CW: relationship abuse

Tonight I was looking through the Facebook “On This Day” memories app & saw that I wrote this exactly a year ago, and I am so thankful. I really needed these words tonight:

“Yesterday I shared ‪#‎WhyIStayed‬ but not as an attempt to explain WHY the abuse happened, and I said this in the comments below my post but want to put it here, too, because it’s important to remember that you don’t have to explain anything to anyone. You don’t owe anyone an explanation for why somebody else hurt you. The abuse didn’t happen because I stayed. It didn’t happen because I loved him anyway or because I saw the good in him. It happened because he did it. I chose to share some of my reasons for staying not because I owe anyone an explanation, not to shift the responsibility from his shoulders to mine, but to highlight the complexities of these relationships, because I’d heard stories of abuse and my story didn’t fit, my story didn’t seem severe enough, my story didn’t fit the narrative, my story included loads of mental illness, because he and I have almost the exact same list of diagnoses, and so I felt I understood him in ways other people couldn’t, and so I didn’t believe I was really being abused, because I didn’t believe he meant to do it, because I didn’t know all the shapes & forms abuse can take until I read stories similar to mine, I didn’t know it doesn’t matter whether he intended to hurt me or not, it doesn’t matter if I can understand him in ways other people can’t, & also I shared because I wanted to highlight the normalcy that so often coexists with abuse, that in many ways we were just like any other engaged couple, or at least we tried very hard to be, wedding colors picked out, a wedding date set, how this normalcy is very good at masking the abuse, how deeply ingrained the dynamics of abuse can be, so much that it is almost invisible, to him, to me, except for that gnawing pain I couldn’t ignore, except for the flashbacks, how that normalcy couldn’t cancel out the abuse, no matter how badly I wanted it to, it didn’t matter that he was the most fun person to go to Target with, it didn’t matter that he would give me anything I wanted, all the money, all the clothes, all the books, he would do almost anything I asked him to do, but it didn’t matter because the only thing I really wanted was for him to stop hurting me, and it was the one thing he couldn’t do. He couldn’t stop. And I don’t know why. That’s for him to figure out. That is his responsibility. I have given him more love & compassion & resources than I can even begin to fathom but never because I believe his actions are ultimately my responsibility. They are his. And I shared to remind myself: you are not crazy. It is not your fault.

There’s been so much talk about abuse and I wish I could turn my computer off and look away. Sometimes I need to do that to save my own sanity. Sometimes I am not able to talk. There have been times I talked when I was not ready to talk. I think I need to let all of that be okay. But also when I am able to talk, like today, there are so many things I want to say. Mostly today I am saying: I want to be here for you. It is not your fault.”

This is the email I sent to Oprah Magazine’s last week, both the web editor and the book reviewer. I gave them the benefit of the doubt, assuming they didn’t know they were promoting the book of an abuser, since Algonquin Books has refused to publicly cut ties with him. I was respectful. I was patient. I have waited nine days and have not heard back. Kat has not heard back, since she and I also both sent messages via the website itself. The people who left comments on the website, respectfully urging editors to research Gregory Sherl & reconsider promoting his book, have also been silenced, their comments since deleted. Others’ comments continue to be denied approval.

Algonquin Books refuses to make a public statement regarding their complicity in Gregory Sherl’s abuse of women, even though I’ve made clear that he especially preys on women who admire his work. At first I was patient because Gregory is incredibly charming and he no doubt manipulated those he was in business with but at this point I have entirely dismissed Algonquin Books as a respectable press. What else is there to say? What is there to discuss? I went as far as showing you the bed where he raped me, the bed I have to sleep in every night. And I am not a stranger to them – they know who I am and have easy access to all my contact information since I was their beloved author’s fiancee & personal caretaker for a very long winter. At the time of our relationship they acknowledged my existence because the fact that he was engaged to a “grounded” person helped his story/helped their story/helped them go ahead w/ their book & not have to address the issue. They didn’t even consider that HE MIGHT ALSO BE ABUSING ME. They completely dismissed Kat Dixon’s allegations because it was the convenient thing to do. Now I am free and have spoken the truth, reiterated the other victims’ truths, and nothing. As if they cannot be bothered. As if there is still something to consider. How many women does it take for one story to be heard?

It’s been over eight months since allegations of abuse against poet & novelist Gregory Sherl first came to light. You can read many of these words here, some words by Kia Groom here, more words from Kat Dixon here & here, and words from myself here, here, & here. I’ve written poems about this here & here. A domestic violence relief fundraiser was started here. 

But it’s increasingly clear that our words don’t always mean a whole lot, and this is true not just for us but for victims everywhere. We are questioned, silenced, minimized, ignored. And anyone who engages in this silencing is an accomplice to the crimes themselves, upholding the systems that normalize and thus perpetuate such violence. We speak about this publicly not only because Gregory Sherl is a published author who tends to prey on women who admire his work but also because violence against women is a human right’s issue. We speak about this publicly because these are public issues. And we speak about our rape and abuse not because we think we are special for having endured it but because we know we are not. 

