TRIGGER WARNING This article or section, or pages it links to, contain information about sexual assault and/or rape which may be triggering to survivors.
By Audrey Freudberg.
Greg.
I met him at the outpatient psychiatric program at UCLA.
May, 1996.
He held my hand when I was afraid.
And I was afraid there all the time.
Afraid of the men, especially, because
of the rape.
The rape.
The rape.
The rape.
October 1990.
This Minister I was seeing for counseling,
he came to my apartment so I could talk, be comforted, be guided.
Only that afternoon, October 7th, he didn’t let me talk.
He didn’t comfort me and he sure didn’t guide me.
That afternoon he came to my apartment on the pretext of helping me.
He didn’t help me at all.
He helped himself to me, laughing at me the whole time I said No, I don’t want this.
He said, “You want this. All real women want this.” and ejaculated his slime into my mouth and laughed again because he came in my mouth when I’d told him not to.
He spread himself all over and in my body and broke me into a million pieces of despair and hopelessness.
Hours later he glanced at his watch and said, “Oh shit, I have to go.” He laughed at me, as he pulled on and zipped up his pants.
I stumbled off the couch and stood, bewildered, lost and no longer me.
He was me and I was gone, sucked up and into his drab olive body.
He laughed again and as he walked out the door he said, “You’re not a nun anymore.”
The screen door slammed behind him and I heard the stomping of his footsteps as he went down the stairs outside my apartment.
I stood, half naked, a few feet from the door, wide open, looking at the screen door. staring at the screen door. Soul rotted and stinking of him.
Where was I?
Looking down from the ceiling to where I’d escaped as he violated me in every way on that couch.
Dissociation.
It’s the only thing that kept me from going into the kitchen, getting knife and stabbing it into my chest.
The pain was
unbearable
The shame
was unbearable
The terror
filled my body
as it stood there
and I watched me
walk into the kitchen
to get the Carob Chip cookie I had bought at The Good Earth restaurant earlier that day.
Day?
Night?
It was dark.
The light was on but
it was dark in the kitchen
dark in my heart
dark in my soul.
I ate the cookie
every last little chip and crumb
but still
the pain was
unbearable
the shame was
unbearable
I felt disgusting.
Greg held my hand when I had to walk into the group room where the other patients stood chatting and talking or sat quiety on the couches waiting for process group.
I wasn’t afraid of Greg. His soul wasn’t drab and murky olive. It was shiny, glowing green. Green like the leaves of the trees in the springtime.
He took my hand in his and as we walked into the room, the shattered pieces of my heart began piecing together, bit by bit.
One day we took a picnic lunch to the Botanical Gardens. I was wearing a mustard yellow shirt with a red, mustard yellow, black and white jumper over it.
A dress. I was wearing a dress for the first time since
the rape.
The first time because after
the rape
it hadn’t felt safe to
wear dresses.
Greg and I walked hand in hand into the gardens and found a spot on the hill on the west side with long, soft, green grass, green like the leaves in the springtime, green like the kindness of Greg’s soul.
We ate our lunch and then
Greg took me onto his lap and wrapped his arms around me.
Safe.
I felt safe with Greg.
Safe for the first time, since
the rape,
since maybe ever.
All I knew was my breath slowed to an easy rhythm, the palpitations in my heart disappeared, the cold in my fingers and toes warmed and I
snuggled in against his beating heart and warm body.
I turned and then we faced each other
and he kissed me
and I kissed him back
for the first time since
the rape
since the Minister bit my lips til they bled.
Greg was gentle, his lips moving softly
against mine.
My heart filled with love
For the first time since before
the rape.
The armor around it melted as I melted
into Greg’s embrace.
My heart opened and filled with love
and I
fell.
I fell in love with Greg
that warm afternoon
in the Botanical Gardens at UCLA.
We kissed a long while
and there was excitement
in my belly
for the first time since before
the rape.
Excitement and hope and longing
Greg fed my longings with loving kisses
and I fell
I fell in love again that afternoon
More in love with each moment.
My heart was full and
I didn’t remember the coldness that set in
after
the rape.
The warmth in Greg
warmed me up
and I felt
warm and loved and alive
for the first time since
long before the rape.
The kissing slowed to an end
Greg held me close and I
drank in the tenderness of his arms
and chest.
The slime that I had carried since
the rape
it vanished.
I felt clean
for the first time since
the rape.
Greg glanced at his watch
and he quietly said,
It’s time for group.
He kissed my
forehead and his arms let go
but the warmth of him
lingered.
We picked up the trash from our picnic and
tossed it in a nearby trashcan.
We walked to the top of the grassy hill
to the gravel path and out of the gardens
hand in hand
hearts full of love
for one another.
When we got back to the door to the group room
Greg walked me inside.
We hugged
and sat
and I could feel the shattered hearts of
all the other patients in the room.
I took a breath and slowly
exhaled
and the love in me expanded and spread.
I glanced around at the other patients and
small smiles appeared on their faces.
Greg and I had brought love in the room
and everyone felt it
and the broken pieces in our hearts and minds
healed up
as we sat and talked and shared and cried
the unbearable pain
just a little more bearable
the unbearable shame
just a little more bearable
the terror
subsiding, seeping out of our souls
and returning to
the Universe
where it could no longer hurt us
hurt me.
The after effects of the rape
came and went daily
Greg’s time in the program ended
and he went back to Nevada where he lived.
I was sad when he left.
The fullness of my heart a little less without his hand in mine.
But by then,
I was able to walk into the group room by myself
and that first day I did without him
the other patients gathered round
and one by one
they hugged me.
Greg was gone, but the
the love he had given to me,
instilled in me,
brought out in me,
had shifted the energy in all of us.
I found a spot on one of the couches to sit
before process group began
and I was one of the patients in the room sitting and chatting quietly, knowing
I would be
all right.
Audrey Freudberg is a writer, cartoonist, storyteller and kindness advocate. She has been writing since the age of six when she wrote her first poem. In sharing her writing now, she hopes to help others feel and, perhaps, be inspired to share their stories.
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Featured image courtesy of Tiffany Lucero.
Wow…honest, powerful. Thank you for sharing.
Thank you so much for sharing this.
Incredibly honest and beautiful. Thank you so much for sharing.
Audrey’s piece is spare and gorgeous at the same time. She says so much with so little. Beautiful, careful writing. A pleasure to read.