Good people give bad advice all the time. And said advice generally comes in well-intended pithy (and occasionally alliterative!) axioms. The rule of thumb for discerning bad advice: does it fit on a bumper sticker? If yes, then it is too simple to be of much use. Funny? Sure! Worth honking for? Why not! Helpful? Not so much. My least favorite of these little adages is the perennial “Live like you are dying!” I think there’s even a country singer out there that made his career peddling this.
In the most general sense, technically all of us are living like we are dying because we are all headed for the final curtains at some point. But very few of us ever have to live like we are actually seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. I can’t speak for everyone – and trust me when I say you don’t want to hear me sing country – but living like that is no way to live.
The Little Green Box
I could hear my roommate J softly snoring as I crawled into our softly dark bedroom, cold, shaking and terror stricken. Not even trying to be quiet, I went immediately into the bathroom and shut the door. I was about to do the most rational thing I’d done over the past three months of complete irrationality.
That night was when I made the box. Unceremoniously I dumped out all the cosmetics the little green Rubbermaid box held and began to refill it. First in was my torn shirt. And then a picture of me showing the bruises on my neck, chest and upper arms – bruises that I had spent the last week wearing a turtleneck to cover, bruises that had caused a fellow bridesmaid to exclaim “What in holy hell happened to you?” In a church. Next, an altoids box of blood-soaked razor blades I’d taken away from my boyfriend in a feinted attempt at suicide. Then a dark poem he’d written me. But the most important addition was a plain college-ruled notebook. On the first page I had written the date, my name, and simply the words the evidence.
See, that night he had told me he had a present for me. I could tell by the strange twitch in his smile and the fire in his eyes that I would not like it. But I listened. I didn’t really have a choice – he held my car keys, threatening to throw them into the dark abyss of the canyon at night. “I wrote a list. A list of 100 ways to kill you.” He waited for my reaction.
I waited for my reaction. But there was nothing, just the pounding of my heart and a sense of inevitability settling over me like a comfortable blanket.
“The first one is to peel back all the skin on your skull. So I can see what it looks like. I imagine you have a beautiful skull.”
I didn’t picture it. I just held my breath and waited as he read down the list, detailing way after creative way to kill me. Did he mean now?
“And then I ate the list. So I’d always have it inside of me.”
Who says that??
“Does that scare you?” He tenderly pushed the hair away from my face, “Because it should.” He paused and then added, “You look like an angel tonight.”
By that night, I had long since stopped being scared of him. Don’t get me wrong, he still had the power to terrify me but the element of surprise was gone. It was surreal. I lived in his world and he made the rules. This was how it would all end: he would kill me. There would be no break up, no leaving, no whining to my girlfriends. We would either stay together or one of us would die. It was a possibility that he would kill himself too. Either in addition to killing me or just to hurt me with his death. He’d threatened me with that possibility before (hence the tin of bloody razors).
That night I wrote it all down. Every bruise, every threat, every crazy incident written in a numbered list in that black notebook. It took four pages before my urge to purge was sated. As I re-read the list, it was with a sense of foreboding. I knew that one day those papers would be used in a court of law to convict him. That green box was my failsafe. My explanation. My reassurance that when he killed me, at least they would know who did it.
The box was made before he sexually assaulted me. I later added my bloodied and torn clothing from that night. Even later still I added a letter that he gave me on the day I got married, still claiming me as his. And even after that, I would add notes to my list or print out the e-mails that he still sent me. For five years I kept that box. For five years after we had broken up, I still fully expected my life to end at his hands.
The Aftermath of Not Dying But Not Living
After the sexual assault – the day that severed the ties of our formal relationship – I went into a downward spiral as many victims do. Turbo Jennie summed up her experience in a comment on a previous post thusly,
“I was raped when I was 21 and the result was my fiance calling off our wedding, me drinking more than anyone should, sleeping with more random people than anyone should and an attacker that spent a mere 15 days in jail.”
What she did on the outside, I did on the inside. Relationships felt superficial, hobbies felt too difficult to maintain, classes felt too hard to finish. And why bother? I was going to die anyhow. There were times during that period that I wished he really had killed me. Anything had to be better than the protracted pain of not-recovery.
