Skin is the last boundary

This is the first time I leave home after it had happened. I have my Contact Improv class, it’s a lot of ugliness to put in a dance. I showered at the last minute and jumped into my car; parked in a semi-banned spot, it’s Sunday nobody would check. It happens at night the neon lights hung on the building say now.

He had already spotted me during the Christmas eve party at Karen’s. He knew then I was the perfect victim. He claimed to be a friend, invited him self  to my birthday party and faked connecting: I found a friend, he texted after leaving. I, was new and looking for friends.

Few days later he texted again with urgency: I must meet with you, we must talk about some spiritual discussions I had with my group. I knew there was something strange going on. He texted 11 times that morning. 
The following Friday evening I invited him to my place for dinner; finish the left overs from my birthday party. He brought more wine than necessary and started telling how he’d first thought I was “a lost soul” the first time he saw me, but he was mistaken, he now thinks I am a “bright mind“. The Fucker can see through me. 
When I organized the dinner, I invited Karen too; she was preparing for her Sommelier exam and could not join, seemed happy we were getting along: Sunny needs it, his wife’s brother died this week, she left to India. Sunny never mentioned that. 

We moved to the living room and kept on talking. He told me about a love affair he had with a woman living in New York. I did not ask for details and found the topic alarming. He sat on the opposite sofa for a while, when he judged I was drunk enough, he moved to my sofa. His body is now positioned all in my direction. I am not drunk, danger feels imminent. I remain still. No response. I know what is going to happen to me in my house. He suddenly says: I want to kiss you, does not give me time to reply and jumps on me.

He pulls me by my arms, gets me to stand up and pulls me to my room. I know what is about to happen. I said: you are married, I am not sure whatyou are doing? He orders me to open my bras. I do. He starts kissing me and removes my shirt. I ask him to calm down and stop. He reaches right to my pants and wants to remove them. I say: no, stop. He stops for 1 min or so and goes right back to it. I give in after sometime.

I was raped and for years I will only refer to it as “physical assault”. I was raped in my own bed, in my own safety place I built for myself. I let a monster come destroy the tower I made for myself. This was my first birthday in Canada, the place I longed for, for its safety and comfort for over 20 years. I did not stop him because I thought all the way of Karen, my housemates, my sister, I even thought of him. I did not want to embarrass him, the Man. It is about 4am now, his son gives him a call worried. He calls me Jaan, now, a word I know from another life: Jaan (babe), I have to go my son is alone at home. I promise to call you tomorrow. I replied: I don’t want to ever see you again. He tries to kiss me one last time as I was shutting the door in his face and said endeared: you have such innocent eyes! 

Karen suspected something went wrong, she works with Sunny and knows him for over 16 years. I did not reach out to her like I usually do. It took me a week to go see her and tell her everything that happened. She tried hard to support me and sent me lots of info to get help. I could not do it. Eventually, I stopped replying to her texts and emails. I was ashamed, I felt stupid, I could not believe I let it happen. I called my friend Natasha, who had a sensible response: He told you what you needed to know (i.e. I have such innocent eyes and vampires see that) and EMDR is a good therapy for such trauma. I could never bring it up again. It was classified.

I made a habit of writing a list of “themes of focus” in the past 6-7 years around December; I call them: my Sutras (my truths). In the past couple years, I carried over some of the Sutras to the next year. Their job was not completely done and they got carried over to the following year.
Dignity is a restorable quality, is one of those. The amount of trauma I grew up with, oppression and shutting off directly correlates with the adult’s tribulations. Nothing comes from nothing. I am the container of bones, marrow, organs and flesh that never learnt the difference between my self and the other, inside me and outside of me. Better yet, when my gut said something, my eyes darkened and my throat tightened, I was told to swallow my tears and SHUT UP. When my breath broke in hyperventilation, a finger pointed into my little round red face and threatened to GIVE ME MORE. More punishment, more belt skin against my bare legs skin, more humiliation, more shouting, more dick. So I did what I was asked, I shut the fuck up; for years. My gut became a place to hold toxic things in and my body too. I am good learner.

Last year, when I started taking classes at Emily Carr, I came across a poster on consent. It said: No is No. Silence is not Yes. Around the same time, my friend Natasha sent me a podcast series from “The Heart”. The woman described everything I felt and went through, it was well alive in me. When I listened to the story of Rose McGowan in Brave, I finally understood I was wronged and something was stolen from me.

Firstly drafted in my car (the red Rocket) on January 25th 2015 and edited January 2019. The title is a sentence I heard in a workshop by Helen Walkley. I understood then, that I was never taught my boundaries.

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