Home now from an evening I was dreading. An evening of sitting with those who performed at this years Artists Against Rape. It’s been a month since we put ourselves up on that stage, a month since I stood and read the hardest letters I’d ever written. One to my high school friend who raped me and the other to his mother and sister. I’ve sat with that moment for the last few weeks, silently, not wanting to dig too deep, feel too much or bring any of it back into my life. I allowed myself only a feeling of accomplishment at having done something so necessary for my healing. And tonight I was afraid. Afraid because in the past month I have not felt the same rush of emotion that the other artists felt. I was numb. Tuned out. Done as soon as I left the stage. The rest of the group sent mass emails talking about the bond they felt, the strength they drew from one another, the love they had...and I read quietly, sifting through the guilt of feeling none of that. I was proud of them, proud of myself, but I was not overcome. So walking into the room tonight, I was terrified that I would have to fake it. But I didn’t. I watched the footage, listened to the voices of those in the room with me and heard my own for the first time. And I swelled. I teared. I bonded.
I am grateful. For them. For my resilience. For SFWAR. And for all those that have supported me unconditionally.
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