My Story is a Hollywood Movie

I’ve never considered myself to be a relationship girl, or someone who can actually be in one or a serious one for that matter. 

And yet, here I am laying on his chest and listening to his heartbeat. And that’s perfectly fine. We don’t need to say anything, we just lay there holding each other, smiling and sensing what the other is thinking. I can kiss his nose and giggle as he tries to bite me. I can touch his face and smile as he kisses my wrist. He can talk about death and government conspiracies and I’m actually interested. I can ramble and rant on and on about feminism & politics that  only my best friends would listen to (and sometimes not), and he would respond.

And I’m really happy. Every time I’m with him, I just can’t help but smile. When I think of him, I smile. Like, what the hell? How? Why? When? These feelings just came out of nowhere.

We’re literally living the cliché romance. This is the typical story of the broken good girl falls for the misunderstood bad boy who just so happens to be the girl’s best friend’s brother. They go for the person they are least likely to go for. They're polar opposites, but oh, so similar in ways that matter. 

Like, how insane is that? 

I've known him practically half my life and he's the one I didn't look for, didn't wait for, but he just walked through my door and held my hand and was totally okay with the muddy puddle before him. I suppose there was always something there, but this thing didn't ignite until some outside force made us.

And now we're here connecting with each other, the way that we never thought we could. These fireworks of feelings just sort of exploded within us and we’ve attached ourselves to each other. All I can hope for is that this feeling doesn’t end. But of course, it will not be easy.

But I want us to last as long as we can. He’s worth it. I hope I’m worth it for him. 

He’s the tattoo, this permanent presence on my knees that makes me weak but continues to make me stand and walk on my own. A tattoo capable of making me crumble into ecstasy but also solidify me into the strongest person I’ve ever been.

But it’s okay. And we’re okay. And that’s what matters.

It’s literally been a week and I’m laying prostrate for him. Cupid aimed right into my heart and mind, and I welcome the pain and happiness. I see the puzzle pieces finally together as an actual painting instead of a broken art.

We were these lonely shadows under the moon that somehow under the sun, we found each other, even if the other was always there. We finally SAW & FELT each other. So, we played and molded together to make this blob that stuck and unstuck, however always finding each other throughout the day to make shapes and feel the world around them.

He’s that last drop of honey that just won’t come off the comb. No matter how much you shake him off, he’s there, trying to cling on. He’s there to make sure you’re always whole. He’s there making sure you’re who you should be, who you would be, the person you’ve wanted to be. He’s there to make sure you only smile, but when you do cry, he just holds even tighter until the tears stop.

And I don’t know what to make of it. He confuses me, but he does this thing, that when he holds me, the confusion drops to the floor and I can only see understanding in his eyes.

We’re birds that are flying through clear skies. But when would we land? And what happens then? I suppose we’ll just wait & see when the rain comes down. Or maybe I'm just crazy.

Thanks for reading this rant,

Drey

Among the Weak and Strong

“You’ll always be stronger than he’ll ever be,” Lisa said to me.

When I called her I was crying next to the FIU fountain. I felt ashamed and wanted to stop crying, but I couldn't. Lisa told me to just let it all out and to stop keeping it in. Because it’s okay to cry. Lisa is the first person I gave a detailed view of the nightmares I have everyday. I see an element of my abuser in every man that I start to develop feelings for and so, I force myself to move on. But, I’m not going to let that happen again. I’m so done with crying randomly because it’s like I’m letting him win. And I refuse to ever let him win. I’m going to have to stop pretending to be so strong and actually become strong.

Later that day, I told Evelyne everything. I had to. My best friends and sister are the people that have made me decide that the world is worth living in.

“Promise me. Tell me you’re strong,” Evelyne said to me.

She placed her pinky in front of me and nods at it. I resisted at first but finally relented.

I put my pinky forward and squeezed my pinky tight against hers.

“I am strong. I am strong. I am strong.”

And then I cried.

Sometimes I convince myself that I really am not strong. It’s like I can hear him telling me that I’m weak and useless. I can feel him, smell him, hear him and see him. All of him. I can hear him talking to me, telling me to be his good little girl. I feel him winning. I feel him laughing at me. I feel him laughing at me while I cry. And that’s what scares me. He’s winning. It's like every day and every time I have my bad days, I let him win and he's just smiling at me. 