And then the court case happened. My box of evidence was invaluable in convicting him, tangibly refuting his claim that he didn’t even know who I was. But then the box was gone from me and I felt naked without it. Unprotected. He was in prison. He was alive. I was alive. Somehow everything had worked out for the best. And then it was that the fear set in. I had lost my excuse. For five years I had lived like I was dying.
Now I needed to make good on the chance that I had got, I had to live like I was actually living. I had no excuse not to take risks or try new things or emotionally invest in the people around me. I had no reason to continue with my destructive eating disorder (which had been my primary coping mechanism during the drawn-out court case). In fact, for the first time in my life, I felt like I needed to love, nurture and take care of the body that I had. It had suffered a lot both at my own hands and the hands of others. I might be around another 80 years for all I knew and I needed it to be in good working order! It was liberating and dizzying and overhwelming.
It was hope.
And that’s why I bring this up now. First, October is domestic violence awareness month – aptly commemorated by Rhode Island becoming the first state to make domestic violence education mandatory in high schools. I think dating violence education is an important message for all young women and men to hear and I hope that by talking openly about my experiences that that will inspire and further discussion between teens and their parents and teachers.
But in a more general sense, I think a lot of people live like they are dying. By some circumstance in their lives they have lost hope and faith in a future that will be better than the past. They don’t feel their present is worth improving and so they go for the quick fix of alcohol or the numbing release of television or the tantalizing but never satisfying gossip. I’m not saying it’s easy to live for the sake of life – it’s both joyous and painful to experience everything – but living like you are dying is no life at all.
I hope I have not been too strident or, worse, trite in my handling of this subject. It’s just that five years is a long time to waste. The green box served its purpose for a time but letting it go was one of the best things I’ve ever done. What can you let go of?
A bumper sticker I once noticed said, “Some people have one of those days, and some have one of those lives!” The wonderful thing for you, dear friend, is that you managed to confine this tragedy into the first category.
You gave me chills and made me a little sick, but I’m glad you wrote it. I’m so sorry that happened to you, and I’m glad it’s over and you’re healing.
Are you still sending stuff to be published? I think you should combine some of the posts you’ve written about your experience and make a booklet. (It could be used to scare some sense into those high-school and college-age girls who think that their boyfriends don’t really mean to hurt them.
You are very brave and I’m glad you’ve found an outlet, I hope it’s helping you heal. In defense of the Live Like You Were Dying song, granted it’s cheesy and I understand your point, but when my Mom got Pancreatic Cancer and was given a second chance at life but was unsure how long she would get, she picked that as her theme song- had it programed as her phone ring and everything. The point is to not waste what you have because you don’t have a second chance at life, which is what you said about not carrying extra baggage.
HOLY COW WOMAN.(Sorry, probably not the most appropriate first reaction to a post like this…but HOLY COW.)
My favorite part was this, “By some circumstance in their lives they have lost hope and faith in a future that will be better than the past. “
Heavens. This stunned me. I really struggle to believe that there can be people as disturbed and ultimately evil as ‘G’, and that is why it’s so important that this tale be told…because there are so many so unaware of the capacity for evil in people.
I’m not saying we should live our life on total guard, but there’s no harm in having a little voice in the back of one’s head working as a reminder that no, you’re not safe with everyone, is this person ‘good’??
You’re amazing, charlotte, and I could read you forever.
Cara
This was such a selfless thing to do. You have come so far to be able to write this here in the hope of educating and raising awareness in others, it really can’t have been easy.
I’m glad you refuse to let this define you now. It confirms to me yet again how strong you are.
Hugs for you, you didn’t deserve this and you rose above it anyway and are using it for good. You should be so proud of yourself. I am.
TA x
no words.
(well one. amazingbrave)
Miz.
I have to say I’m blown away by what you went through. The thought that there are countless women still trapped in situations like the one you describe is just heartbreaking to me.
Thanks for the brave post and the hopeful ending. I imagine it may inspire some women who are reading right now and feel hopeless that there is indeed light at the end of the tunnel.
