“Life can only be understood backwards; but it must be lived forwards.” -- Søren Kierkegaard
As a young child in this world, we are full of innocence. We have no fear of the future, no regret for the past, and are constantly living in the present. Their souls are filled with light and happiness. For me, that light dimmed and dissipated at the age of eight. There was no innocence in me. No thought of the future or present to enjoy, but only the past that was haunting me. My innocence was stolen by a man. My darkness swallowed me from then on. Inhibiting me from sharing what had happen to my parents or anyone in fear of what would follow. Little did I know that eventually what I had viewed as a roadblock would become my highway to motivation and success.
Darkness. Gloom. The cloud hanging over me. The fall of my 2nd grade is when my life changed for forever. After what had happened, I couldn’t even begin to feel like myself again. I couldn’t tell anybody about it because of the constant guilt that was eating at my young little 8-year-old heart. I was the little girl who loved to smile, play with her friends, and love her family, but that young girl died. I started to eat my feelings. I felt as if I continued to stuff my mouth that none of my feelings or memories could spill out of it. I couldn’t allow my family to know what was going on with me, so I continued on with life as if nothing happened. At least I tried to pretend to.
Continuing forward four years, the guilt was finally catching up to me. I couldn’t pretend in my sleep. Every night I would fall asleep, and every night in my dreams I would relive what happened to me. Every morning when the light would come through my window and wake me, it was like a saving grace. I would go to school, pretend some more, come home to my family, pretend some more, but when it was time for bed, there was no pretending. I knew I either needed to get this gloom out of me, or I was going to end up hurting myself. The light waking me was burning holes through my wall, slowly but surely. I had to shine some painful light on what had happened to me to my parents even if it was going to destroy them like it was destroying me. I decided writing everything down was the best way to do it since the words had never come out of my mouth before, and I surely didn’t know how. When my mother finished reading my piece, that broken 8-year-old girl was set free. Free to live again. Free to love again. Free to trust again.
Of course like any parents, they followed the steps of contacting the police. We went through all of the steps: medical examination, interview, therapy, and indefinitely, court. I had to adapt so quickly to everyone knowing what was my deepest darkest secret. The most overwhelming part for me was that they also expected me to get on the stand in front of not only the man who had done this to me but 12 jurors and a whole courtroom of strangers. I was prepared, though. Prepared to get my justice. Sadly, I lost just that. They found him not guilty. My mind that moment when they read the verdict was blank. My eyes were full of watching my father cry and his guilt blanketing him, and my mother fell to her knees knowing that she had failed and let someone ruin her little girl. In that moment, I realized that this wasn’t me. This wasn’t someone I wanted to be. I didn’t want to be a statistic. I didn’t want to be like the “33% of women who are raped [that] contemplate suicide” ( Kilpatrick, Edmunds, Seymour), or how statistically “people who have been sexually assaulted are more likely to use drugs than the general public” (Kilpatrick, Edmunds, Seymour). I didn’t want to be those statistics. I never wanted to give my parents another reason to feel guilty about what happened to me. This was my life now. It was either adapt or fall in line with the rest of the statistics.
It was time. Time to accept, but never move on. Instead of using my darkness as dead weight, like a black cloud constantly following me, I decided to use it as motivation. It was the fuel to my fire, just like it always had been. Instead, this time around it was fueling my self- motivation to be an outlier instead of powering the dark passenger inside of me. It was my freshman year of high school, and it was my turn to control my happiness for once. I joined many clubs, made many friends, even become the president of a statewide organization. I became part of a group for women and children who had been through major tragedy. I telling my story to everyone I could in hopes they would save themselves from the hell I put myself through and actually come forward about any darkness they were holding. My eight-year-old self was smiling again. She was looking forward to the future, living in the present, and forgetting about the past.
My perspective on what happened to me has changed drastically over the years. Something that once inhibited me from performing everyday tasks was now what was motivating me to continue on every day. Not only to continue but to prosper every day. I have beat the odds. I would never wish my experience upon anyone, but without it, I wouldn’t be who I am. I wouldn’t be this strong fighter. I wouldn’t be this extremely motivated person. This experience has made me, me. I wish I could have told my 8-year-old self that next morning that this tragic event would eventually be a blessing in disguise. I wish I could have told my fourth-grade self that it’s okay that they’re picking on you for being big. You’re just finding comfort in food. I wish I would have told my six grade self that none of this was my fault, and that I can let go. One thing I will never have to tell myself though is to not let this affect my future. I will never let this affect my future for the negative like so many others before me, but instead I will use this to succeed. To my parents, relatives, friends, and strangers, first, I love you. Second, please know I did not write this article for your pity. I don't want your pity. Your pity is doing exactly the opposite of how I want people to treat me about my assault. Instead, you should use this as a perspective in your own life. Always look at everything that happens to you as the fuel to your fire. As a reason to succeed and want to do better than others before you. As a way to be triumphant and defeat your darkest problems. Also, if you or someone you know has been sexually assaulted, come forward or try to get help for them. These types of things are nothing to feel guilty about or responsible for. It does not matter if you were dressed promiscuously, under the influence, said yes originally and then changed your mind, or did not speak up afterwards. It feels so much better to get these things off your chest so that you can start to go against the odds as well. I know I will always continue to skew the data.
XO,
Taylor Blankenship
