Four years today...May 16

Update: To limit the amount of posts on this subject, I'm deleting the others and combining with this one. It'll be updated each year.

May 16, 2021 - Four years ago today

Zorigt, I will never forget the things you have done. From taking advantage of me, to the harassment, to use my past against me to keep quiet. You're a true scumbag. And while you will never face criminal justice, I take satisfaction in knowing that if you ever try to change or adjust status in the U.S., there is a paper trail, and there is this website to show that not only have you committed a crime for which you did not face justice, you worked in this country illegally. That is all.

May 16, 2020 - Three years ago today

Two nights ago, I had a rather intense dream that defied all reason. 

I was working late in my office and nearing the time to go home. I had an uneasy feeling when I looked out my window and saw Zorigt standing from a distance just watching me. He didn't try to hide. It was as if he wanted me to know that he was lurking. I tried to wait him out, but he just stood there watching. As I finally stepped out to get to my car, he was slowly walking toward me. His comrades were coming out of hiding and holding what appeared to be weapons. It was as if they were triangulating. No word was spoken. I could only feel Zorigt's hard, cold stare. As I sat in my car, I wondered if I was going to escape what I perceived to be a threat. 

Then I woke up with my heart racing. Generally, such intense dreams are a warning of things to come or are a metaphor for something else. Either way, I should be alert and expect some kind of event or news. When I looked at my calendar, I realized it was nearing the three year anniversary of when Zorigt sexually assaulted me. And he got away with it. After recounting the assault to authorities and formally identifying him in a photo line-up, nothing ever came of it.

I've accepted that he'll never be brought to justice. The best I can hope for is for others to know what he did. For them to see through his kind exterior. He is rotten to the core. Not only had he assaulted me, he stalked me, and terrorized me, even recruiting his friends to harass me (or perhaps it was always him). 

Though I have moved on, this will always remain with me because I can never trust any one. I can never be open with anyone until the can earn my trust. Most don't and I walk away. That's what Zorigt has done to me. Not just the rape, but the mistrust/distrust of others. 

Лхагвасүрэн Зоригт, Зоригоо, Zorigt Lkhagvasuren, Zorigoo, 저릭트

May 16, 2019 - Two years ago today

Is this day of any significance to you, Zorigt? Because it is for me. But it goes beyond what you did to me. It's also how the first police officer treated me when I first reported it; as if it was my fault that you took advantage of me. It's also how the second officer took my case and accepted the evidence against you; only to have the case shelved because they can't find you.

It angers me that you get to walk away from responsibility for your actions. Not only just walking away but to also continuously lie and then punish me for it simply because you were caught in a lie. How dare you attempt to use my past against me just so you can excuse your actions.

All I can do is hope that it somehow catches up with you. I am a strong believer in Karma, and she will eventually come around beating down your door. I may never know when that day will come, but you will know why she came.

Лхагвасүрэн Зоригт, Зоригоо, Zorigt Lkhagvasuren, Zorigoo, 저릭트

May 16, 2018 - One year ago today

This was my favorite dress. A 1950s, cotton, gingham day-dress. It was my go-to dress whenever I went swing dancing. It was always paired with my red Keds; my favorite dancing shoes. The last time I wore it was one year ago today, May 16, 2017. It was the day I met with Zorigt to watch a basketball game. 

It was the evening when I told him my feelings for him. I liked him. He said he liked me, too. We talked about seeing each other more. After the game, he took me to a bar. Later, we were at a secluded spot near the bay. He asked if I wanted to have sex. I told him I would, but not at that moment. I was on my period. I asked him to wait. We should wait at least one more month before he transferred to Berkeley. Zorigt couldn't take no for answer. He kept asking if I was sure that I didn't want to. I kept saying, "let's wait." He walked out of my truck to urinate. When he came back in, he looked at me before pouncing on top of me.

I bled on my dress. I should've just kept it as evidence against him. Instead, I tried scrubbing off the blood. It was my favorite dress. A dress that I haven't worn since. It hangs in the back of my closet, where I have little chance of seeing it.

Now that a year has past, the initial assault is not what vexes me. It's Zorigt's lies and deceit as a result from that assault that has affected me most. In the last 365 days, I have suffered immensely both emotionally and psychologically. 

I believed Zorigt when he said that he cared about me, but he said it only to keep me from reporting him to police. I believed him when he said that he was moving back to Mongolia. When I realized that I'd been had, he violated my body and my trust, I reported the incident to police. I went with text messages and a voice recording where he admitted his actions. I tried to report him before he could get on a plane back to Mongolia, but I thought I was too late.

Six months later, by chance, I ran into Zorigt at a local restaurant. He lied. He never left Alameda. He was caught. Rather than be a man and admit he lied, he went on the attack. That attack brought me right back to 2009. I was going through the same emotional turmoil on that day as I did in 2009.

It is his lies and deceit that has made me very wary of men and their intentions. I am currently dating a man from Mongolia (I'll refer to him as M). I don't want to unfairly judge M based on my experience with Zorigt, but it's there in my head. After spending an evening with M just hanging out and talking, I dropped him off outside his home. Before he departed, he placed his hand around my head and motioned to kiss me. It was a trigger. I turned my face and said, "No. Not here." He didn't understand why. (M does not know about Zorigt. I don't want to tell him.) I couldn't even look at M because I was afraid I'd see Zorigt. M asked me to look at him. When our eyes locked, he kissed me on my forehead. It was a tender moment. I was trying to remind myself that he is not Zorigt. This is another person. I should give him a chance.

I have since been sleeping with M. It is something we both want. I have definitely consented, but there is still a fear. I keep thinking that he will throw me away just like Zorigt. I wonder if M, at any point, is lying to me? THIS is how Zorigt's lies and deceit have affected me.

Zorigt is very comfortable with lying, so much that he doesn't realize the damage his lies and deceit can cause. It is beyond the initial rape from one year ago today. What Zorigt has taken away from me is my trust in people. And it is all because he lied and deceived me.


Tags: Лхагвасүрэн Зоригт, Зоригоо, Zorigt Lkhagvasuren, Zorigoo

There was a flower within my heart

A co-worker gave her to me in 2008; nearly a year after I was raped. She was named Daisy, but I re-christened her DaisyBell after an old song from the late 19th century. Wherever I'd go, Daisybell was always in tow. She was my therapy dog. Through the worst time of my life, the rape, the harassment, the blackmail, and ultimately the injustice system. Daisybell helped me through my anguish and sadness. No matter how much emotional pain I was in, she always pulled me out of the darkness.

She went everywhere with me. Work, graduate school, hikes, trips...everywhere. Anyone who knows me knows Daisybell. If anyone lost me in a crowd they'd say, "just look for a woman with red hair and a white dog."

My battle with PTSD started with the rape in 2007, and I still suffer from it; though the severity has lessened over the years. Daisybell was always there to help me through my attacks. Now she is gone...forever.

 I will always miss her. RIP my sweet little Daisybell (2005-2019).