For a while, I've been preaching about how you’re stronger than you think and we as humans can go through anything, no matter what the trauma. But who am I kidding? There are just some things we cannot escape. Today, I had one of the worst mental breakdowns in my life. I left my club’s meeting because I was just so scared of crying in front of everyone. Fuck, I was even nominated for a position. And I can’t believe I let him win me over today. I never have done that before, at least not in public.

People that have been through what I’ve been through or anything traumatic, know what it's like to wake up sometimes and just feel nothing. You wake up and you just want to cry. And it’s not pity or pain. It’s just nothing. You wake up and you feel empty inside. A part of your soul and your life is gone and that’s when you realize you’re breaking and can’t do anything about it. I’ve been trying for years now to make the world a better place. But what can I honestly do? I honestly don’t know what I’m doing anymore. How can I help others when I can barely help myself? However, I will try. I don't know how just yet, but I will.

There are three specific memories that I remembered clearly today from my attacker. I was six years old during all of these, an innocent little child. This is why I had a breakdown today. Because I remembered all three times perfectly with all the terrible details. I actually didn’t just remember the pain, his face and his smile and everything he ever told me. I remembered each thing I did and what he did. A man my parents and I trusted. He was told to take care of me and he would be paid. Seeing as he had no income at that point, he took the opportunity.

He took me to a room and told me to be a good little girl. He pulled down his pants. He told me to pull down his underwear. I asked him why and I told him that I didn’t want to. That’s when he smiled this disgusting, dark smile that I will never forget. He told me that I have to be a good little girl. That if I don’t do what he says, he’ll tell my father and that my father would spank me. So I pulled them down. He gave me instructions. He told me to put my mouth around him and—ugh. But I did what he told me to do. And I can’t believe I did that. A SIX YEAR OLD WOULD KNOW BETTER. I should have known better, but I didn’t.

And I was so scared that I didn’t tell anyone. And I don’t want to be scared any more.

The second memory that stuck to me all these years was when I wanted to play with my neighbor. When I ran out to play with my neighbor, he grabbed me because I didn’t clean up. He said I will have to be punished. He said I was a bad girl. He touched me. He put his hands all over me and rubbed me. I remember screaming and trying to get away. But he said that he would tell my parents that I was misbehaving. So I let him do it again and again. He had me on his lap. I could still feel his fingers inside and on me. I could feel his smile against my neck. I can still feel him. And I shouldn’t.

The third, my most vague and final memory was at a party. Everyone was outside. After using the bathroom I was walking out. He stopped me. I mainly remember him pulling me after I tried running away and him pushing me onto the couch's. I remember feeling a slap of pain and tears and he took off my underwear and he raped me. And then there was blackness. I just remember going home and there was so much blood. My mom saw blood all over my new white underwear. She asked me what happened. I told her it was because I was playing and fell.

“Audrey, your pookie is getting ugly,” she said to me.

And I think this is when hatred toward my mother formed. She knew. What mother doesn’t know after seeing all that blood? I remember that I was still in pain the day after. And I still feel pain, just not the same kind. There was so much blood. Blood. Blood. Blood. She had to throw that underwear away. You can’t bleed that much from falling. You can’t bleed that much from playing. Can I not trust my own mother? I started to blame her.

When I was 12 my mom made a comment about rape. I asked her if she has ever been raped. She replied with a question, “Have you?” I didn’t know how to reply. So I didn't.

When I finally did tell my parents at 13, they told me to forget about it. It was in the past and there is nothing I can do about it. He committed suicide. He's gone. He's dead. They blamed me for not talking about it earlier. They told me that hey, you’ll get over it eventually. But I never did.

Today, when I told my best friends of my breakdown, it was like they knew what to do. I guess they’re kind of already used to dealing with my breakdowns. Which I feel terrible about because I hate putting my pain on others. I hate that I have to depend on others to feel some sort of comfort. But knowing them, they would say that it’s fine because that’s what friends do. And I agree because I’m willing to endure anything for them and my sister. Again and again my friends would tell me that I didn’t know better, that I was a kid. But hello, kids do know better. Sometimes, things just feel wrong. But yet, I did it anyway. And I’m not sure why I let him win as a kid and why I still let him win.

I don’t know what I tried to accomplish by writing this. All I know is that I don’t want to pretend to be so strong and powerful and independent. Yes, I will still be those things, but I’m going to show my vulnerable side. That side of me that I don’t show. The side I struggle everyday with. The side that sees his face everyday but ignores the images and the feelings.But I think the main point is that it’s okay to be weak. I guess I just wanted to show you guys my vulnerability. I wanted to show you me. I wanted to be completely honest and free in front of you. And I want you to take it and learn. Learn that you're beautiful. Learn that it's okay to feel hurt and confused because with help, you'll learn what to do.