Nearly 7.8 million women have been raped by an intimate partner at some point in their lives.

One in every four women will experience domestic abuse in her lifetime.

It’d be nice if it went away. It’d be nice if our words were enough. But we don’t live in a nice world. We live in this world. 

And I live here, in this apartment. This is my home. This is what it looks like. 

This is where he stood when he shouted at me for wearing a T-shirt to bed. I wasn’t supposed to wear a T-shirt to bed. I was supposed to be naked. This is where he stood and this is where he raged. This is where he stood the first time I heard how big his voice could get.

his voice that you haven’t figured out how to describe but every time you think about it you see him with his black hair screaming across the sky of your brain, you see him with his black hair, you see him and you wonder why the sky doesn’t have more holes in it, how that blue stays so blue

This is where he screamed I NEVER WANT TO FUCKING SEE YOU AGAIN. 

This is the collection of books from which he took one and threw it across the room. I wasn’t supposed to have slept with a poet before him and I especially was not supposed to own any books from this poet. I would show you the book but I had to throw it away. I didn’t want to throw it away. I knew I didn’t do anything wrong by owning this book. It was still in a box. I’d just moved in. But it was my fault, it was my fault, I was very very bad for having this book. 

This is the dashboard of my car where he slammed his fist after I said I didn’t want to pull over and put my mouth on his cock. It was 2 AM, some highway in Missouri or maybe we were already in Iowa. I’d driven the 14 hours to his apartment in Mississippi because he couldn’t pack his suitcase and I really thought he might die if I didn’t come to him. He was always almost dying. I had his local police department in my phone, in case of an ambulance, in case of emergency (I was the emergency, I needed the ambulance). And when I said I couldn’t make the drive he tried to break up with me. But then he didn’t, he didn’t mean it, he said he said he said, he said he just loved me so much. He needed me. The night I arrived was the first night he raped me but I’ll tell that story another time. I drove most of the way back to Minnesota and when I said I didn’t want to pull over and put my mouth on his cock this is where he slammed his fist and said Jesus you’re so fucking cruel. I cried and he ignored me for hours until suddenly he didn’t. Suddenly it was as if it never happened. 

This is my shower and this is where he screamed Are you going to fix this?! This is all your fault. Now take a shower with me. Have sex with me and fix this. 

This is the chair he kicked over on Mother’s Day. This is where he told me I was such a cold person. I wasn’t feeling well. At the time I was really struggling with my anorexia and the thought of a Mother’s Day brunch was too overwhelming. I said I’d rather stay in and make pancakes, less calories. I started making the pancakes and joked, Hey, how come I’m making the pancakes? It was not a good idea to make a joke. This is the chair he kicked after he knocked everything that was on the table off of it. This is the chair he kicked after yelling at me for making him feel guilty for not making pancakes. YOU’RE SUCH A COLD PERSON, YOU KNOW THAT RIGHT?

This is my sofa. This is where he spent the day ignoring me because I got up and left the house without having sex with him and didn’t want to have sex with him immediately upon my return. 

The black bag is his, collecting dust in my bathroom. I don’t yet know how to touch it. 

These are his coffee mugs. I don’t know how to touch them yet either. Just the other week I got rid of his soap. It is a slow process, this gathering up pieces of myself, all this scrubbing and cleaning. 

Now you press the word rape flat against your tongue and feel your chest shatter into fragments, so many pieces of bone you will spend the rest of the night sweeping up with your hands, the rest of your life weeping, for the rest of your life you will always have been raped.

This is my bed. This is my home. This is where he raped me. This is where I go when I want to feel safe but some nights I remember too much. The sheets have been washed but I know his dead skin cells are in my mattress because that’s what dead skin cells do, sink down and burrow like the mini corpses that they are. I don’t always think of it this way but today I do because today I am tired of pretending. Or maybe I am just no longer able to. Today my chest split open like a tree struck by lightning and I know it’s because every night I sleep on top of so much of his death. Our death. My death. At least it is death, at least it is death, at least he is not here to wake me in the middle of the night with his cock, trying to enter me from behind and then yelling at me for not being wet enough in my sleep.

Maybe some people look the other way because they don’t want to get involved.

That choice is a privilege victims of rape and abuse do not have. 

hey writing community how about we ‪#‎tbt‬ to that time Kat Dixon made a domestic violence relief fundraiser and then we all forgot about it ‘cause idk why.

I was forced to forget about it by the man himself but idk why everyone else forgot.

also to everyone who donated to the initial fundraiser I made for him – I am so very sorry and wish I could give it all back. I am in the process of writing about all the things. you all deserve to know.

