Letter to Karla

Karla,
I wonder if you would believe that I actually am feeling better than before. MY actions haven't really shown it, I know. The mutilation...it takes a lot of energy, and it takes much more energy to deal with the constant reminders...do you think you could understand that? The constant living your waking life in flashbacks and reminders, and when you lie down to sleep, you want to get it all out of your head, but nightmares come and reality eludes your grasp. I am trying to find the real reality. I am trying to find out where I need to go from here. I seem to be walking in circles, and they all lead to where I began. It's depressing. It is. And the nightmares are grotesque memories, flashbacks and morbid, bloody truths that I was trying to get out of my head. But I can't get them out...these memories, these thoughts. I don't know quite how to articulate these feelings I feel. I wonder how I can help you understand my actions amidst the chaos. Is there an end to this chaos? Will I ever be normal?

The thought that I am, in fact, so far from normal, so far from being okay...it kills me. I try to paste on a smile, live my life the way it was intended...but god, it is so damn hard. It is hard to live my life in the shadow of James, in the shadow of the rape. I am who I am because of him. I have been created into this disasterous thing that sees you every week. Do you see the remnants of the rape on my face? In my smile, in my eyes? Can you see I am in a constant state of trying not to cry, of trying to move on with my life? Because that is what I am trying to do, live my life. But, I can't. And everytime I have a nightmare...the dark wings of depression wrap around me again, and I am pulled into the darkness. I am brought down again, and there is this...this darkness within me that won't shake. I feel hollow, empty. There seems there is nothing left of the real me, the me I was before the rape. And so, I mutilate myself in oh so many ways. It isn't just the cutting, or the burning. Bouts of Bullimia Nervosa have hit me as well. Alcohol, and so many other things...I try to stop the pain that is tearing me up from the inside out. I feel like a skeleton sometimes, like a walking corpse. And the only way to make sure I am still alive is to hurt myself. Maybe it is a cry for help, but I am not in my right mind to decide that now. I'm really not.

The sessions on tuesday, well lets start with individual. I wasn't completely honest with you. I was afraid. If I hadn't have been afraid, I would have told you that I am deeply terrified. I am terrified that I will fall into a deep depression again. I am afraid that there will be someone else like James, and I am afraid of myself. I am afraid that I won't be able to be normal ever again. Every time I want to get better, it seems I hinder the process by faking it, becoming immobile, afraid, and angry. I get so wrapped up in the past, that I can't get out, and then I cut. Or, burn in this case. Let me tell you about the burning. I stumbled acrossed the process, actually, and it is a fairly new development. I was pissed off, and was straightening my hair. I went to grab something, and I burned the side of my arm with the damn thing. Suddenly, I felt a rush, almost a high. It was the weirdest feeling ever, but I wasn't angry anymore. Then, I noticed the lighter sitting on the counter. It was with that lighter, that I burned myself. I have had these burns for almost 3 weeks, but I hinder the healing by picking the scabs. Its almost an addiction I have, picking at my skin. I pick, and then it scabs over, and I pick again and the process continues until it scars. Yes. I'm insane on that front I suppose. I don't know. I havn't burnt myself since then, nor have I had the thoughts to. It was trying something new, and the circular scabs look ugly, and they don't heal as fast as my cuts. They stay here for like ever. And they hurt worse too. The burns hurt. It is rediculous. I won't do it again...that is not a concern you should have. I have learned...and I learn by doing.

Now family therapy...let me tell you something. I am very perceptive, first of all. I noticed all of your...almost pointed questions. As soon as you came to get me, I knew there was something up. But I acted cool, even though my heart was hammering inside. I sat down, and you told me why I was there, and then I like crumbled. I was so lost in my thoughts, in my fears, I don't think I was able to move at that point. I was afraid. I didn't want to go to a hospital, and yet, at the same time, I didn't want to talk. Scratch that. I couldn't talk. It wasn't that I didn't want to, it was the fact that I physically could not talk, no matter how hard I tried. I am sorry for that. it ate up a lot of time to just stare at me. I also noticed when you moved, to get my parents closer to me. I could tell my dad really does care, and want to help. My mom...well she deals with things in her own way, sending me to an institution. I noticed when I started talking, that the point of burning seemed meaningless, useless. I felt like a moron. It wasn't that bad. I felt lame, like...I was just trying to find shit to spit out. Really, the nightmares exhaust me, and I wish I could articulate how much they tire me out. I am sorry on that front. I noticed that mom barely touched me, barely said anything, and also, again, turned the situation on herself. I noticed that I had to really explain myself for dad to understand, because he thinks these nightmares are because of stress...really they are PTSD and I wasn't sure how to tell him that. If only he knew how traumatized I am...but I don't know how to say it. Mom, well...she never said much. She cried, but I feel like she cried for her own personal pain, not the collective pain everyone was feeling. In other words, I feel that I remind her of her when she was young, and so she is crying because she sees herself. I noticed that when I said what was troubling me, my dad was doing most of the talking, most of the intimate things, like holding my hand, hugging me. it felt good. I like being hugged, I really do. It feels...it feels like I am cared for, and that is completely new to me. I noticed when it was over, and dad said he loved me, and he was sorry he couldn't understand, that you looked at my mom. You looked at her with eyes that said "go on, tell her you love her. Tell her you care for her, tell her that you understand, something! Console her, be with her, do something..." and I also noticed, she did not meet your pleading eyes. She did not say she loved me, she did not say it would be okay. She simply sat, and gave me a brief hug at the very end. I couldn't tell, though, if you were a little dissapointed in her. I wish that was something I could read in you...but I can't.

I also noticed that you cried. Karla, you are going to tell me, don't be sorry, it is okay, I'm fine. But I am sorry. I am sorry that you can feel everything around you. I am sorry that I am such a child to make you feel whatever you felt for in that session. I think what I felt, was understanding, and compassion. That is the aura I felt from you and mi padre. I don't know about mi madre, because she is so difficult to read. She hides her emotions pretty well. I am sorry that you can empathize with me, and you have probably had countless others come to your office and sit down and say, "I think I'm losing it. I've been raped and it won't go away, and I sit up all night crying because that's all I can ever think of." I know I am not the only one. I know it. But I want you to know...That IS all I ever seem to think about. And with the lack of sleep this nightmare...the nightmare my life has been, seems to be eating me whole, engulfing me in a suffocating black shroud of depression. That is what it feels like to me...

I am feeling better though, all in all after our session(s) it was a very good feeling, to know that people do care, and I don't have to battle this alone. I know. I am not really as depressed as I was, I really am not. I just get in a funk, a haze sometimes, but I don't want to let people on that I am not indestructible, you know?

Lastly, I wanted to say thank you very much. It means so much to me that you would stick with me through all of these years. I don't feel like a client when I am with you, I feel like...like...you care, and are passionate about what you do, and what you need to do. I feel like you have been there with me, through it all. I know that is your job, but it feels like you go above and beyond. That takes a lot of courage, and a lot of strength. Karla, you aree a very strong person. Thank you so much Karla, you are a great person, and I am glad to have had my life graced with your presence. Thank you.

Sorry it's so long,
Alek