2018: The Good, The Bad, The Ugly

On my instagram feed, I saw several posts referring to how terrible 2018 was; they were glad to be done with such an odious year. Few people had anything positive to say. As I reflected on 2018, I concluded that overall, it was a rather good year. Of course there will be bumpy roads to traverse, but eventually, those paths get smoother. So in reflection here is what 2018 gave me:

The Good

1. In August 2017, I posted about my New Direction; that is, my decision to leave education for a career in law. After leaving my Academic Director position, I settled for a part-time teaching assignment in Berkeley. My plan was to teach for one more year while studying law. My goal was to get a paralegal position while I study for the BAR exam. The earliest I can take the exam is 2022. In March 2018, one of my professors asked me to do paralegal contract work. He would continue to mentor me and prep me for a paralegal position at a law firm. Five months later, I was offered a full-time paralegal position at a law firm in downtown San Francisco. I didn't think I'd get the position due to my lack of experience, but the attorneys loved the way I presented myself. At my review, the attorneys praised my performance and skills. I only needed to improve my self confidence. After having worked in an abusive work environment, my self-esteem plummeted. I'm getting better now, but I know this is something I need to improve. A goal for 2019.

2. My professor.continues to mentor me, and I still do some paralegal work for him on the side. He had a heart-to-heart discussion praising my abilities. He truly believes I have the skills to be a great lawyer. When he offered to sign off as my sponsor for the BAR exam, I accepted.

3. I still continue to have the support of my family and friends. Even after my past was outed to my students (both current at the time and those past), they still stood by my side and denounced what Zorigt Lkhagvasuren had done.

4. Alameda PD finally took the case. I gave a formal interview, I officially identified Zorigt. They have yet to contact him as he is elusive. At least the case has not closed nor will it ever. There is no longer a statue of limitations on rape. 

5. Learning another language. I'm on to my fifth language. Korean. I've already learned the Hangul alphabet and know a few phrases (and lots of bad words). Since I've been watching so many Korean films and K-drama, my understanding has improved quite a bit. I've now enrolled in Korean language classes at Korean Center, Inc so that I can improve my reading comprehension and speaking skills. My goal is to attend the Seoul Lindy Hop Swing Dance Festival in 2020.

The Bad

1. Mongolian men are the absolute worst. I had brief affairs with two of them in 2018; one in February and the other in April. Both affairs ended the same way. Both made promises. Both professed their feelings for me. After having sex, they stopped talking to me. I just can't understand men like that. If all they wanted was sex, then be up front about it. Don't play games. I've since moved on. I believe in Karma, and one day their actions will come back to haunt them. 

2. "It looks like you have a tumor." In October, I went in for my gynecological examination. When the doctor said she found a tumor the size of a plum inside my uterus, I was...aloof. I wasn't surprised. Two of my aunts and one cousin had tumors there. My aunts had benign tumors; one of them never had children and the other had her one and only child in her 40s. My cousin had cancer (she eventually beat it). At least now I know why I've had problems with my periods. There's finally a reason for it. The doctor did a biopsy and tested it. It was benign. Thank God. However, if I wanted to have children, I would need to remove it. I had the surgery December 28th and it went smoothly. I'm healing quite well, and I hope my health will continue to improve.

The Ugly

ZORIGT LKHAGVASUREN - In the summer of 2017, he begged me not to report him for rape. He apologized for what he had done to me and promised "to fix our relationship." All he asked was that I promise not to report him. But I still cried because I didn't believe him. He would constantly mistreat me. Then he'd apologize again, make promises to fix things between us and asked me to be patient and not report him. Then all of a sudden, he left to Mongolia and he wasn't coming back. He texted me from his uncle's funeral and told me he was sorry and to live my life. Yet, something inside me kept telling me that he was lying. I reported him anyway knowing that it may be too late. Then in March 2018, I ran into him at a Mongolian restaurant. He had the nerve to ask me what I was doing there. I just said, "you lied." Instead of saying he was sorry, he only responded, "Lied about what?" before he walked away. He later used my past against me and spread it among my students. If his attempt was to shame me and get people to abandon me, it backfired. Everyone who knew us learned about what he had done to me, and they hated him for it. 

I deduced that he never left the States. I found pictures of him at his job that were date stamped the fall of 2017.  He lied and didn't have the balls to own up to his mistakes. Adding insult to injury, he attacked me. I know he's still out there, and I have a feeling I'll probably bump into him again (I've drafted a post about this and will publish soon). I pray that the police catches up with him so that he can finally be brought to justice. 

So my goals for 2019? Continue my study for the BAR exam. Improve my overall health and well-being. Continue dancing. Continue my Korean language studies. Pray that Zorigt finally pays for his sins.

Tags: Лхагвасүрэн Зоригт, Зоригоо, Zorigt Lkhagvasuren, Zorigoo, 저릭트

It never really goes away

I had always thought that PTSD was only temporary; an illness that can be overcome and cured. I had this idea that there would be a point in my life that I would be free from this condition. But PTSD isn't like that. My old therapist once said it was like living with diabetes. The disease never goes away. There's no cure. You can only control it with medication and/or lifestyle changes.

I forget that PTSD is like this. I will do so well for so long, and then something comes along that brings me right back to the trauma and the anxiety associated with it. I hate it. It's painful emotionally, mentally, and physically.

I probably have gone through more traumatic experiences than the average person. I was raped in 2007. I was subsequently harassed and blackmailed. The legal system said it was my fault. "You allowed yourself to be taken advantage of." A classic case of victim-blaming and victim-shaming.

From 2010-2011, I was emotionally, mentally and sexually abused by my then-boyfriend, Demian. Following our break up, he contacted my job about my past. I was forced to resign. He then posted my picture on my neighbors' front doors or cars. The flyers were not only misleading, but slanderous. He was (probably still is) a seriously flawed individual. While the things he did to me are unforgivable, I accepted that he was flawed and probably incapable of understanding the hurt he caused, and I was able to let it go.

In 2017, I was raped again. This time by Zorigt. He treated me horribly. The night after it happened, he sat there in his chair with a smug look on his face. He lied to me about caring for me. He lied to me about keeping our relationship. He pulled the same stunt as Demian. I think he reported me to my old job. I don't know, but I wouldn't be surprised. I reported Zorigt to Alameda PD for the charge of sexual assault.

2018. A chance encounter. I saw Zorigt. He had lied to me about leaving back to Mongolia. After I caught him in that lie, he attacked me again. Just like Demian...again. He sent out posts about my past.

I went to a new therapist; one who had helped me report the sexual assault through B.A.W.A.R. She told me what I have is not only PTSD but compound trauma; traumatic experiences from the initial rape, the legal system, Demian, and Zorigt. She encouraged being open with my feelings and talking with people whom I trust. While medication can help, it is best to be able to process the trauma. That's what this writing has done for me; it helps me process.

Today I saw someone who looked like Zorigt, but I know it wasn't him. But it made me think back to that very day, when he sat in that chair with a that smug look on his face. Then I hear myself softly say, "you son of a bitch. How could you?" How could you?

It's harder to move on because there hasn't been a resolution. The case is still open. Zorigt hasn't been formally charged. I wonder if he ever will be. I don't know if he's still in the same places (home, work, school), but I know he's still in the Bay Area. I get the feeling I probably will run into him again. I'm, quite literally, everywhere in the Bay Area...SF, North, East, South bays and the Peninsula. That feeling is what's causing my recent anxiety attacks. It's hard to breathe, my heart races, I clench my jaw, and my hands close into tight fists. I hate this feeling. It is painful, and I just want it to go away.

But it never really goes away. 

Tags: Лхагвасүрэн Зоригт, Зоригоо, Zorigt Lkhagvasuren, Zorigoo, 저릭트

New Direction

I am done with education. I had lost my passion for teaching and mentoring other teachers. I had been in education for more than 16 years, but following a year working for a tyrant, I could no longer take the abuse. I hated going to work. Whenever the director showed up, my stress level skyrocketed. The breaking point was watching her scream at one of my teachers; she literally screamed and cursed at him. I froze perhaps out of shock, but this was something I had witnessed on several occasions with other teachers as well as the students. One teacher was driven to suicide, and she often joked about his death. The woman had zero regard, zero respect and zero value for anyone. 

