My Story Part 1– The Day After ***

Journey Begins 

Today is October 6, 2008. I am at my home. It is 12:25 in the afternoon on a Monday morning. It rained heavily this morning. I should be at work right now sitting in the nice, cushioned lobby chair either sleeping or reading a book. That is my normal lunchtime at work. So why am I home typing on this computer about today. I do not feel well. I am confused. I am torn on the inside. I am in pain. My girlfriend picked me up from work because I could not stay. I could not function normally. I would have crying bouts, never knowing when it was coming. I am a receptionist. I cannot have crying bouts at the front desk. I had to leave.

Saturday night I was raped, and I cannot handle it. It is confusing. It is painful. It hurts. It is disbelief. It threw my life in disarray. I do not know what I am doing. I walk in a daze. I drive in a daze. I sat at my desk in a daze. I cry and stop, cry, and stop, cry and stop. Cry and stop, cry, and stop, cry and stop, cry, and stop, cry and stop cry and stop cry and stop… I hurt. My mind is messed up. My heart is messed up. Here it comes again. I cry. Why? I did all the right things. I was cautious. I was caring. I was discerning.  was focused. Very focused. Why did you rape me? Why? Are you that sick, not weak, that insane or that ignorant to think it is ok to rip someone apart? ……..

I drove home from work today after I was dropped off at the bus parking terminal to get my car. When I got home, I opened the garage and drove in. I unconsciously put the garage door down and sat in my car in the dark. I think I had a fear of him coming by and seeing the garage door open. He did call me today, twice, once yesterday and emailed me today. He wants to see me. What!!! …. Maybe God was trying to warn me, and I did not listen. I wish I had listened. BUT I do not blame myself for what happened. The man is a fraud. Prince from Zambia, please. There is no etiquette or polish. Doctor of Philosophy please, the spelling is worse than mine. A reverend, an elder. Oh! please he quotes the word out of context and makes up his own versions of stories like Adam and Eve fornicated. Oh please.

I have not washed a dish since Friday. I cannot go in that room. I walk about forgetting what I am doing and where I am going. I opened my blinds in the backside of the house when I came home. I immediately closed them again. Fear! Sheer fear! He might be watching. Is this therapy? Why is this therapy? I have a feeling God is carrying me through this in His way. He impressed upon me to write. So, I am. As the words come, I write. Is this therapy? I sure hope so.

Wonder what’s going to happen now. How is the church going to handle this? Do they believe me or do I have to shut down, draw back, curl up and hide my face. I have to move forward. What an inconvenience.

Monday, October 6, 2008