Testify, Part 4

To read Part 1, click here. 
To read Part 2, click here.
To read Part 3, click here.

Freshman year of college was great but I was really really wild.  I made some of the best friendships but I also played a lot of games.  I considered myself a "playette" of sorts because I was all about using boys (none of these were men, simply boys) before they used me.

I partied.  I studied.  Rinse and repeat the entire school year.

Sophomore year was a bit more dramatic.  Altercations.  School discipline.  Rape.  Wow, that hurt more than I thought it would typing that because I haven't admitted that to myself or anyone in years.  I'm still in denial.

That boy drama finally translated into the pivotal point of instability for me.  I had just received school discipline and was moved to a different dorm.  I was away from my friends on the other side of campus and I didn't get to see them as much as I wanted to.

This meant making more friends (which is difficult for me) and meeting new boy toys since my old ones were half way across campus.  I get a job at the student union where I meet a student from another school who worked in guess what, Burger King (Burger King...I shoulda saw this one coming).

summer 2005, last summer of college years

We talked.  He lied.  I thought I was playing and using but I was being played and used.  One evening it happened.  Some of you may be judging and saying that I asked for it but I dare you to say it to my face.  The point is I didn't want to play that evening.  Just wasn't interested in him like that anymore, so he took.

He took.  He left.  I left my room and ran to a stair well to cry.  I didn't know what to do.  I didn't know who to tell.  I knew no one wouldn't believe me like some reading this won't.  I never pressed charges.  I silently struggled.  I told my mom but I honestly hope she forgot and that she skips over this post.

I don't talk about it. A few of my friends know, but I hope they forgot.  My husband knows, I think.  I think I told him, but like I said it's something I don't talk about.  I'm sharing this with you because I know God wants to use my story for His glory and I have too participate by actually telling.

But the fact of this matter is I don't want this to be apart of my story.  I don't want pity.  I don't want condemnation for this.  I don't want to be judged.  I don't even want people to identify with this because it hurts that much.

A part of me has shut down the thoughts about this.  It happened so long ago and I'm praying that one day it is something I completely forget about and then come and read this post and say to myself "oh yeah, that did happen".

I want to be able to say "oh well".  But seriously, who says "oh well" to something like that?  I'll tell you who.  A woman who wants to forget.

So now that I've gotten that out of the way let's move along shall we...

By the time I graduated from college I had attempted suicide.  No I didn't really want to die and I put myself in situations where I knew that someone would come to rescue me because honestly it was simply my cry for attention.

Yes at the time I really did want to die but I wanted God to do it, not me.  I wanted Him to be the reason I died so that I wouldn't leave behind such grief.  I wanted to blame everything that had happened to me on Him and I wanted Him to take me out so that the "few" that loved me would blame him too.

I struggled through these thoughts.  I went to therapy.  I still take medication.  I seriously just did so many stupid things.  Even some of the stuff I haven't mentioned like during high school when I broke into a guy's apartment that had used me up and trashed his placed.  I could have did serious time for that but by God's grace I completed a program that expunged my record and allowed me to move on with my life.  So no to answer any questions I am not a felon.

Or like the time when I got into disciplinary trouble at college again and finally got kicked out of student housing.  Yeah, oops, forgot to tell you that story.  But it definitely happened for a reason and in a way I'm very glad that it did.

See out of all this mess there is still an underlying story to be told and it ain't even about me.

After this mess of eight some odd years there were some beautiful blessings that I'll get into next time...



To read Part 5, click here.
To read Part 6,  click here.