I know she wanted to get rid of me long before she learned of my past. It was just a convenient excuse to get rid of me thinking she wouldn't have to pay unemployment. She was wrong. My past had nothing to do with my job performance. It was an illegal termination. I know I have enough evidence and witnesses to file a lawsuit against her, but I've decided against it. Instead, I'm reporting her business practices. I feel it is best to stop her unethical, if not immoral, behavior rather than sue for money. It's not worth the additional headache.

I am still quite young and obviously need to find something else to do. Well...prior to my leaving my job, I had already decided that I wanted to study law and made preparations for it. I just never told anyone about my plans. And that's exactly what I'm doing. When I was a kid, and all the way through high school, I wanted to be a lawyer. Now, after a long detour on another path, I'm finally on the right track to do what I always said I'd do...become a lawyer. I've already begun networking with other lawyers who will mentor and guide me; one of them had planted the seed stating that I definitely have the skills to be a great lawyer. 

It's quite a leap from education to law, but I know I will do well. I've already completed a quarter, and I have a GPA of 3.89. I got an A- in one class; not happy about that since it brought down my GPA, but everyone else says it's impressive. It is quite exciting to take this new path. I can always go back to teaching, but when that time comes, it would be to teach law classes.

UPDATE: My professor was so impressed with my work in his class, he offered me a position at his law practice as a legal assistant. I accepted as I feel it would be a good foundation to gain knowledge and experience.

My GPA is now a 3.95

Ahh Mr. Demian Griffitts

It is not a surprise to see that you continue to search your name and land on my blog. I've often contemplated discontinuing this blog and/or deleting the posts about you. However, I've decided to keep it running because there are other posts of interests that are often read.

Then I thought about a conversation I had with a friend regarding unrequited love. "The opposite of love is not hate. It's indifference." I truly believe we loved each other when we were together. When our relationship ended, I still loved you in the years that followed. I don't know how it happened or when. But when I had considered any feelings I may have for you, I realized that I have none. I truly no longer care for you. I am now just indifferent when it comes to you.

I do know what brought me to that point. It was the understanding that I have grown stronger and that if you would ever come back into my life, even as a friend, it would have weaken me. Nor would I be where I am today had it not been for your absence. I still would have completed my Master's Degree, but I think you would have continued to be unsupportive and highly critical of my decision to remain in education. I wouldn't have risen to the rank of an Academic Director and Teacher Trainer. And I probably would not have purchased my own house. I've gone above and beyond; I've certainly surpassed you, Demian. What have you accomplished? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

And that probably bothered you. You somehow believed that I was undeserving of redemption; undeserving of personal success. It is why you disclosed parts of my life to others who had no business knowing. And with that disclosure, you embellished it to make yourself look better. You allowed them to harass me. You allowed them to threaten me. But the worst thing is is that you betrayed my trust. 

And I want people to know it. I'm assuming you and Heifer are no longer together. I have not had any contact from her (finally), nor has she stalked me, nor has she come snooping around my blog. The only hits of a "Demian Griffitts" search is from a person in San Bruno. It's you.

I'm sure you'll meet another person. And it is my wish that when she wants to know more about you, she will naturally Google your name. That's what people do these days (though I don't). Her search of your name will bring you here because a search of your name brings my blog to the top of the list. I want her to see that you have a pattern of behavior. You bad mouth all your exes. You make yourself the victim in a failed relationship. But most of all, I want them to know that you are both abusive and a spousal rapist. After all, it was that rape on the night of April 10, 2011 when our relationship was on the decline. Yes, Demian, you are a rapist. And I've finally accepted that after having denied it despite my therapist, friends and family telling me that you raped me that night. You not only raped me, but you continued to violate me with the harassment that followed.

Bueno, ni modo. It is what it is. I don't hate you. I really don't. I just don't care about you. You are undeserving of any of my feelings. When asked recently if I'd ever take you back, I just said, "no."  I was hoping that you'd one day apologize for your behavior, but I've accepted that that day will never come. And it's okay. I'm happy where I am today.

What a Difference a Decade Makes

Last week, I drove down to Anaheim for an annual state conference for educators. I saved my school's director a ton of money by staying at my parents' home. While I was relaxing, I was going through some old pictures and found one of me that was taken 10 years ago. I compared it to a recent picture and thought that I looked far better at 39 than I did at 29 years of age. I posted it to my Instagram account with the following comment: Women tend to fear getting older, but like fine wine, we do get better with age. Some of the comments that followed were just too cute. All agreed that women need to learn to love themselves as they age. Though I looked really cute at 29, I had more of a mysterious if not sophisticated quality to my current appearance. 

I showed my mom the two pictures and she immediately noticed the eyes. They definitely tell a before/after type of story.

I really was such a baby (as one of my friends commented). Back then, I had more of a rockabilly influence as an East Coast Swing and Jive dancer. In 2005, I was in my fourth year as a high school English teacher. My ideas at the time were so idealistic; wanting to impart my love of literature before people started to hate it. I wanted to hone their critical thinking skills. I wanted my students to be creators rather than doers.

I taught in a district that was primarily Mexican immigrant and poor. It was a real eye opener seeing a completely different community than one I had grown up in. (I grew up in an upper-middle class community. I never went without.) The staff meetings showed the disparity; there was definitely a cynical attitude among the teachers that these students were nothing more than your future laborers. They were selfish, self-centered with an all too high sense of entitlement. Despite their negativity, I maintained my positive outlook that all students were capable of doing well. I was so naïve. 

My mom noticed a more hardened look. My eyes look like they held so much pain. I didn't think so. What my eyes show is the loss of light, the loss of innocence, and the loss of optimism. It's an understanding of a cold and bitter world where evil lurks at every corner. I now look at everything with skepticism. I view all people as a potential threat to my welfare. In the years between these photos, I experienced much disappointment.

I was raped in 2007. I kept quiet. I was subsequently harassed and blackmailed by this assailant. For two years, I endured harassment such as ominous and threatening phone calls. If I didn't pay him, he would spill. A person can only take so much abuse before they snap.  It was when he said, "I'll always come after you. I always do."And I snapped. It cost me my job, my reputation and my freedom.

In 2009, I relocated back to where I was happiest. San Francisco. I became involved in the swing dance community. I made new friends. I returned to graduate school to earn my MA degree so that I could teach college. I met Demian. I was vulnerable and still trying to pick up the pieces of my previous life. He promised me safety and security. He promised that he was in it for the long run. But he wasn't supportive. He verbally abused me. He committed spousal rape. After our break-up, he disclosed my background to others. I lost another job.

I refused to be a victim, and thus continued moving forward. Demian's new girlfriend harassed me and stalked me. Though the harassment has finally stopped, the stalking continues. I really don't care if she continues to lurk. 

Though I found a new teaching position at a college, graduated from San Francisco State, moved down the Peninsula to live in a nicer home in a great community, I still walk about with caution. I've been hurt too many times to feel safe and secure. I've learned that I have no one to depend on but myself due to my hard time trusting people. 

I have transformed myself from an innocent girl to a hardened femme fatale, who wants nothing more than to be in control of her own well-being. Une femme who is independent, defiant, and refuses to be victimized, manipulated or controlled. And lets face it, the 1940s dark, vintage attire fits my profile quite well.

