Got Dumped?

Friday night was a night like no other, except that the boyfriend and I had been fighting a week earlier. That being said, he and I made up and I was looking forward to a long night of romance and sex. I even had a romantic night lined up–dinner sea-side watching the sunset, eating his favorite dish of shrimp pasta.

I’ll skip all the gory details mainly because I don’t want to retell the story. It just makes me depressed. What is important is that he dumped me after a big fight and I do believe it was partly because I had been more forthcoming about my struggle with depression during that time in an attempt to BLAME myself for our fight so we could move past it. Lesson partly learned: I will not take the blame for something I didn’t do.

In his breakup speech he said something about seeing things in me during our fight that made him “uncomfortable” and he mentioned they were things I couldn’t change or he didn’t want to ask me to change. I had just recently written this blog about my struggle with depression.

Depression can’t be cured but it can be managed. I’m extremely forthcoming about my depression because I’m just that way. I’m forthcoming and honest about most things. I’m direct, sometimes when it hurts. I learned to be direct because I spent almost a decade being pushed over and hurt and not speaking my mind.

To sense that someone I loved deeply may have broken up with me because I struggle with depression is incredibly hurtful, and naive on their part. It’s hurtful to know that I worked hard to forgive him and his shortcomings but he didn’t have the same love or respect for me to forgive mine. It’s also naive for him to think that my depression is unmanageable and also that he doesn’t have any flaws or things that make me feel “uncomfortable.” I felt uncomfortable when he told me he was going to film a TV pilot with these 2 girls and he might stay in their hotel room. But that’s beside the point. Asshole.

 

Blogging and writing is a tough job. A writer must be honest with his or herself in order to be able to draw a reader in. A memoir writer like myself has to be able to talk about her own life transparently. She must see her own flaws as they are, take responsibility for things she’s done to hurt others and have the ability to create art from them. The art may be flawed or rigid or beautiful or painful but it will be art if she has the skill and insight to create.

My partner may not have been able to see his own flaws as well as I can see my own. Part of living with depression, in my case, is living with incredible self-introspection. In fact, as we talked Friday night I realized he couldn’t see any of his own flaws or at least wouldn’t admit to them. That’s not the toughest part of a break up though. It’s having someone you love deeply tell you they don’t love you anymore (with their actions, even when their words say something else), realizing you won’t spend every day with them anymore, and know that everything you trusted and held important in moments before that is all coming crashing down around you and you can’t stop it.

They want out. They’re leaving.

Feminist Fail

Another feminist gets it wrong. BDSM is actually fun and it’s not “anti-woman.” Wonderhussy, whose blog I loved here, writes why she thinks BDSM (modeling) is “dehumanizing”:

As I’ve mentioned before, I shot a few times with this one bondage photographer, and I found it humiliating and dehumanizing. Now I realize this is coming from a gal who makes a living doing humiliating and dehumanizing stuff on camera…but come on, enough is enough!! I don’t mind someone jerking off to a video of me stuffing my face with Twinkies, or of me having my toes sucked. But anyone who gets off watching me or any other model struggle around while tied up is a SICK MOTHERFUCKER with serial killer fantasies! No? Please tell me why I’m wrong!

I know, I know — I already heard ALL about it from my BDSM Facebook friends: you see, in the bondage arts, the sub (the tied-up one) is the one who’s REALLY in charge of the situation. But I find it hard to understand how someone who is totally immobile and silenced with a ball gag can be in charge of anything at all.

Ever tried to be a Mistress? It’s quite lovely. And being a sub is fucking mentally and physically MIND-BLOWING. Watch the Maggie Gyllenhaal film Secretary.

Mercy Ministries Denies Former Resident Medical & Psychiatric Records

This post originally appeared on “Sarah’s Collage” a blog written by a Mercy insider who attend the program in Australia. 
Since around the beginning of the year, myself and some other fellow survivors have been involved in a struggle to have our respective client files released to us.

(Some coverage of this can be found here, compliments of Sean the Blogonaut).

As this is public domain, I will speak only for the situation involving myself.

When all of this began, I fasted and prayed my heart out, considered scripture and discussed the issue with a few wise friends.

After much delay and Mercy’s subsequent refusal, a bunch of phone calls, intervention of a Lawyer and the Privacy Commissioner and further delay, I received an incomplete file.
Prior to my appointment on Tuesday evening, I did not expect that I would feel troubled by its contents. In fact, I did not expect to feel anything at all.
This was true of most of it, even of the more sensitive material.

Some of it that would have troubled me years ago actually made me laugh out loud.

There was only one thing really that I felt a bit disturbed by. It related to one of the major traumatic events I experienced there, and the account of that event was so twisted and untrue. For a second, I felt that old familiar feeling again of having my sanity put in question.

I was glad to have my Psychologist present to share a good chuckle with.

I just feel so blessed to have had the opportunity to heal from that experience with the help of some safe, wise and discerning women in my world. Not all girls have had that opportunity, but God can use many things to heal an abused heart.

I can see how going through one’s own file with a sane, trusted and qualified person can be a significant healing experience for those who are still reeling from the impact, even several years on.

Having that choice restored to us is healing in itself, validating of our adulthood and our own ability to make decisions that are in the best interests of our healing.

I am yet to receive the remaining documents, and after several delays I have come to expect that I will not be receiving it any time soon, and definitely not before I go into hospital in about two weeks.

So today, I am thanking God for victory, for healing and restoration in the lives of survivors both here and abroad, for the voice He has restored to me, and most of all I am thanking him that my suffering was not in vain.

He works all things together for good.

Inside Out

We are the ones. We are the ones who can see inside because we are outside. We can see when just minor tweaks have been made; small cosmetic changes. We know they’ve changed because we have spoken up; because we’re not silent. They’re not fooling us.

We are the ones. We are the ones who can see inside because we are outside. We can see when just minor tweaks have been made; small cosmetic changes. We know they’ve changed because we have spoken up; because we’re not silent. They’re not fooling us.

The questions still bother us, like a buzzing mosquito in our ear: Are they evil? Bad people? Malicious intent? The questions come and go bouncing like a buoy in the water, keeping us sane. They come to us because we’re outside now; we’re no longer inside. But they are still inside our heads telling us to be silent, that we’re rebellious, that we are listening to the Devil.

It’s simply not true. We’re outside but we struggle and then we gain ground and then we’re haunted by dreams of them–their faces, their teachings–and then we can finally breathe and rest in peace. And the cycle begins again.