You’re never trite when you talk about this experience. You make me proud to “know” you, because your words can help so many others.
wow. i cannot find the words to express how i feel after reading your post. nothing i can come up with feels adequate.
thank you for your brave candor, thank you for overcoming and helping others.
this post is a reminder that we should be gentle with others because we never know what they are going through.
This brought tears to my eyes and I’m at a loss for what I should say. I’m so sorry you had to go through this.
OK Charlotte. So I admit. I read your blog. How great that you can overcome such a terrible experience.
Sorry to use your blog for other than fitness purposes but I wanted to ask the wettstein family if they were from Utah. Specifically, is Mr. Wettstein from Hyde Park?
Thanks for your tolerance.
You’re fantastically strong, Charlotte. You have been through so much. I’m so glad that you’re willing to share it with us.
I had a criminal justice professor a couple years ago who told us all about the domestic violence that she suffered; she missed a bunch of our classes because she was going to court and because she was so terrified some days that she didn’t sleep during the night at all. I haven’t seen/spoken to her in a while but this has reminded me of her. I think I’ll see if I can’t track her down.
I didn’t know that its domestic violence awareness month, so thank you for bringing that up!
Thank you for posting this. It’s inspired me to let something go that I’ve kept for a while.
Your story was horrifying yet you absolutely captivated me with your words. You’ve come such a long way from that point, and I think it’s a great idea, if you feel up to it, to publish this material to help out other women who’ve been in a similar situation.
Yeah, I’m totally speechless besides wanting to say thank you. You’re a very courageous woman and I admire the way you write.
What an extremely powerful post, Charlotte. I loved that part about NOT living like you’re dying…live like you’re LIVING.
It’s hard to imagine going through something like that. I’m glad you’re past it well enough to be able to talk about it like you do.
Incredible story. No one ever deserves to be treated like that.
Trite? Are you serious? With a few short paragraphs you lay the most intimate details of your life bare…
You reclaimed your life – and your body – as your own. This is no small accomplishment. You should be proud.
Wow, Charlotte, what a brave post. Your story literally made me cold all over. I am so sorry something so horrific happened to you. Of course you didn’t sound trite. And I agree w/ chilerocks – your experience would make a powerful booklet. I didn’t know about domestic violence awareness month either, nor did I know about Rhode Island. Good for them! Hopefully other states will soon follow suit. Bless you for your courage and strength. You never cease to inspire me.
Totally amazing post. Thank you so much for sharing it.
I’m impressed that you were able to post this for all to see, and I’m really glad you did. I keep thinking of all the people who are still in the situation that you were in, and feeling like there’s no way out. Hopefully some of them will stumble across this post.
(Hmmmn… speaking of Stumbling, we should all vote with our mouse here.)
Charlotte you are one of the most amazing women I know. I’ve loved you and looked up to you for as long as I can remember.
Even being as close to you as I was, I never knew the all of what happened. It hurts me to the center of my soul to think of what you went through.
I wish I wasn’t so oblivious, I wish I could have done more to help. I wish it had never happened.
But it did happen. And it is a credit to your resolve and inner strength that you have overcome and can work now to help others.
I’m awed by your strength and resolve. You example inspires others.
Whether it’s kettleballs or violent psychos, you kick butt!
I know I’m repeating what everyone else has said, but this was an incredibly powerful post, and I know that your bravery is helping those who aren’t as strong as you fight against the wrongs in their life.
Oh, Charlotte.
Thank you for this post. Reading it I kind of went numb and at the end I had to remind myself that this really happened to you.
None of my trauma was ever that extreme and I’m thankful for that, I guess.
I still haven’t let go of everything, but my BF and my family is very aware and very supportive of my efforts to reliniquish those self defence mechanisms. Hopefully, with time I can start to feel like I’m not “broken” anymore.
You’ve done an enormous public service here. Across this country there are thousands of women and girls who think nobody knows what they’re going through, that they’re the only one. Starting a box like that is a great first step toward getting control. You’ve shown great courage in moving on and in looking back to help the rest.
I’m sorry that you went through this. You must be a very strong person.
Pingback:Should I Try Krav Maga? [Ugly As a Self-Defense Tactic. Fail.] | Everyth1ng
Pingback:Running Scared: What Do You Do To Protect Yourself When You Workout? [Or: How do you deal with fear of the unknown??]