While I may like how I look today than I did ten years ago, I also prefer the person I am today over the innocent, naïve self who was nothing more than a doormat.

An Affair to Remember

I still love him. I probably always will. 

                                            18/05/2021

Ozer Kelgenbaytegin озер Келгенбайтегин

It was a brief affair. Very brief. We were acquainted 6 months ago. "He's the good looking Asian guy," they said. I just gave a curious face. I'm not really into Asian guys. Then he walked up, and I thought, wow he is good looking with more of a Eurasian quality and very tall. His face is sort of a mix of actors Keanu Reeves and Brandon Lee. Then he started to talk, and I was stunned by the beautiful sound of his baritone voice. He didn't sound Asian. I couldn't place his accent before he told me that his primary language is Russian and that he is from Kyrgyzstan. Intriguing. 

On occasion we've met for lunch/dinner discussing language and literature. I learned he actually speaks four languages. I told him of my fluency in Spanish, Italian and Brazilian Portuguese; the latter two more of a listening and reading comprehension with moderate speaking ability in a strong Spanish accent. He listens to jazz and classical music. He, too, is a dancer, but not in swing. He dances the waltz (hence the classical music). His favorite getaway is Half Moon Bay, and I go there practically every weekend if not to Pescadero or Santa Cruz. Coming from a landlocked country, I'm sure he has this need to be close to the water. The more we got to know each other, the more I learned how much in common we have. We even have a deep scar on our faces; mine next to my left eye and his next to his right eye.

In the months that followed, I could feel the mutual attraction between us. I was surprised when he said his roommates know about me as well as people in his country. Imagine that; my name has been floated half way around the world. Crazy. I thus decided to let the chips fall where they may. For the first time since Demian, I allowed a man to visit my home and share my bed.

As I lay in his arms, I opened up about my past and left out no details. I even told him about Demian. As I was speaking between tears, he held me tighter all the while stroking my hair between kisses on my forehead. He couldn't find the right words in English, so he spoke only in Russian; I hadn't realized how beautiful the language sounds; even more so when I heard the English translation. "Everything will be okay." He seemed convinced that good things will happen to me because I am a good person not only to him but everyone around me. However, there was definitely a sense that something wasn't quite right. As we were about to say goodbye for the night, he said, "I have to tell you the truth about something."

I always knew that he was younger than me. I just didn't know how much younger. I figured he was in his mid-20s. He certainly looks it. He admitted to having just turned 19 in July. I was aghast, "You mean to tell me there is a 20 year age gap between us?!" He said he originally thought I was about 28, but I was always up front about my age; he knows I'm 39.  I was in absolute shock. He tried to rationalize his lie by telling me that he wanted people to see him as an adult (but he is). I certainly wasn't the only person he lied to about his age. He then stated that the age difference was not a big deal and that in his country, there are many relationships involving younger men, older women. He admitted that his other sexual experiences were with women at least 10 years older. He saw that I was having a panic attack (associated with my PTSD) and he understood why I would take his news very hard and apologized for the lie. He visited my home again a few days later. I told him that I accepted the age difference and decided that I would be okay with it. He held me tighter in his arms.

The more time we spent together, the more we conversed; and the more we realized that the differences, not just in age but in other factors, would be problematic for him. I'm a devout Catholic and he a Muslim. I'm of Latin descent; he of Asian descent. American and Kyrgyz cultures are completely different. And his mother would not approve. Great. Another mama's boy. He stated that his older sister married a Turkish man and that his mom drove the couple to divorce solely because of the husband's heritage. He decided to play it safe and end the relationship. He is still dependent on his mother even though she lives thousands of miles away. Regardless, she would cut him off.

I had been celibate for four years because I wanted to avoid heartbreak. And as I reflected on this situation, I became angry with him. I felt as though I was some kind of conquest for him, and once he had me, he was done. He assured me that this wasn't the case, but I would have none of it. I said some awful things to him. I called him an asshole. A coward. I told him that I hated him and that he disgusted me. Harsh.

A week had passed before I talked to him again. He said he was sorry and that he never meant to hurt me, but also to understand his situation and his culture. He said I deserved someone better. Deep down I already know this, but no matter what, I still care about him. I told him that everything I said was just in anger, and he told me that he understood that my reaction was because he hurt me. He doesn't hold it against me. I just felt like he threw me away without any care or regard for my feelings. He finally said that in his heart, he still cares for me. That brought me to tears. In a way, I guess I needed to hear that. It makes it much easier to move forward. In the end, we've decided to remain friends.

As I reflected on this whole situation, I can't help but think about the maturity this young man demonstrated, especially after I criticized him so harshly. He had the sense to understand that people say things only out of anger and not because they truly feel that way. He understood that his actions caused pain and thus accepted accountability. He knew to give me time to heal (and knows that I'm still healing) without holding any kind of resentment. And he's only 19 years old. Demian, who is 41 years old, couldn't even do that. A grown man who is incapable of thinking beyond himself and so quick to put 100% blame on the people he's hurt.

It was as if Ozer came into my life to help me see that fact; that Demian is worthless and hopeless. And for that, I thank him for helping me understand that. I know now that our brief affair had its meaning and purpose. 

озер Келгембаитегин
ozer kelgembaitegin

Some Tremendous Progress

About six months ago, I had attended a conference specific to my teaching field. During a break out session, I was conversing with another attendee about my curriculum with a specific emphasis on improved writing skills. She gave me her card and stated that her school has a shortage of qualified writing professors. When I saw the name of the school, I was taken aback. It's a major university. Am I even qualified? Nonetheless, I took her card and thanked her. She definitely planted a seed because I kept questioning my abilities and qualifications. Could I teach this? It would definitely look good on my curricula vitae to show that I've taught at a university. A few months later, I went onto the employment opportunities site and found a posting looking for writing instructors. So I went ahead and applied thinking nothing of it.

Earlier this week I received an email asking to come in for an interview. I was shocked. I didn't even think I'd make it past the application phase. My students were very encouraging saying that I would be a great professor, but that they'd miss me if I'd leave my current position. Usually, full time jobs are hard to come by so I'd probably stay and reduce my hours and perhaps teach one class at the university. But that's IF I even get selected.

I've been having some rather sleepless nights due to nerves. I kept thinking about where I was before moving back to San Francisco. The stress and trauma that I went through when I was raped not only by a disturbed individual but also by the justice system. I never thought at that time that I could possibly find success and happiness again. My anxiety symptoms increased as interview day came closer. I had to rely on my sleep medication to help me through the night. I was not only nervous but scared. 

Today was interview day. When I went to work today, my students kept commenting on how different I look; no red lipstick. Just the "dusty rose" color from Bésame. I even wore slacks. I don't think my students have seen me in anything but a dress. They wished me the best of luck before leaving. 

I arrived on the campus early and entered the department office. I was met by the administrative assistant. It was the same young lady I met months ago. It was good to see her again. She told me that when the job posting was released, she immediately thought of me, but had lost my contact information. She knew my first name, but couldn't recall my last. When my application appeared, she told the staff, "this is the person I was telling you about." Wow. My name had been floating around. That's a good sign.

The interview itself went very, very well. Both interviewers were impressed with my answers as well as my professional opinions about a few writing samples. They asked about my teaching strategies, so I pulled out my portfolio and handed them copies of lesson plans and classroom content. I don't think they expected that because they had a genuine look of surprise and interest. The atmosphere was very positive and judging from their body language, I am probably a very good candidate. Although I don't want to get my hopes up. Anything can happen.