Originally posted here, copied in full below: http://sarahxcerta.wordpress.com/2014/10/05/from-the-mouth-of-a-survivor-an-open-letter-to-elizabeth-ellens-open-letter-to-the-internet-and-all-the-conversation-surrounding/

Let me start this conversation by saying that it’s the last place I want to be. I don’t want to talk about rape. I don’t want to talk about sexual abuse. I don’t want to name the man who raped me because I know that he Googles himself daily and I can assure you his eyes will be one of the first to see this. That thought alone is enough to make my stomach turn. But as the stories of rape and sexual assault concerning Stephen Dierks, Tao Lin, and Steven Trull/Janey Smith have circulated this past week, the thing most clear to me is that many people have very little understanding of 1) what rape and sexual assault actually look like, and 2) the nature and severity of emotional and psychological damage such violence causes. This ignorance aids in perpetuating rape culture. I started to articulate some of these thoughts earlier this week, which you can read in full here.

It is hard for me to say much more about my story. I can tell you that up until May 31^st of this year I was engaged to Gregory Sherl, whom several victims came forth about this past winter, prompted by the fundraiser I’d started for him. I can also tell you that nothing in Kat Dixon’s essay detailing her relationship with him shocks me. In fact, it frightens me, how strikingly similar her story is to mine, even though we are strangers, me and Kat, we are bound by the intricacies of this nightmare. I have a hard time reading her essay because it is a step back into a pseudo-home, a life all too familiar and haunting.

I can also tell you that during my relationship with Gregory I was emotionally, psychologically, and sexually abused by him. I can tell you that I was raped on more than one occasion. And that should be enough. But over and over I see victims of rape and sexual abuse have the legitimacy of their claims questioned. People demand details. Context. Evidence. Proof. This is problematic for many reasons that to even think about addressing the issue makes my head spin. But at this point, on behalf of all the victims who continue to be silenced, questioned, and criticized, to say something is to further resist oppression.

From a survivor’s mouth: I cannot yet share many details about the ways in which Gregory abused me and that is not because I am conservative with my words but because I am still heavily dealing with the aftermath of having been in an abusive relationship. It is also because of the perversity of the nature of his acts as well as the emotional and psychological effects publicly sharing those experiences would have on me. Talking about how I was abused makes me feel weak, pathetic, used up and stupid, exactly how such violence is intended to make me feel. I hope one day to be strong enough to share the details because to be strong enough would be to break yet another form of oppression. When I first spoke up I was unable to say his name. I am now able to say his name. It is a slow process, this reclaiming of myself. Victims of abuse are silenced by the public, yes, by their abusers, yes, but also by the very nature of the abuse they have endured. When a victim speaks up it is a revolutionary act, both personally and politically. For many of us, it begins with acknowledging the reality of what has happened to us. It begins with saying to ourselves, “I have been raped.” To admit this to oneself is often the first step in healing. It is also an incredibly painful experience, to have this conversation with oneself, let alone with a friend, let alone with the public. To publicly say “I have been raped” is an enormous feat that many people not only fail to recognize but then also go on to belittle with their questions and skepticism.

What’s even more repulsive is that the victims of Stephen Dierks and Tao Lin told their stories in explicit detail (this article at Quaint Magazine is thorough with links) and they are still being questioned. Not only does this demonstrate a gross insensitivity to the strength and vulnerability of those who have spoken up, but also an ignorance of the nature of rape and sexual abuse. Thankfully, others have done the labor of articulating what we talk about when we talk about rape, including Andrea Kneeland, Seuyeun Juliette Lee, and Katie McDonough in her aptly titled piece “America’s sex abuse surprise: Why our search for ‘monsters’ is blinding us”:

This is the kind of sexual assault that we don’t talk about. The kind that simply doesn’t exist for the Wills and the Flanagans. There are no weapons. No violent struggle. No explicit threats. But it’s rape. Though it seems that there’s no room in our current narratives, at least among the people who are shouting the loudest, to condemn rape that looks like this, because that means answering the question of what is to be done about all of these men — the ones we know, the ones who we don’t think look like “classic” rapists. Or “classic” domestic abusers. And then there are the men who do not do these things but look on and say nothing while this violence unfolds around them. What are we to do about all of these men, who seem to be everywhere?

Elizabeth Ellen is right: Tao Lin is not a monster. Neither is Dierks. Neither is Trull/Smith. And Gregory? I can’t say what Gregory is because I am his victim and on a personal survival level I have to think of him as a monster because it is the only way to stay free of him. But he, along with all the others, is also a man. It’s tempting and for some of us necessary to call these men monsters but ultimately they are men and their attitudes and actions towards women are not isolated beliefs and events. They are misogyny and sexism in visible action. They are common. They are normalized.

