"I am not a victim. I am a SURVIVOR."

   I feel compelled to share with everyone (strangers, friends, family, and acquaintances) my story that has most recently been spotlighted. While most women would choose to keep this issue under lock and key, I have decided to express my pain and my path to healing.

   Many of you questioned my sudden move back to Texas from NYC. I had a few explanations out there, but only my closest friends knew the truth: I had been suffering from severe PTSD (Post Traumatic Stress Disorder) and depression. It started in June of this year, and accelerated so quickly that I was given no choice but to move home in order to feel safe. At night I would stay up all hours, in fear that a man would come in to attack me, and then gain a few hours of sleep during the day. I developed an obsession with checking locks on doors and windows ranging from three to fifteen times a night. Severe panic attacks were becoming common, with terrible chest pains, and difficulty breathing. I was also hearing voices, having hallucinations of seeing people and flashes of light, which made me feel completely out of control. The depression that then developed from that was incredibly unhealthy- loss of appetite, isolation from friends, inability to focus, and episodes of uncontrollable crying.

   All of this was brought on from an event that happened during the summer of 2003. That August, I was given a paralyzing drug in a drink and later raped. It was by a complete stranger, and he actually held me hostage in his house until nearly morning. The details within that are hard to go into, and I don’t feel that they are necessary to explain right now (although I do plan on speaking on them later in life to young girls), but I had no idea how devastating the effects of that event would be on me.

   When I was in second grade, I was also molested by a boy in my class over a long period of time, which was handled horribly by the adults who became involved- I was actually kicked out of the school by the principal because my teacher didn’t like the attention the incident was getting from my parents and others. From then on, I learned quickly to put on a strong front. To hide my pain, hold things in, and keep moving forward. Most of my friends and acquaintances would probably never even guess that underneath it all I had absolutely no self-esteem, and felt completely worthless.

   So in 2003, after I was attacked, I did a few things to deal with it- filed charges (which were dropped bc of the awful definition of rape in Texas), went to the hospital to get a rape kit done and tested for STDs, and made every effort to try and get the guy fired or arrested, as he was a bartender and had served me while I was only 20. All of those things ended quickly. I refused counseling, wouldn’t talk about it, and went on with my life as best as I could. And over the years, I became better and better about it not affecting me . . . or so I thought.

   After arriving back in Texas to live with my parents this past September, I was not improving. In fact, I was going deeper and deeper into depression. It hurts to share this, but I admit to nearly attempting suicide over 15 times from July of this year until just a week ago. I was overwhelmed with the fear, the anxiety, and the lack of support that I so desperately needed from my father, who was in denial of his own depression. Two months after I had moved home, my life was on the brink of ending, as I was losing my strength to fight the depression.

   Last Wednesday night, November 10th, I checked myself into a hospital. It was the best thing I have ever done in my entire life, and without that experience, I am almost certain that I would not be here right now. I was prescribed many medications, met with a psychiatrist daily, attended 4 group meetings every day, and was monitored constantly for my symptoms. The staff was wonderful- very encouraging and humorous, in fact, there was one woman in particular who I called “my angel.” She was extremely sincere in her individual talks with me, and pushed me to challenge my healing process. My angel, however, was not the most influential person to get me through my dark cloud of depression; it was actually my roommate.

   The unit I was placed in was for people who were depressed and suicidal- some were manic-depressive, bipolar, suffering from PTSD, recovering alcoholics and druggies. Until my second full day in the unit, however, I was the only person out of twenty who was suffering from PTSD caused by sexual abuse. It was quite isolating, and I was worried about my recovery process, because most of the group meetings were not sinking in. However, that night, I got a new roommate, and she was there for the exact same reason I was. I truly believe that was not only a blessing, but a complete miracle.

   It was because of her that I was finally able to break through and realize what my awful past had done to me. We shared so much in the pain of betrayal, lack of self-esteem, and risky behavior. I had absolutely no idea how deeply I had been wounded, and my roommate and I made it our mission to get through all of it together. We sought out therapy, worked hard on exercises for self-esteem, built boundaries, and most importantly developed a list of red flags to avoid those toxic relationships that we seemed to fall into every single time, because we are so desperate for love. There were other patients at the hospital who lifted my spirits. They were the most caring, genuine, understanding, and funniest people I have ever known. I was so in love with that support system, that when it came time for me to be discharged, I didn’t want to leave.

   I am home now; I walked out of the hospital on my 8th day stay this Wednesday with a plan and a heavy heart. I have a lot more to work on, and I still have some hard days, but I honestly don’t think I could have ever really survived life if I hadn’t checked myself into that hospital and met the people that were purposely brought into my life.

   I want people to know- men, women, girls, boys- that life is meant to be lived. It is not meant to be suffered through. Everyone has a gift that they are blessed with to share with the world, and there is ALWAYS a way to help you find that. Don’t give up- fight for the life you were given, and do WHATEVER it takes to help yourself make it through. Money, friends, family, jobs, or anything else should ever come in the way of your health. Bottom line.

   Some of you I’ve already told, but I want to express, yet again, my thanks for your prayers, thoughts, letters, hospital visits, understanding, and just your simple presence while I have been struggling with this demon for so many years. You all mean more to me than I will ever be able to express- especially those who I became so close to in Unit 6 at the hospital. You are forever engraved on my heart and in my mind.

   I am so blessed to have this life, and I have made it my mission, acknowledging my gift, to share my story with those who are fighting through this unfortunately common battle of sexual abuse. You deserve love, and you will receive pure love- but remember that you must first fight will all your might, with any tools in your path, to exhibit humility, in order to love yourself. Please understand that you are not alone and you WILL get through this.

“I am not defined by my past, but constantly redefined by my present moment choices.”