One thing, though, that was a highlight of the interview was that one of the interviewers had visible tattoos on her arms. I asked, "so there isn't a policy against tattoos?" They laughed and the other interviewer pulled up her sweater's sleeve and showed that her arm was covered. They noticed mine peeking through, and I said that I was trying to cover them for the interview. One of them said, "half the staff is tattooed! It's no big deal."

I think what I'm most proud of is that I took a chance despite all my fears and anxiety. Even if I don't get the position, the effort was well worth it. Although my dad and students think that I have it in the bag. We'll see.

UPDATE: So I learned that I did not get the position, and I'm okay with that. At first I was a bit disappointed because only 1 of my 3 references wrote a recommendation on my behalf. The other two apparently didn't see my request as a priority nor did they forward my impeccable teacher evaluations as requested by the university. Bummer. I didn't have university experience which is a strike against me; hence the importance of reference letters and evaluations, which the university did not receive. But in retrospect, my dream is to teach university level courses; courses that require a higher level of rhetorical thinking and analysis. Perhaps that's the plan God has for me. Other opportunities will come.

I'll Be Seeing You

My dad told me about this Joseph Cotten/Ginger Rogers film entitled I'll Be Seeing You. I didn't know there was a movie by that title, but I know of the song. He said that next time it airs on TCM to definitely watch it. "You'd like the movie," he said, "and I think you'd be able to relate to it."

Today it aired on TCM as part of their Star of the Month programming on Shirley Temple, who played a minor supporting role in this film. My dad was right. I could certainly relate to it, and I must've cried through about 75% of the movie.

I could relate to it on two levels. Joseph Cotten's (Zachary) battle with post-traumatic stress disorder (referred to as "battle fatigue") and Ginger Roger's (Mary) guarded secret about her "criminal" past. 

Zachary's internal battle with PTSD was well portrayed in this film. There are constant reminders (triggers) that cause a major episode. In this film, it was anxiety attacks. That's generally what I suffer when I have flashbacks or reminders. You try to runaway from the reminder; it's that need to feel safe and secure. You suffer a rapid heart rate, heavy breathing, sweating; all depicted in this film. All the while, you're trying to calm yourself with that soothing internal voice. As you learn to adjust, and with treatment, there are fewer attacks. Then there are times when you encounter a reminder and you face it head on. There are still triggers around me, but for the most part, it's just a heightened awareness before dismissing it. Once in awhile I'll awake in a panic from a night terror, but it goes away when I adjust to my surroundings. My worst attack was this past January (2015) that required hospitalization. It helped that my parents and my co-workers helped me through it. It happens sometimes. What you need most is a support network to get you through it.

I think what made it most emotional for me was the similarities in the crimes of which Mary and I were accused and the subsequent support by family and friends. If it wasn't for my family and friends, I don't know how I would be emotionally. They really helped me through the ordeal during the pre-trial phase, during my time in jail, my probation period, and now as a completely free woman whose record has been cleared.

In the film, Mary had been convicted of involuntary manslaughter. The charge is serious on paper, but when you learn the circumstances of the case, you realize it was just self-defense against an attempted rape. I could only imagine what a woman at the time would go through during a rape (or attempted rape) investigation. Women's accusations have never been taken seriously especially when the rapist is a known associate. My "crime" was never reporting my own rape. My "crime" was keeping it to myself and allowing this rapist to continue harassing me and blackmailing me out of thousands of dollars over a two year period. Then I finally snapped and kicked a dent in his car when he stated, "I'll come after you. I always do." And that's what led to my accusation. I was raped by a male two months shy of his 18th birthday; I was thus charged with unlawful sex. Simply because I failed to report the assault two years earlier. 

Mary served 3 years state prison. I only served 3 months county jail. The day I was released (on Independence Day 2010), my family (parents, brother, aunts/uncles, cousins) all rallied around me in support. My friends called me letting me know that they still love me and support me. When I moved back to San Francisco I had the support of my friends both old and new. Everyone knows my history and they've still accepted me knowing that I was truly the victim in my case. In the film, Mary was welcomed with open arms during her furlough from prison. During her time, she met and fell in love with Zachary, though she kept this secret from him.

I couldn't help but think of Demian as I was watching this film. He knew about my background from the moment we met. I felt he needed to know if he wanted to pursue a relationship with me. It hadn't mattered to him. He still loved me and promised that he would never hurt me. But he did. What hurt most was his leaving me at the urging of his sister. After convincing me that he was in it for the long run that he would never leave me, he did just that. He left me. 

The most poignant moment in the film was the final minutes. It was also when I cried buckets. I missed Demian. If only he had the courage to stop listening to those who succeeded in breaking us apart.

Films are definitely a reflection of the human condition. It also helps understand each other in the most devastating of circumstances.

Demian Griffitts

Para la habanera

I received a text from someone who needed to vent. I will refer to her as "Jean". I tend to look at things very objectively and always withhold judgment. It's really tough to open your soul to others, so I always listen with an open mind and open heart. 

Jean disclosed that she suffers from a mental illness; specifically an anxiety disorder. It wasn't her intention to let others know, but I guess she had been pressured to admit it, and was subsequently criticized for it. She also felt embarrassed. Upon reading her text, I shed some tears because I know exactly what she is going through. I told her that I, too, have an anxiety disorder related to PTSD. I don't think she knew, but I informed her that I've been in treatment for the past 3 years. 

Although I think more people are becoming educated on the types of mental illnesses and are more accepting of those who suffer, there's still this stigma with having a mental illness. What's most important for Jean and anyone else who is suffering an anxiety disorder is to seek out treatment and the support of others. One thing I told Jean is that you learn who your real friends are and those who care about you. Having a strong support network makes the biggest difference in living with an anxiety disorder. My parents and brother have always been supportive. All of my friends are aware that I suffer from PTSD and even help me through a panic attack (should I have one).

As you go through treatment, the attacks become less frequent. I'll have some minor ones every few months, but it's been a long time since I've had a full blown panic attack. What has helped?

Support Network - This is by far the most important. If people have seen you at your worst moments and are still there for you, that's a sign that they truly care. Let them know what you're going through. They will understand and they will help; usually by lending an ear, helping you breathe, allowing you to vent without taking it personally. 

Therapy - I have been in therapy the past 3 years. It started with weekly visits, but as I've learned the tools to live with PTSD, my visits have decreased to only one session a month. My therapist provided me with breathing techniques to help calm myself. There's even breathing to help you fall asleep which was quite useful for me since anxiety can also link to sleeping problems. Don't expect to get advice though. That's not what therapy is. A therapist helps you to identify certain patterns of behavior and/or events in your life. They also help you gain perspective and insight about yourself. They may give you tools to help you understand yourself better and make better decisions, but ultimately it is you who has to help yourself.

Medication - They help. For the longest time I was against it. I was of the opinion that life problems are still going to happen whether or not I'm on medication. But then my therapist said that a diabetic will always be diabetic, but they still need to take their insulin. Good point. So I went on Fluoxetine. It helped a lot. PMS was suddenly a thing of the past, too. Two birds, one stone. I still continue to take it in low doses, but it's definitely alleviated anxious feelings.

Therapy Dog - It sounds funny, but having a dog really does help. Daisy is always with me and most of the time she makes me laugh. She rarely barks and when I have an attack, she gives her full attention. I love how she puts her little paw on my hand as if to say, "you're okay."

