Thank you to the man in the ambulance who squeezed my hand when I was covered with blankets to be transported to the asylum. I didn't know anyone who would help me, and my family had given up. The trauma was so damaging and it hurt me that I couldn't function. There were suspects inside my mind and the report was ignored and they were free to roam and hurt other woman, and all I wanted was to end my life.
Thank you to my Paris Compadre, who told me that I risked it all when I asked dream man to elope with me. I won't forget his blue eyes and strong jaw, and how much I loved him but he was only okay with me. You told me I was brave although I was so hurt, because I was a survivor. I wished I was never hurt by it, and everything had worked out, but all was harmed and I was too dysfunctional to realize my own doing. All I heard was laughter from the pretty guys and girls and married women, and even his supporters. I would never be loved by his community. I wished it was easy to get over but the loss was so great I could hardly bear it, but our talks helped me.
Thank you to the woman who hugged me at Santa Monica Third Street Promenade when I was working retail, selling Middle Eastern Bags, sobbing and falling apart from the assaults. Your Native American spirit soaked my tears and I was covered by your embrace.
Thank you to the nameless man who drove me in mid-July to my rental apartment before my move to Colorado, after my titanic mistake. You took $5, but gave me a kind blessing, forever.
Thank you to the Domestic Violence advocates who helped me. I would not have made graduation for my Master Degree without you. You deserved a lot more things in life than just this work, because your heart helped so many people.
Thank you to those whose hearts lean to help survivors. We are invisible sometimes, and only recognizable by symptoms, but our hearts are pumping love just the same.
Thank you.
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