to stay away from there with my new boyfriend. Why I needed him to keep me away from those girls, away from that room. Why I depended on him to give me life. I trusted him with all the trust that had been ripped from me with the rape and with those girls. I gave him every ounce of my heart and I gave him control of my life. I had my 3 supports and they were the reasons I stayed alive. I gave myself to this man because he was there when my world was falling apart.
Then he broke the 100 times shattered heart into further pieces. Then he used my story against me in ways that even those girls didn't dream of doing. He used my past to haunt my present, blaming me for everything wrong in our relationship. He turned everything against me, threatened to break up with me if I didn't "get over" my past, if I didn't devote myself to him. I had to be with him -- I was the pathetic victim and I didn't know how to live totally alone. Still don't. This one person that I trusted so completly ripped away my heart, chewed it up, spat it out on teh ground, then stomped on it repeatedly. He used me. He played his mind games, he knew he had me completly the night he told me point blank "how do you know I'm not some evil bastard preying on a totally helpless victim?" I was so naive! I didn't understand that Janurary night that he was telling me the truth. He point blank told me what he was going to do and I sat there deer-in-headlights defending him and professing my undying love. The idiot in me, the pathetic, stupid, disgusting idiot in me sat there ignorant to what he was doing. Everything escalated. Everything.
I can't even write anymore. Writing has been my one voice that has never gone away. But I can hardly see the screen through these tears. Damn it. Damn it all. If I could just stop trusting people then I wouldn't be hurt ever again. Damn it. I never termed that post-October situation with those girls anything... but I think I know what it needs to be called. Damn it no. One person cannot possibly go through so much shit in one year? No person should ever have to experience ANYTHING like that EVER! And so many people on these communities have gone through so much more than I -- I'm just the pathetic, broken girl who doesn't know how to live a life. I can play the games... I can find my voice and use it sporadically. But it can't be normal to have three women reduce you down to tears as memories flood back. I am not the strong person I long to be, that I pretend to be. I'm an imposter. A broken soul still hurting and still crying and still aching and still so so so ashamed.