Take care of yourself: Sounds easy, right? But if you really think about it, we get so busy putting our time and effort into our jobs, families, friends that we forget about ourselves. This is especially hard for people who aren't selfish. Well, there are times when you need to put yourself first. Consider your own health and how outside factors affect them. Try to eliminate stressors, but if that isn't possible, devote at least 30 minutes a day to meditate and clear your thoughts. A little bit of time for yourself does go a long way.

Avoid those spirit crushers: There will always be toxic people in your life. They can be people at work. They may even be family members. What you have to remember is that the only people who matter, whose opinions you value are those in your support network. Do not let others try to get to you. Act as though you don't care. Eventually you really will feel indifference with those spirit crushers. 

Jean, you will continue to persevere. Focus on the goals you've accomplished. Never let toxic people bring you down. If they see you at your worse and judge you for it, so what! You're human. They aren't any better and they make mistakes, too. Remember there are those who love you unconditionally.

Why can't online harassment be taken seriously?

Some recent news out of San Francisco:  Fourteen year old Rashawn Williams was fatally stabbed by a former classmate following online threats and harassment. The victim had apparently been bullied online, which included threats of violent action. I wonder, though, had the victim or his family reported the harassment to SFPD, would it have saved his life? Probably not. Unfortunately, online bullying, harassment and threats are not taken seriously by law enforcement. There is this antiquated belief that if a threat is not made in person, then it's not a threat; if it's on the internet, it isn't serious. 

Harassment: repetitive behavior intended to disturb or upset. In legalese: intentional behavior which is found threatening or disturbing. Should it matter what method the harasser uses? What law enforcement fails to understand is that harassment is not just physical altercation. Harassment is harassment whether it is spoken aloud or typed online. 

Since December 2012, I have been constantly harassed by one individual: Gianelli. Gia seems to think that women who survive rape are some how at fault for their attack, and if the rapist is 17, the rape victim is apparently a pedophile. I am a rape survivor. Apparently, in Gia's distorted point of view, it was my fault that a psychopath broke into my apartment 7 years ago. It was my fault that he physically assaulted me. It was my fault that he forcibly penetrated me because an overzealous district attorney out of Orange County, widely known as the most conservative and racist county in California, said it was my fault solely because I am an educator, and the rapist was 59 days shy of his 18th birthday even though he stood 6'2" weighing over 200lbs.

What I learned just a few months ago was that there wasn't a shred of evidence to substantiate that claim, and a new judge reviewed and dismissed the case against me. When I made the announcement that I have been cleared of any wrong doing, Gia contacted me to continue her hateful diatribe. Here is the irony of the situation. What she fails to understand is that stalking and harassing someone is a registrable sex offense in the state of California. Imagine that; Gia, who has yet to be brought to justice for her stalking and harassment, both online and off, can be classified as a sex offender. 

Exhibit A

It was just a shopping and movie outing with a friend. We perused several shops that evening where I made a few purchases. Five days later, I received Gia's first harassing email. The disturbing part was that Gia used my personal information provided to this business to search and subsequently harass me. I made a complaint to her employer. 

Exhibit B

The next several weeks led to her making third party contact with ludicrous accusations. Then she filed a civil harassment suit. Wait a minute? I'M being served with a civil suit? Because I was well within my rights to contact her employer for employee misconduct? The judge denied her claim and her suit. But the harassment didn't stop there. 

Exhibit C

She had made online slanderous statements about my character. I reported it to SFPD on the charge of slander. "Nothing they can do about it," they said; unless she physically did something. Fine. Say what you want. Just leave me alone. But that wasn't enough for Gia. 

Exhibit D

A few days later, my Facebook account was deleted. (Meh. No big loss.) 

Exhibit E

Two weeks later, I found slanderous flyers on my car as well as my neighbors' cars and front porches. She actually came to my neighborhood; a consequence of her failed suit against me was her knowing my home address. I was informed that her behavior constitutes unlawful stalking and a hate crime. I reported her to police again. I hadn't heard anything since. 

Exhibit F

Several "unknown" calls during spring 2013. My friends characterized her as a bully and offered support should anything happen.

Exhibit G

Gia went back to making several third party contacts until she abruptly stopped. Perhaps because, according to this contact, she told Gia that any future calls would be considered harassment; it was apparent that she was trying to sabotage my progress and well being. She even went on to say that, clearly, Gia is deranged. I informed this person that I do have this feeling that one day, Gia will probably harm me. But I can't let it bother me. I will continue to do what makes me happy. "Well," she said, "you can take comfort in knowing that if anything did happen to you, she will be prime suspect number one."

Exhibit H

It was months of relative peace until this past May 2014 when I wrote a post about my PTSD triggers. Funny that I started receiving anonymous calls. One afternoon I answered, and the caller promptly hung up. I have NEVER had that happen to me. Not once. I've received unwanted calls before but all of them had a voice on the other line. To hang up on someone the instant they answer is pure cowardice. 

Exhibit I

A mysterious follow on my Instagram. I'm very cautious of who adds me especially when I don't know them. I briefly scrolled through his follow list and didn't find a single green icon indicating followers in common. So I scrolled his pictures. And who is it that I should see hanging on to his arm...Gia. BLOCK! Pretty pathetic to send her minions to stalk me on her behalf.

Exhibit J

And here is the proverbial icing on the cake. Several weeks ago, she actually had the guts (well she definitely has plenty of that) to contact me again directly making false statements and slanderous accusations. When will she stop?

That is quite a bit of documented evidence. Yet, by SFPD standards, it isn't enough to follow through on charges of online harassment, stalking and a hate crime. As horrible as the Rashawn Williams situation is, perhaps some good can come out of this. Will this be a wake-up call to law enforcement to take bullying and online threats and harassment seriously? It's unfortunate that it has to take the loss of life to get the ball rolling. This generation of adolescents and twenty-somethings is far more relentless with its behavior. Online activity has made it easier for them to torment others; so easy that authorities just look the other way.

RIP Robin Williams

I've watched his comedies since the days of Mork and Mindy. I'll always remember his greetings of "Nanu Nanu" or how I'd often wonder why I couldn't consume beverages through my fingertips like Mork from Ork. Catching any comedic film staring Robin Williams was a guaranteed laugh riot. My all time favorite film of his was The Birdcage. 

I was on my way home via Caltrain when I browsed my iPad and got the news alert that Robin Williams had died possibly due to suicide. I was shocked to a point that I loudly gasped and it captured the attention of my fellow commuters. He had everything. A successful career, wealth, fame, a loving family. What would drive a person to take their own life? 

It was well documented that he had been suffering from severe depression. And more often than not, the funniest people tend to be the saddest.

Depression. It's still widely misunderstood. It's not just feeling sadness at all hours of the day. It's the inability to derive pleasure in enjoyable activities. It's the inability to perform simple tasks. There is a low sense of self-worth. Sufferers are emotionally vulnerable. It can either be organic or can result from external, traumatic factors. Can it be as severe as wanting to take your own life? It can be. Without a support network and without a connection to a community, the results can be tragically fatal. Without proper communication and therapeutic help, the demons will continue poking at your brain until you just want it all to stop.

In Memoriam of Robin Williams. May he find eternal peace in heaven that he could not attain here on earth. May God rest his soul.

The Road Through Hell Begins Here

He sat expressionless. I stood across from him staring with the utmost contempt for this filth. "How could you; knowing that you were about to destroy a person's well being. How could you do that to another human being." I looked deep into his eyes and spoke slowly, "You are pure evil." He said nothing, yet his eyes seemed to change from that of self-confidence to that of self-doubt; perhaps even fear. It was as if he knew that one day his lies will catch up to him and he will pay his karmic dues.

