This is What Healing Looks Like

After tossing and turning for over an hour, I finally give in and check the time on my phone. It's 3:30 AM. In this nightmare, I was being skinned alive while hanging upside down from the ceiling. I feel the panic in my chest start to rise. My pulse increases and the familiar "butterflies" in my heart start to flutter. The heart palpitations mixed with my shallow breaths eventually make me nauseous and before I know it, another hour has passed. It's now 4:45 AM and I know I've gotten only a few hours of restless sleep. If I take a Xanax now it will probably provide relief but I don't want to rely on medication. Instead, I try the "conscious breathing" technique I was prescribed. Slow breaths in, slow breaths out. It seems futile. I know the palpitations and nausea will last all day. My alarm goes off. 

I roll out from my cocoon of blankets and pad barefoot into the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. My doctor told me to stay away from any amount of caffeine but the migraines and insomnia have won and I'm not left with a choice. It's not until I look at my meetings for the day that I remember it's Thursday. After work I'll be in two hours of intensive group therapy for victims of sexual trauma. 

I know I should curl my hair and put makeup on today. People at work have started commenting on how unhappy and tired I look. But I don't have the energy for it. So I put my hair in a bun for the fourth day this week and turn the bathroom light off. I hate looking in the mirror. When I leave my apartment it's cold and bright and loud outside and I'm sensitive to it all. For the entire 20 minute walk to work, I tell myself that I only have to act like a human for the next eight hours. That's it.

It's 8:30 PM and I've just left group therapy. The 4 Train is crowded, even this late at night, so I try to keep my head down to hide my face. My eyes are swollen and red from sobbing for almost two hours. I feel numb and raw at the same time. I clutch my "grounding stone," running my fingertips over the smooth edges. It's supposed to distract me from my thoughts and emotions. The train jerks me back and forth and I realize that's exactly how I feel inside. 

It's Friday morning and I've finally slept with the help of Ambien. Like the Xanax, it's addictive so I only take it when I'm desperate. Desperate. That word sounds so hollow compared to how it feels. Work is almost unmanageable today and I only have time to leave my desk to go to the bathroom. For the next 24 hours I will be unable to stop crying. My office has glass walls and as my coworkers walk by I can tell how uncomfortable I make them feel. 

I look down at my phone and see the unread text message notifications. My best friend had surgery three days ago. Another is publishing a book this month. I care. I'm concerned. But I don't have the energy to have a typed conversation. Or any kind of conversation. I turn my screen off and tell myself that I'll respond later. I won't. 

I come home and spend twenty minutes sitting in the shower. It's become another kind of therapy. In addition to the group therapy. The individual therapy. The acupuncture. The prescriptions. I spend Friday night in my bedroom alone watching TV because it's easier than having a conversation with someone about how hard their day was. 

Saturday is a good day. I have a party to go to. I get a blowout and a spray tan. I put makeup on. Today I'm supposed to be happy. And I am. For almost 12 hours I am talking and laughing and drinking. Later I'll see pictures of myself and realize I don't look happy at all. I spend all day in bed the following day recovering. Not from the alcohol. From the "having fun."

This is four days. I've been doing some version of this for almost four months and I've never felt so alone in my life.

It's been almost three years since my rape and I am just now scratching the surface of what it means to "heal." The symptoms are endless and they tell me it's called PTSD. Don't ask me if I'm okay. I'm not okay. I'm not fine. 

Your GIF Guide to Sexual Consent

Many of you have read the breaking news headlines on sexual assault claims involving celebrities these past few months. They don't seem to be slowing down anytime soon. As a society, this has forced us to have a lot of difficult conversations - with others and with ourselves.

What is sexual assault? Is it black and white or are there gray areas? What constitutes a sex crime and what constitutes "bad behavior?" Am I guilty of assault? Have I been assaulted? I'm so glad you asked. Hello everyone, welcome to Sexual Consent. My name’s Melissa and I’ll be your tour guide.

