The way I experienced myself and the world around me totally changed after I was imprisoned and raped. Even though I was imprisoned for only four or five hours, during that time, I had no idea if I’d ever escape alive, and the trauma of that experience affected me for years.
Even though I went back to a seemingly “normal” life just one day after I escaped from the man who brutalized me, I felt totally devastated and as if I was losing my grip on my reality. My sense of self was shattered, and though I survived and existed, it felt as though who I used to “be” no longer “was.”
I was walking this weird tightrope where I tried to step in the shoes of my former self by going to work, socializing, and going out with friends. Yet while going through the motions of living, I was also existing in a world where who I was and how I experienced myself was someone I barely recognized.
I found myself on an on this figurative edge of existence where the essence of my being vacillated between two realities. “The edge of being” is how I describe the experience of when my reality shifted and changed as my world started crumbling around me…where the essence of who I was became lost somewhere in depths of my mind as I slipped inside myself to a place which was dark and empty. It’s not surprising that place was a reflection of how I felt inside. It was an inner graveyard, a place where my smashed soul went to hide until someone would come and love me back to life. I existed there, but the essence of my self was transformed…blurred and indistinct, yet somehow preserved.
The part of myself that existed in the world was only a shadow of who I was. On the outside, I looked like myself, but it felt as if I was in this half-awake state, conscious and aware, sliding between realities. Whoever I was seemed like a stranger, and I experienced myself from different vantage points, trying to wade through the horrifying images, thoughts, and memories that kept flashing through my mind.
The days and weeks following my ordeal were a total nightmare. Friends and family knew I was trying to cope with a horrifying trauma, and I’m sure they understood the difficulty on some level; however, because I resumed my day-to-day activities only one day after my experience and presented myself as coping and functioning despite what I had been through, no one really knew the extent of what I was experiencing on an emotional level.
I tried to put on this face to the world (and to myself) that I was strong and okay. I wanted to be okay, and I guess I thought if I faked it long enough, I’d be okay. But I wasn’t.
I experienced crippling anxiety, and I don’t think anyone really knew the extent of it because I tried to go on with life despite the overwhelming anxiety I felt just to leave my apartment and go to work. I’m not sure, but I don’t think anyone really knew the fear that gripped me when I was alone. I tried to put on a brave face for everyone (and for myself), but I was terrified that the man who hurt me was stalking me and planning to attack me again.
No one knew that I when I came home from work, I sat huddled in a ball, rocking back and forth, terrified as I experienced the haunting memories that seemed almost impossible to escape. Even though I was taking care of myself as best I could, it wasn’t enough. Sure, I was working and supporting myself financially after my ordeal, but I essentially stopped eating two days after I was raped because it seemed the only way to regain control of my life and to keep some kind of grip on reality.
It’s ironic that after fighting to escape and survive the horrifying ordeal I experienced, I ended up slowing killing myself by my self-imposed starvation. But it didn’t end there. After a year and a half of struggling with anorexia, I also began battling bulimia. It got to the point that I would sometimes force myself to vomit after only drinking water. I wanted to be empty inside because it made me feel cleansed somehow. Starving myself and purging myself was my way of coping with the horrors I endured. Even though a part of me wanted to live, a bigger part of me was protesting life, and I felt powerless to stop the self-destructive momentum that began after I was raped.
My eating disorders were killing me slowing, and though I didn’t know it at the time, I was later told by my sister that my family was preparing for my death. I knew what I was doing to myself was hurting them; however, I felt powerless in the grips of something that seemed beyond my control. Eventually, I had a life-threatening episode related to my eating disorders and was hospitalized for a week. It was a wake-up call for me, but even after being released from the hospital, I resumed my self-destructive behaviors.
One month later was a turning point in my life…when I met the man with whom I fell in love with, the man I had been waiting my whole life for, and the man I later married. His unconditional love for me is what I needed to “be” again, and it was our love for each other that started the healing process and ended the journey toward self-destruction.
The photos in this series are expressions of a journey from darkness to light and how love can overcome all. Love is more powerful than the evil in this world, and where there was once an inner graveyard where my shattered psyche hid, waiting for love, there now is a playground where my love and I have fun and enjoy our life together. Where I once lived life at the edge of existence, at the edge of “being” with shattered “me” pieces, I now experience a life of wholeness and with a fullness of being.
The models in my images are myself and my husband. They’re a glimpse into horror I endured, the madness that ensued, and the love that transformed.
–March 5, 2008