Because, it’s not easy to forgive and definitely not easy to forget. It’s not something I’ll ever get over. Rape, sexual assault and incest are a serious traumatic crimes. It’s the murdering of the soul, the robbery of trust and the abuse of humanity. These things are not things to get over. Trauma is something you live and cope with. Something you take with you until you die. I think that’s what we have to do. When something traumatic occurs, you don’t get over it, you live with it. You know how to cope with living with a sibling or a pet or a disease, this is something like that. You have to learn to live with it and try to grow from it. You have to learn how to wake up each morning and convince yourself you are strong and capable. No matter how hard life is getting. You have to wake up and realize that hey, so you have your bad days, but the good days are worth living for. Because you are worth living for. You didn’t make it this far for no reason. Luck is on your side there. So take it and do something with it.

It’s perfectly fine to cry a lot and feel helpless. But it’s not okay to believe that you are helpless. That is what I learned from my best friends today. They taught me that I am strong. I am not helpless. And I am not alone. It’s funny how you know all these things, but when you hear someone say it, that just gives you a whole new perspective.

I’ll be okay. Because it’s perfectly fine to be vulnerable and scared. Everyone is, as long as you’re with someone along the way, you’ll be fine.

You just have to willing to put up with the bullshit, take it and use it. Then go forward to find the love and take that in. I hope you guys get what I’m saying.

I love you,

Drey

Please love yourself. Regardless of however fragile, vulnerable or how painful it may be. You're incredible and perfect.

**I'm a Survivor.

“They want to paint you the color of smashed hymens.”

Words are so strong and REAL. Words can touch, heal, love and build. Words form these feelings from, “I love you,” to “I hate you.” Words can do so much! They can take you to a whole new place or keep you right there. 

As it has been proven as more cases become popular of how bullies can hurt people and even cause suicide. This has become such a huge issue now. And you would think that bullies only happen in school and not elsewhere. Wrong. Bullying occurs in college, the work place and even at home. Just know you’re not alone. You can get help and you are valuable.

We forget to realize that people are breathing creatures that have feelings, ideas and hope. We forget that we’re capable of our own destruction and other’s destructions. We forget that we’re REAL. We’re not just someone behind a computer screen. We’re not just there, we’re thumping hearts and sweating bodies.

I want to address these issues of blaming victims.

Can we stop? Why do we have to fight for our respect? Why can we not just already HAVE it? Were we not born human beings? Are we just our genitals? Are we?

I’m just so done with people calling others sluts. What does someone’s behavior in their bedroom have to do with you? So what they’re sexually active. So what they’ve had multiple partners. So, what?! It’s their body, they can do what they want. As long as they are responsible, it shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter how many people you sleep with. It doesn’t matter. If both parties are willing contestants, go for it.

I can go off on personal experience. I am “That Girl.” That girl some guys would just rather sleep with than love. I have been the victim where other girls, my peers, have called me terrible names and joked about me for being with a guy. But, why? I was being shamed for one night. I get objectified for having large breasts and a vagina. Why?

Because to society I’m not good enough. Because to you, I’m just a place where you can stick your dignity in and walk on and have as a tally mark on your bed post. Because to them, I’m just THAT GIRL who doesn’t care. Because to all, I am just there.

But, I’m here to tell you, I’m not. I’m a person that’s a survivor. I’m a person who woke up and realized I’m more than just, “that slut.” I’m more than just that girl who got raped. I’m not that girl who asked for it. I’m not just that girl who only gets objectified for having a sparkling vagina.

I’m a girl who can break away from social norms and just be me. I am willing to be different. I’m willing to be free.

I’m going to walk on out and do what I please. Because I’m worth it. Because I am free. Because I am me. I’m not you, your mom or your dad. I am me. I don’t have to answer to you or to your so-called-must-be’s. Because I am me.

And don’t forget you are you. You’re beautiful. You’re perfect. You’re not a victim. You’re a survivor. You’re you. 

I wish someone told me this. I wish someone told the hurt me that, “Hey, it’s okay to be hurt.” It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be locked up in a cage and be constantly hurt. Because you can do this and get out. You’re worth waking up to and fighting for. Because you’re you.