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So you’ve got a date tonight? First time meeting? Been married for 30 years? Doesn’t matter. Here at Sexual Consent, everyone lives by the same standards.

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You'll notice here that a lot of dates will include the consumption of alcohol. Remember, just because your date has had a drink with you, that does not mean they want to have sex with you. A drink is not currency to be used in exchange for sex.

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If the date gets moved to a private venue, congratulations - you might be having sex tonight.

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OR perhaps your date just wants to continue spending time with you and doesn't mind doing so in a more secluded setting. Sounds like they are interested in getting to know you. Very exciting stuff! Friendly reminder folks, someone can go home with you and not want to have sex with you.

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The mood is right. The candles are lit. And Damien Rice is crooning on the Beats speaker your mom got you for Christmas. A makeout session reminiscent of prom night ensues.

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So you want to get a little more serious? Folks, we've just reached our first major intersection in Sexual Consent. Before proceeding any further, please stop to look both ways. You can simply ask your date, "Is this okay? Are you comfortable?" The good news is that this isn't hard to do and it's not awkward. In fact, it's a romantic gesture which showcases your ability to be aware of your partner's thoughts and feelings and not just the blood rushing to your nether regions.

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These questions should be repeated throughout the evening, specifically before any sexual act. This is a nice thing to do because you don't want to make your partner feel uncomfortable or that they don't have the opportunity to tell you that they don't want to take it any further. Yikes!

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Suppose your date would like to take things slow. This could mean a variety of things. Slow could mean that they are only interested in kissing. Slow could mean they are only interested in heavy petting. Slow could mean they are only interested in oral sex. Slow could mean they are only interested in receiving oral sex. Slow could mean they are interested in sex just not right now. I know. The possibilities are endless. But that's because humans are complex creatures and are capable of having different and sometimes conflicting thoughts.

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If your date has not given their consent - whether that be verbally or through non-verbal cues (pulling away, turning their head, trying to run out the door, etc.) - then this is the point in the evening where you stop making advances.

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If your date has enthusiastically given their consent, buckle up friends, this is where the adult fun begins. Next stop, Pleasure Town. Unfortunately, I cannot be your tour guide for that destination because my mom reads my blog and she doesn't need to know the extent of my knowledge in this area.

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Thank you for visiting. And remember, sexual assault doesn't have to be gray if you get consent. This is a great way to avoid being added to shitty men lists, having your name dragged through the media, losing your career, going to jail, etc.

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2017: Year in Review

In 2015 and 2016, I wrote short and sweet recaps on the previous 365 days. What I did, where I went, who I met. But I’m finding it difficult to summarize this past year in a quick post.

It seems that each year, I surprise myself by discovering that I’m still learning and still growing. I realize how cliché that sounds so let me explain. I’m one year from 30 and I always thought that number was somehow magical, that it was synonymous with "knowledgeable" and "wise." It’s not. I’m still figuring out who I am and what I’m doing.

The year 2017 has taught me that grief is real. It’s painful and it’s long. Pushing past the grief isn’t easy either, but it’s the only path to relief. It has taught me that relationships don’t have to last forever to be meaningful. They can repair you or they can break you so you learn how to repair yourself. This last year has taught me that being nice includes being nice to yourself. And it doesn’t have to mean giving undeserving people second chances. The year 2017 has taught me that I haven’t quite figured this out yet and that’s okay.

Here’s to 2018 and the inevitable lessons that lie ahead. Until next year, here are some of 2017's most-read posts:

• What Nobody Told Me About Being a Rape Victim
• A Dirty Martini And A Meltdown
• Promise Me
• NYC: Six Month Review
• NYC: One Year Review
• I Know

The Best Thing About the Worst Thing You've Ever Done

Recently, I did a really, really, REALLY stupid thing. I ignored my gut. I refused to listen to sage advice. And I only listened to those who were telling me exactly what I wanted to hear. I told myself it would be fine. I'd be fine. It would even be fun. I went against something so intrinsic to my character that it literally gave me anxiety every time I thought about it. Which was a lot. I did something stupid. And then it came back to bite me in the ass. I don't want to contradict Miss Swift, but I did something bad and, you guys, it did not feel good.

