troublingastar

"Y'all act like you never seen a rape victim before, jaws all on the floor, like Turner and Weinstein just walked in the door..." Gallows humor is how my family tends to deal with trauma, and if I don't find a silver lining in all this, I don't know how else to cope. The convicted sex offender who raped me in March (though I got the confirmation letter from Planned Parenthood in April) and gave me HSV 2 is currently in Florida in jail on 53 unrelated counts and wanted in 3 counties. I've emailed my governor and Governor DeSantis (fat lot of good the latter will do) as well as my state reps, since only state governors can request extradition. I almost wasn't going to report it because he was originally going to be my tenant, so I ran a background check after I found out via Google that he'd been convicted of 3rd degree child molestation back in 2012 in Alabama and subsequently found out that he'd also previously been convicted of witness tampering, escape, 4th degree assault (twice), DUI (twice), theft, and a partridge in a pear tree. The best friend of one of the moms of his kids contacted me out of the blue, and the mom of his kids also reached out, and they managed to find out where he was (there's never been a thinner needle in a bigger haystack) and got him arrested. He's currently in jail for grand theft auto (stole his kids' mom's truck and camper and drove it across the country), identity theft, and being a felon who was caught escaping with a gun he had on him illegally and a bunch of bullets. And in the great state of Florida, each bullet counts as a separate charge. I may disagree with a lot of the politics that play out in the South, but in this case--without irony--God bless 'em. Since I'm currently living in a smaller town, I was even more hesitant to report, but the police have been incredibly supportive. They already got a friend of his who was threatening me to stand down (not until after he'd already bragged about the rapist having enough money to afford a good lawyer first) to back off, especially since a judge granted my temporary sexual assault protection order... which keeps getting pushed back because of COVID. Luckily, it's relatively easy to have him served in jail. When I first started experiencing symptoms, I prayed it was COVID. It feels entitled to say that now when millions have lost their lives, but since the first outbreak comes with flu-like symptoms and I had those in spades, to me it seemed logical. Then the sores came. A litany of apologies came spilling out of my mouth after I screamed when they swabbed me in Planned Parenthood, and I just cried, and cried, and cried. I'm a teacher who's about to move across the state for work, which means I have to find renters for the house I bought less than a year ago and then find a place to live over there within the next 3 months in the midst of COVID, and the place I'm moving to has record numbers of cases. I started fostering recently as well, as if that weren't enough already. So when the doctors told me that stress can cause outbreaks, they had a hard time catching the humor when I deadpanned, "Well, it's a good thing I don't have a stressful life, then." I've had 3 outbreaks since March. Three courses of Valtrex, one of which I'm currently on. Thanks to Express Scripts, I have a 3-month supply of acyclovir, but I know that valcyclovir is metabolized better in the body, so I'm trying to rely primarily on those prescriptions. During my first outbreak, I had to go to the ER for a herpetic whitlow that was misdiagnosed. That was even more fun. It sounds so stupid to say that it's unfair, but god damnit, it is unfair. I'm battling depression, though I see my therapist every week, which helps. I've been exercising more again, but I enjoy running and the friction from it doesn't do my outbreaks any favors (when it isn't busy causing them). I've already had my first rejection from a former friend with benefits, but another--one of my best friends--actually previously had a partner with HSV 2 and has HSV 1 himself, so he was surprisingly cool about it, which I think is what's keeping my self-esteem hanging on by a thread. I'm working in therapy on why so much of my self-worth comes from sexual relationships, but it's something I'm definitely working on, since I know I have other value. But the words of the ER tech just echo in my head. That Valtrex isn't meant to be taken suppressively for the long term. What if these recurrences keep happening regularly? What if I can't feel comfortable in my own skin again? I'm usually able to keep from crying or being too negative about it until I really start to dial in on the shame and fury and despair that plague me. I saw a postsecret (attached) that I think applies a lot to me, especially since I'm recovering from narcissistic abuse not only from my childhood but also from a series of abusive relationships. Maybe I'll be more discerning about partners. Maybe I'll be able to devote more time to my passions instead of pursuing brief physical encounters that ultimately left me unfulfilled. Like a Twinkie or something. But then I have to try not to ruminate on the self-worth that spends each day circling the drain, ebbing and flowing from minute to minute. I know that more things give me worth than just my sexuality or my body. But it's hard not feeling like I'm a stranger in my own body now. It's hard loving myself. It's hard not blaming the victim when the victim is looking back at me in the mirror and telling me how nasty I am. Et tu, Brutus? I guess I could really use support or suggestions on how to inflate one's self-esteem after it's experienced a crippling blow. I don't know if anyone has anything they do in particular aside from exercise and healthy eating and spending time with friends and staying busy, since those have been of limited value to me when it's nighttime and it's just me in my head, judging and criticizing and blaming. I don't know how to deprogram the societal crap that Daniel Sloss talks about in his 2nd Netflix special, Dark. About how people are so afraid of being alone that they force themselves to love someone who doesn't fit into their lives because they'd rather have something than nothing. I'm independent. I'm a homeowner. I have a great job. My students love me. My family loves me. My puppy loves me. I'm well-educated. I'm attractive. I'm physically healthy in other respects. So why does this diagnosis feel like a gut punch that threatens the stability I thought I had where my own self-worth is concerned? Why can't I stop crying in the shower? When am I going to feel like some semblance of normal again? The questions are mainly rhetorical, but feel free to take a stab if you can identify with any of this. I feel kind of like I'm shouting into the void right now even though I know millions of people are in my boat and rowing somethin' fierce, and it's hard not to feel alone. Which was why I joined in the first place, I guess. Even without COVID, I feel so alone. And it's hard not to feel like some angsty teenager wailing about how nobody understands them, which just makes me judge myself even harder. A bittersweet, messed up part of me feels like I could have handled the emotional fallout of the assault if the diagnosis hadn't hitched along for the ride, but already I have lawyers telling me it's going to be a long shot getting anyone to take the civil case if the DA doesn't prosecute even though the rapist has money. I don't know how to accept this. I don't know how to accept me. And, for lack of a more eloquent sentiment, it freaking blows.