And then I woke up.

It was seven years ago today. Seven years ago when I came home from a long, exhausting flight from New Jersey. I had spent the week there preparing for my grandmother's funeral. When I finally returned home, I just wanted to sleep the weekend away before returning to my summer school teaching assignment. But instead, I experienced a traumatic episode that would alter my life's journey.

Friday, June 29, 2007

I was sitting on my living room couch watching TV. My front door swung open and there he stood. "You know, you should really consider locking your door." He slammed it shut before he demanded, "take off your clothes." 

I didn't comply, and before I realized what was happening, he grabbed my arm and pulled me from the couch. I tried going up the stairs in attempt to get away from him, but I tripped on the first steps. He kept saying, "C'mon!" It wasn't a shout, but rather a lowered, sinister voice. I told him no and that I didn't want it. He kept pulling back at my arms. I cornered myself against the wall making it difficult for him to get around me. Again he kept pulling at my arms until he yanked hard enough to pull me forward. He then pushed me over the side of the couch. What I felt next was a stinging pain between my legs that I screamed in pain. He penetrated me from behind by force. He kept his full weight on my back as he thrust. He whispered into my ear and said, "tell me this is what you want." I didn't answer him. He asked again. I only whimpered in pain.

It only lasted a minute or two. It was that fast. When he was finished, he pulled up his shorts and walked out the door. He didn't even close the door. It was left wide open while I was still slumped over the couch.

What happened next was a complete blur. I didn't feel anything; I couldn't hear anything. I was completely out of my senses. I don't even remember closing the door. I don't even remember falling asleep. I probably slept the entire weekend away. I spoke to no one; not even my parents who were still in New Jersey.

And the nightmare was just getting started.

"It's your fault because you failed to report the assault."

I'm quite sure each of us has known someone who has been sexually assaulted. Did you ever know them to make a report? If they did, what was the outcome? Far too often sexual assaults are underreported because the complaints are never taken seriously especially when the assailant is known to the victim. It becomes a "he said/she said" case that goes nowhere. Then the slut shaming begins. Instead of questioning the perpetrator, the victim is questioned and often judged. Her sexual history is scrutinized as though somehow she deserved it because she isn't a virgin. So the question was, "why would I file a report?"

He knew what he was doing. He knew the law very well and he terrorized me over the next two years.

...to be continued

Making Progress: From PTSD to PTG

I began blogging to help me battle Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD). For years I was suffering from it due to a sexual assault in 2007. The disorder reached its apex when I faced an injustice system that repeatedly told me, "you allowed yourself to be taken advantage of." There was a consequence of that assault, and I was the one who paid the price. I lost everything. My house, my career, my reputation.

I moved back to San Francisco to rebuild my life. I refused to believe anyone who said it would be impossible for me to get back what I lost. I was determined to prove them wrong. I enrolled in graduate school and completed my MA degree at SF State. I continued swing dancing because it, literally, saved me from self destruction. Through swing dancing, I've created many new friendships with people around the Bay Area. I also obtained a teaching position at a local college. And I continue to persevere. 

Of course there are moments that are harder than others. The disorder still lingers and there are many triggers and symptoms that I still suffer.

Triggers

• I can't have anyone approach me from behind.
• I can't stand the sound of doors slamming or any pounding for that matter.
• I can't watch any media content that contains a rape scene or even discussion about rape.
• Any reference to or discussion about my assault.
• I cannot be alone with a man if I'm in closed quarters. 
• Certain phrases are triggers: "You know you want this." "It's your fault." 
• A particular name. If I have friends with that name (and I do) I call them by the Spanish or Italian version: Miguel or Michele.
• A court room or anything having to do with the legal system.
• Blocked phone calls
• Anonymous messages
• Being Scapegoated or blamed for things I did not do.

Symptoms

• Avoidance
• Panic Attacks
• Dissociative Amnesia
• Night terrors
• Hypervigilance
• Irritability/Anger outbursts

I have had every one of those symptoms above. Usually it ends with an uncontrollable flow of tears. It isn't crying. In fact there is no emotion tied to those tears. I think it's just my body's way of releasing that stress. Some people sweat profusely; I shed tears.

I do take medication in low doses, and monthly meetings with my therapist have helped me a great deal. What has helped most, though, is disclosing what happened to me and my life with PTSD. I have found a great deal of support, admiration and respect for what I've been through. Most importantly, I am building a great deal of strength. The supportive environment here has restored some sense of trust and faith in humanity.

In any event, I'm not going to let PTSD control my life. There will always be triggers, some I can avoid, others I will have to adapt to, and some that I will have to confront head on. Earlier today, I made a very bold step to confront one of those triggers and take back some control of my life. It was scary, and I had a mild anxiety attack in the process, but in the end, I walked out feeling better with a smile on my face. It's definitely progress.

Where I still continue to have a tough time, though, is with Demian. I disclosed everything to him from day one. I kept nothing from him. I was completely honest and vulnerable. This was the man who promised to take care of me; who promised he would never let me fall with promises of love, marriage, and children. I opened up to him, yet he judged me for it. And he betrayed my trust by disclosing my life to people who have never met me. 

As much as I've progressed living with PTSD and with all my achievements, it still hurts. I entrusted my mind, body and spirit in Demian. Though I'm very certain that deep down, he feels guilty for what he's done.

Absolutely Appalling

Over the past month, I've pondered writing a commentary on the latest high profile sexual assault cases involving adolescents. Every time I'd get started, I'd just stop and delete the draft. It stirs up myriad emotions ranging from heartbreak for the victims to anger with the rapists. It's a hot topic that hits very close to home because I, too, was sexually assaulted by a young man, and like the victims in these cases, facts were manipulated and my name was dragged through the mud. Why? Because this society upholds the age old standard that boys will be boys (at any age). The victim is always to blame. Oh I heard all the lines:

• "you allowed yourself to be taken advantage of"
• "adolescents don't rape adults"
• " you never gave consent, but you stopped saying no"

Of course I stopped saying no. That rapist held me face down with all of his weight on me. He was over 6' and 200+ lbs! Much bigger than me. To even suggest that a woman is at fault simply because she was too overpowered to fight back???

But that's how little sexual assault is taken seriously especially when the rapists are under 18. In the age of internet, the victim is raped twice. Perhaps even thrice. Once by the attacker, again by the photo sharing social media and lastly by the "justice" system. It's the victim who suffers not only the loss of dignity, but also intense scrutiny and humiliation.

I refuse to call it the justice system because there is no justice for rape victims. Any accusation of the rapist turns into a character assassination of the victim. Anger is always directed at the victim. She's a whore. She was asking for it. Look at the clothes she was wearing. She shouldn't have drunk herself stupid. She didn't fight hard enough. She allowed herself to be taken advantage of. She shouldn't have put herself in that position.

Why does it even matter? 

Each of those statements above excuses the rapist; as if he was entitled to violate her body, and it's up to the woman to defend herself from it. Is it any wonder, then, why most rapes go unreported? Who wants the stress of a trial when the victim is going to be put on the stand to have her sexual history analyzed and her character torn apart? Why are there always more witnesses willing to stand up for the rapist and vilify the victim than stand up for what the real issue is; that a woman's body, mind and spirit has been violated?

