Sunday, November 14, 2010



If you are ever sexually assaulted, do exactly the opposite of what you want to do.

Number One: Do NOT take a shower.

Number Two: Do NOT wash your clothes.

Number Three: Do NOT throw out your clothes.

Number Four: Do NOT take the trash down to the dumpster. You know the trash. The trash with the evidence. Such as that shirt. Or the semen on the paper towel from where it was wiped off of your body.

Number Five: Do NOT turn to your ex-boyfriend to comfort you.

Number Six: Do NOT delete the phone numbers of your attacker.

Sure, you might have avoided the trip to the police station. You might have managed to avoid the horrific things they would put you through in order to make their case. But that means that four weeks later, when you're ready to press charges, you've got nothing. Even when it would have been a federal offense, what with the crossing of state lines with the intent to commit sexual assault and all.

Because, at the end of the day, it all boils down to a "he-said, she-said" kind of a situation.

And now, when I finally get angry at the guy who deserves it? It's too late. He's all back in his own bed, all comfy, with the wife and kids nearby, an upstanding member of the community, and I'm stuck with nothing. Well, not nothing. I've got scars. And he'll do it again to someone else.

Fuck that.

But now that I've found my balls, it's too late.

Oh, and for the love of all things holy, do NOT turn to that ex-boyfriend who wants to be "friends".

Because he will just use you, too. But he'll tell you he loves you, so in your head, it makes it okay. Because you feel loved and safe. And you can pretend what happened earlier didn't happen.

Oh, but the ex-boyfriend will fuck you over even worse than the guy who assaulted you. Because he'll tell you days later, "Oh, that was a mistake. You actually DON'T matter."

At least the guy who attacked you never told you you were special. And you remember that maybe it was a little bit your fault because your hackles were up, but you still let him in the door. (And that's what the cops would tell you, too. Ugh.)

But that ex-boyfriend. Who used you and then pretended to be your friend, and then watched you fall apart... And then decided he wanted nothing to do with you as you spun out of control... Which, of course, made you even crazier.

And then you did that incredibly stupid thing. That thing that made you feel better for that night. That thing you never understood. Until it happened to you.

And then you suddenly felt guilty for telling his girlfriend.

Because a few people told you you had no right to do that.

Um, he GAVE me that right when he was with me that night. If he did not want me to tell her, he shouldn't have touched me.

Fuck, he should have picked me up and taken me to the police station, himself, that night.

But, he didn't.

And then he couldn't understand why I was upset. And that upset me further. And that led to all kinds of bad behavior.

And, then... I fucking apologized to him.


Even back when he was saying he wanted to be my friend, he never did apologize for hurting me that way.

Fucking Eric. Out of every human being on the planet, I NEVER would have believed that about him.

But then he decided to absolve himself of all responsibility by dragging TF into it.

And then... Even knowing how incredibly out-of-control I was... He told me to please stop emailing him.


It's a really good thing I'm NOT suicidal.

Kid's got some balls of his own for thinking THAT was an appropriate thing to say to me on that day.

And I know... With every fiber of my being, I KNOW that he will come to regret his part in hurting me. He's not there, yet. But he will be.

And, by then... It will be TOO LATE.

Because I think I found my balls in my hometown.

Everybody's telling me, "Oh, be glad Eric told you that you guys shouldn't talk." "Now, you can be done with that drama and focus on YOU."

Um, fuck that.

I should have been the one to say that to him.

And I would have... Eventually.

But for him to kick my crutch out from under me? And for him to tell himself, "I did nothing wrong. RetroMama should not have talked to Cara."

What drove me to do that, Eric?

And what drove me to do everything that came after that?

Sure, I made the decision to do the stupid shit. But you d0 NOT get to tell yourself you're blameless in this. If you hadn't touched me that night, I would have had nothing to TELL Cara.


And while I'm on this note...

FUCK YOU, LI, for what you did. FUCK YOU for coming into my home and touching me the way you did. Even after I told you it wasn't okay. Especially then. And especially for finishing it the way you did. And then for apologizing to me the moment it was over. And saying you'd "make it up to" me.

FUCK YOU. The only way to "make it up to" me is for you to fucking own up to what you did. To your wife, to your kids, and to your entire fucking town. Oh, and to pay for my fucking therapy. I would have rather have watched you get arrested and hauled off to prison, but since that option's out, I'll have to hope for public humiliation instead. I want you to feel as ugly and dirty as you made me feel.

And since I'm slinging blame tonight, I've got a word or two for the husband, too:

None of this would have happened if you had done something. Anything. But the sitting and doing nothing? My letting you do that is what got me to that place on that night.

If you had told me that you wanted to be with me, LI never would have been here that night. If you had given me a fucking HUG once in awhile, LI never would have been here that night. Or if you had told me we were done, I highly doubt LI would have been here that night, either.

Yes, much of this goes back to decisions I made a long time ago.

But I'm still just a girl who wants to love and to be loved.

And I was so fucking desperate for that that I trusted the WRONG person.

And then compounded that by trusting the WRONGER person. (Shut up. I get to make up words.)

So, here's the new plan:

1. Therapy.
2. Not do the stupid shit anymore. Cold-turkey. Done. Clean for three days.
3. Get out of this fucking "marriage". Officially. For real.
4. Read a book.
5. Write a book.
6. Be with my kid.
7. Take any hugs I can get. As long as I follow my gut on it.
8. Sleep.
9. Exercise.
10. Get rid of that fucking Euro.
11. Name names.


  1. Sounds like a solid plan for healing some pretty horrible wounds.

  2. Thanks, KK.

    I took care of Number 10. And a few others. But, damn, Number 10 felt good.

  3. TG is a fan of #3....for both of us.