I'm not going to get into details but for all my family members out there, don't worry, I didn't break the law. This time.

Let me be clear. This isn't the first time I've done something dumb. I mean, I literally moved to New York City on a whim. That one didn't turn out so bad though. Honestly, I'm surprised I graduated college and have maintained a stable career. Anyways - the point is, I've done a lot of really dumb shit in my 28 years. I'm sure I haven't even seen the worst of it yet. But every time I've f***ed up, I've cried it out and walked it off. 

I know a lot of people try to make their lives seem perfect on social media. But that's a curated life full of carefully planned moments. That's not real. A real life is messy. It's getting your heart broken. Living paycheck to paycheck. It's getting fired. It's losing your shit on your kid and it's using boxed hair dye. Being an adult is hard. These stupid decisions we make are a part of learning and growing up. 

The best thing about the worst thing you've ever done is that you learned from it. And hopefully you never do it again. Try new things. Make mistakes. Fall on your ass. But get back up again. Try a different path. Just keep trying. It's when you stop trying that you start failing. 

Someone should seriously make a post card out of that because that was some Gandhi shit. 

What Nobody Told Me About Being a Rape Victim

There is a very real possibility that you will see your rapist in public. 

Or, in my case, on a dating app. It's going to take your breath away and then you will go lock yourself in the bathroom for 45 minutes due to your immediate need to throw up and shit your brains out at the same time.

You're probably not okay

No matter how many times you say it and no matter how many times you actually really do feel okay. One minute you'll be all "the past is the past" and "I'm totally fine, I don't need therapy" *flips hair off shoulder* and then some fucking moron will post something on social media blaming victims and you'll totally lose your shit on them and promptly ask to go home early because you can't stop shaking and crying.

Some things will trigger you and some won't.

You might be able to watch a rape scene in a movie while continuing to shovel handfuls of popcorn into your mouth but then read about a massive sexual harassment scandal in the news and be unable to focus the rest of the day. *shrugs*  It doesn't make sense to me either.

People will constantly apologize for making references to rape.

There is a difference between making a reference and making a joke. Rape jokes aren't funny and reveal a lot about someone's character. If you're saying you took an Uber home from the bar because you didn't want to get raped on your walk home, that doesn't tell me you're a jackass that tells me you've got street smarts. Maybe try Uber Pool though and save a couple bucks?

Some people won't want to date you because you have been raped. 

FUCK THOSE PEOPLE. There is nothing wrong with you and the fact that you are still alive and willing to date in the first place is a testament to your resilience and strength. They should be so lucky to date you.

You might feel guilty about wanting to have sex. 

Wanting to have sex again after you've been raped doesn't mean there is something wrong with you or that you deserved to be raped or that you weren't raped in the first place. You're a human being with very natural desires. Orgasms are great (sorry, mom!). And have you heard the news? Females can achieve multiple o's! 

Assholes will react like assholes to your rape story. 

"Did you get an STD test?" and "I don't have the stomach for that" are just some of the gems I've heard. Dude - Fuck. You. Hey, if anyone was wondering about a foolproof way of responding to hearing someone's rape story, here it is. Ready? 1) Look concerned. 2) Say you're sorry (it doesn't matter that you didn't rape me, it's just a nice thing to say). 3) Try not to tell me about someone else's rape story you heard (this is about me right now, not you). 4) And thank me for trusting you with this information. 

On a very serious note, I want to put out the reminder that there isn't a textbook on how to survive a sexual assault. There is only one rule: don't harm yourself. If you're a survivor, I hope you know that you are brave and strong for not only enduring your assault, but for continuing day after day while dealing with this shit. This isn't a club I'd ever want to be a part of but now that I'm here I gotta say, we're a bunch of bad asses and I'm pretty proud of that.