Second simple answer: It's never about women's rights; not even for their own bodies. Laws were designed to protect the elite, i.e. white males regardless of age. It's that high sense of entitlement simply because one was born with fairer skin and an extra appendage.

The current "Insert Girl's Name Here" Laws supposedly are written to protect juvenile girls from sexual assault. Need I remind you of:

• The DeAnza Baseball team who were NEVER charged with the 2007 gang rape of a teenage girl. 
• The Haidl gang rape of a passed out 16 year old assaulted with a pool cue. It took 3 years and TWO trials to bring those boys to justice (one who's dad was a sheriff deputy) and the public sided with the boys.
• Steubenville Case:It took the release of a video and public outrage to get authorities to take the case; otherwise, this would've stayed swept under the rug.

The most current cases, that of Audrie Pott and Rehtaeh Parsons, are by far the most disturbing. These two young girls took their own lives after a group of guys (who were regarded as "friends") violated their every essence and photo-documented & circulated it among their peers. What I find most appalling is that each case was not immediately pursued by its local authorities. It was yet another case of "boys will be boys and the girls were just asking for it." Each victim in her final moments of life were not only sexually violated but psychologically tortured. No one stood up for them. Instead, their peers stood by gawking and laughing about the posted photos.

While the social media is relatively new, the act of publicly shaming a female has always existed. We've all heard the rumors about "the girl who puts out" or "------ is a slut" written on bathroom stalls (male and female alike). Meanwhile, the guy gets a pat on the back and high-fives among his peers. This mentality has existed for eons. Only now, with pictures and a wider audience, the public shaming becomes global. This is a problem that needs to be addressed.

But this isn't about the public shaming. It's not THE issue. The issue is this mentality that women are there for men's taking; the high sense of sexual entitlement that men believe they have. Men believe it because the legal system promotes it. Women are too afraid to report rapes because of the stress and fear of ridicule. Charges are never pursued. Charges are reversed and the woman is held accountable for her attack. If a case does go to trial, it's the victim whose character is smeared and her sexual history questioned; and this doesn't even guarantee a guilty verdict against the rapist(s).

For things to change, society  has to get to the root of the problem. It's the male sex both young and old. It's the patriarchal mentality. But as history has shown, there will be a brief public outcry before things settle down and more cases like these will continue (without real justice).

REFERENCES:

Audrie Pott
Rehtaeh Parsons
Haidl Case
Steubenville Case
DeAnza Case

Vindicated

For nearly six years, I have been carrying a heavy weight on my shoulders. I was sexually assaulted by a young man and subsequently harassed and blackmailed over a two year period. There is a breaking point for each individual, and I had reached mine. When he threatened to come after me again, I snapped. And it was that breaking point that dramatically altered my life's journey and it cost me dearly.

However, I cannot say that it wasn't for the best. I learned a lot from that experience. I learned just how cruel the world can be. I learned that there is no such thing as justice. I also learned that during the nadir of your life, you know exactly who your true friends are. My family had always been supportive, so that's expected. But I was pleasantly surprised that not one of my friends turned their backs on me. They continued to stand by my side with love and support for they knew the truth both in the situation as well as my character. I was truly humbled.

I returned to San Francisco to start my life anew. Everyone commented on how exciting it would be to embark on a new journey, but deep down, I was scared witless. I knew I'd be okay, but one can't help being nervous. It didn't take much time to get readjusted to Bay Area life. I quickly formed friendships with several people in the swing dance scene. It's such a global yet tight knit community that there's always friends of friends that eventually become yours. Of course I established friendships with others who had no connection to people back in SoCal. Then I met Demian.

When he made clear that he had an interest in me, I divulged everything to him. I felt it was his right to know my history. I took a big risk in confiding the most personal details in my life, but if he truly wanted to be with me, then it wouldn't matter to him; he would still accept me. And he did; at least that is what he led me to believe.

Unfortunately, it was all just lip service. He was obsessed with getting as much information as possible from secondary and even tertiary sources; people who had zero connection to me who made up stories on the internet. My word wasn't good enough. My friends never questioned me. They knew me better than that. In fact, they refused to read what others had said about me. It didn't matter to them. I mattered to them.

I explained to Demian several times what had happened. I was stalked. I was sexually assaulted. I was blackmailed. I never had to explain the situation as many times to anyone else as I had with him. For someone who claimed to have loved me, to be giving me a "healthy relationship", to plan our future together as husband and wife, you'd think he'd accept my word as truth and leave the past to rest especially when his past is checkered and wouldn't want that thrown in his face. But he couldn't let it go. He continued to be verbally and emotionally abusive. It was heightened by his alcoholism, and it eventually led to sexual abuse. How could he? Knowing that I'm a rape survivor and he abused me sexually.

When the relationship ended, he used my past as his excuse. He refused to accept the fact that HE MESSED UP. He took the easy route and claimed it was my past. Pardon my French but what he did was chicken sh*t. He not only used it as an excuse but he disclosed that information to others and manipulated the facts of the situation. He even contacted my employer and disclosed that information. That is some cold-blooded thing to do to a person you claimed to have loved.

As I moved on from a person who has a clear psychological dysfunction, I decided to face the music and disclose what happened to all my friends. I figured Demian would never let it go and word could reach my circle. Once again, I received strong support from everyone. They didn't need to question me. They judged me solely on my character. And of course, they judged Demian on his actions. It wasn't what he did during the relationship but afterward. To disclose and manipulate the facts of someone else's history that he had no part of was the ultimate form of cowardice. Demian is a coward.

In recent months, I've had to deal with the situation again. That is, enduring Demian's continuous harassment and disclosure/manipulation of my history. He not only shared with others, but he had someone come to my neighborhood and post flyers on people's cars and front doors. Just when I thought his actions couldn't get any lower, they did. I know it was him because he had already established that pattern when he contacted my employer immediately following our break-up. I have no problems with anyone else. And as I've formed more friendships with people in the Bay Area, I've shared my experience with them because of what Demian had done to me. Again, they judged me by the content of my character. Again, I have their full support.

As part of my therapy, I had to recount everything that happened to me between 2007 and 2009. It is extremely, emotionally exhaustive.  I hate having to talk about it because it means reliving that whole experience in my mind. I provided a statement of those events; that I was raped and committed no offense. I was strapped to a polygraph and had to answer to my statement as truth. 

I passed. When I went home, I breathed a huge sigh of relief for it was a small amount of vindication.

Demian was wrong. He should have accepted my word as truth and been supportive instead of taking the role of a coward.

I know he wanted to bring me down and he took serious action to do so. In the end, I still prevailed. Thanks to his actions, I've earned my friends' trust, respect, support and admiration. I have a wonderful teaching position as a college instructor of English. I am rebuilding and strengthening myself physically, emotionally and mentally. I am succeeding academically and professionally not only in teaching, but also in dancing and modeling.

I think that, as I reflect on myself and my needs, it wasn't so much having all of my friends' support to help me through the trauma. I really wanted Demian's support. He failed me in that aspect (as well as every other). I really wanted him to just accept me and move on together from it, but he couldn't allow himself to do that and THAT'S why he was so abusive toward me. No matter what I said, it wasn't enough. Demian allowed the thoughts and words of other people, people who never met me, influence his beliefs about me. I think that is what hurts me the most. Yes it hurt that he abused me mentally, emotionally and sexually. But he hurt me most by refusing to accept my word, using my past against me, manipulating the facts and disclosing them to others.

I think the image below sums up this post best. In closing, it's not really a message for Demian, but for anyone who tries to kill my spirit.