I wish someone said to me, “They just don’t know.” Just like what Jesus said.

But some now do. My friends. My loves. My family. They know. They'll always know and they'll always be there, even when it seems like they won't.

Everyone needs to be educated and must know. IT’S NOT OKAY TO BLAME THE VICTIM. Because they apparently deserved it. Because she wears too much makeup. Because he wears tight pants. Because clothes are clothes. Rape is rape. It is wrong. Bullying is bullying. It is wrong.

IT’S NOT OKAY TO HURT SOMEONE WITH WORDS.

IT’S NOT FRIGGIN’ OKAY TO CALL SOMEONE A SLUT. WHORE. SKANK. BITCH. IT’S NOT OKAY!

Because words hurt.

Words can cut deep and leave red marks on wrists and veins. They can make little girls cry and big men weep.

Because they’re words and they’re just as real as you and me.

Here are some awesome videos:

I love you,

Drey

P.S. I hope you read this and realize that words are just as important as you and me. That you learned that it's not okay to slut shame, victim shame or just hurt others for something that wasn't their fault. And if you didn't get that... I hope you at least got something from this. So please, it's just not okay to hurt.

Carpe Natibus

You know how they say, “Carpe natibus (Seize the ass)?” Okay, so people don’t actually say that. However, there is this trend in society that we should go, “Get that!” or, “Get on that ass!”

We shouldn’t though. We shouldn’t have to objectify other human beings into sex objects and things of no respect. We should love one another and treat them as humans—as people that are capable of more than just sex. I mean, all of us have so much more to offer than our genitals. As much as sex is just sex, there’s more to life than just sex. There’s happiness, passion and enjoyment to be found in one another. We should look for that. Next time you see a girl or a boy and think, “Damn, the things I would do…” Also think about what that person could do too. Think about what that person may offer you other than their bodies. In the end, our bodies are great to have, but our mind and souls can have so much more to contribute. All the greats in this world are remembered for more than just the physical.

Think of Ghandi, he had so much more to give to us than just his skinny body. He gave us a revolution, an idea to be treated equally. Think of Katharine Hepburn who paved the way for us women to do whatever we want and be whoever we want. Think of Einstein who gave us his mind and greatness. Just think of that.

We’re all great people with so much more to offer. I know I seem like such an optimist, but it’s true! And to be quite honest, I’m sick of being objectified. I’m sick of men constantly telling me, “You’re so hot,” or, “I want to fuck you,” or, “I lust after you.”

Recently, I’ve had several guys tell me that. I mean, I guess I am flattered… But, is that all I am good for? Certainly not. I’m not just some candy or something you can just pick up and use then throw away. I’m a human being that has a sparkling personality and can be quite compassionate (sometimes).

A couple of weeks ago, I went out with some friends. We had a merry time. It was great until one of them started hitting on me and telling me all these things I never knew before. Things like, “I’m attracted to you,” and, “We should fuck,” eventually he actually came onto me and tried to take advantage of me. And I thought this guy was my good friend and he also has a girlfriend. Needless to say, I was hurt.  

And honestly, that night I wasn't wearing a sexy outfit. So the excuse that, "Oh, it's because you were dressed seductively or were suggestive," is completely wrong. I was wearing a T- Shirt, shorts and flip- flops. Also, the whole time I was sitting with a seat in between us and no body contact was made. 

So, a few days ago a guy I met on a trip messaged me and told me, "I lusted at you," and, "You tempted me," and other things. How am I supposed to respond? Admittedly, I did feel an attraction...I just didn't feel comfortable. And to be quite honest, I was quite upset about the whole thing; how did I tempt? I never suggested anything and I never made any sexy eyes or anything. I just don't understand how my body language can be translated to being sensual. I've been told that I appear sensual... I guess, that's just my body language. The point is, it bothered me that he was telling me all of this now and that he never bothered to get to know me. Or rather, to get me to trust him or for him to trust me. Not that I would actually trust him. I mean, I can't trust someone after knowing a person for a week. 

In every relationship there has to be trust and an understanding. The people involved in any sort of relationship have to be on the same page with one another and not hold anything back from one another. That's what makes things successful. That's why I am such a huge advocate for honesty. 

I just hope you take away the fact that people are people not vibrators or dildos. They're living humans that have so much to offer and not to be taken for granted. They're incredible beings that deserve to be loved not objectified.

With Doting,

Drey

Henry is so handsome.