Want to see a “classic” rapist? Look around you. Most rapes are committed by a person known to the victim. Nearly 40 percent of rapists are friends or acquaintances with their victims. The sooner we erase the image of the shadowy man hiding in the bushes or stalking women in darkened parking lots from our collective consciousness, the better. Not because stranger rape doesn’t happen, but because this singular vision of sexual violence erases a majority of the crimes being committed. (McDonough)

Elizabeth Ellen thinks it is important to share her personal experiences with Tao Lin. This does nothing except prove that he is not abusing someone at all hours of the day. It proves that he can appear perfectly harmless. He can be a good friend. Of course he can. Do you think when Gregory proposed to me he followed it up with “I am going to rape you now”? That Elizabeth Ellen offers her own experience with Tao Lin as some sort of rebuttal or parallel to E.R.’s experience is demeaning, insulting, and arrogant. And I don’t even want to delve into the “he’s not all bad” argument because it’s part of what kept me in the cycle of abuse and also what feeds my self-doubt. Of course he’s not “all bad.” Do you know how hard Gregory could make me laugh? It doesn’t mean he didn’t rape, gaslight, or sexually and emotionally abuse me. For someone to offer the “he’s not all bad” argument is to further minimize and silence the victim.

Which brings me to my next point: what about his side of the story? What if he didn’t “mean” to do it? From a survivor’s perspective this question also comes with heavy emotional weight. After being pressed for details victims are then often forced to consider their abusers’ intentions, which is incredibly dangerous: being asked to sympathize with your abuser further minimizes the severity of your experience, which has most likely already been minimized not only through your own psychological repression as a way of coping but also by the prevalence of rape myths.

To the grace and bravery of Stephen Dierks’ most recent (now-ex) girlfriend, we get to see some of Stephen’s initial response to the allegations brought against him. It is clear that he is scared, doesn’t deny what happened, yet still says “idk if it is legally what they say it is,” meaning: he doesn’t know if he “legally” raped or, just, I don’t know, casually? I’m actually not sure what Stephen means. He is most likely in denial. And he is definitely unaware of what rape is, which is, perhaps, one of the biggest problems in responding to a victim’s story with “What about him?” Many men accused of rape aren’t going to say that’s what happened because they don’t know what rape is and that is because they are so deeply entitled to women’s bodies. They have very little concept of rape or sexual abuse because such violence and entitlement has been normalized. They are so entitled that they don’t even recognize this entitlement. They don’t want to.

But I didn’t mean to hurt her, I didn’t mean to rape her. To this sentiment we can only respond: Well, you didn’t mean not to. You didn’t mean to treat her like a human being. You didn’t mean to respect her. You didn’t mean to think of her at all. All you meant to do was think of your own needs and desires and doing whatever it takes to fulfill them i.e. you raped her. And yeah, that’s a hard thing to accept. It’s also a hard thing to accept that you have been raped. There is no undoing this trauma. There is no do-over.

From a survivor’s mouth: Elizabeth Ellen’s Open Letter to the Internet is a kick to the throat. It is careless, uninformed, and frightening. Any valid points she may have had are lost in the fact that her words reflect and perpetuate rape culture, despite whether or not this was her intent, it clearly wasn’t her intent not to.

As Carolyn Zaikowski wrote last week:

To deny that rape subculture in the literary world is real, and an issue to be dealt with, is to deny that rape culture itself is real, and to fundamentally misunderstand how rape-culture-in-general works by filtering down through more localized, more specific systems. This denial and misunderstanding, even when well-intentioned, amounts to one more act of patriarchal silencing and erasure.

In her letter Elizabeth Ellen writes that she is certain she doesn’t have the right answer and she is well aware that she is offering a viewpoint for which she will no doubt receive backlash. Maybe this is one of the positive things people saw in her piece – her willingness to voice her opinion despite knowing it wouldn’t be popular among everyone. If the issue at hand were something other than what it is I might venture to say this was brave of her. But in this case it was dangerous and irresponsible and I can only hope that the time I’ve spent here, in this conversation I do not want to have, will encourage her and everyone else in support of the letter to deeply examine the implications of their words and beliefs. Sophia Katz has also made an important statement addressing the problematic nature of the open letter. Kate Zambreno initially shared the letter and then apologized for doing so and her call for more listening and self-examination is refreshing and vital.

In closing I also want to address the fact that Elizabeth Ellen previously stated in a Hobart interview that she felt like defending Gregory Sherl because from what she knew the allegations weren’t true. I was only aware of the interview because Gregory himself showed it to me, the day it was published, while we were still together, as a way of saying, “See, I am a victim of mob mentality. I am a shitty boyfriend but I am not an abuser. I am not a rapist. I am innocent.” Not that it’s Elizabeth Ellen’s fault that he continued to play the victim card with me – ultimately he is the one we need to continue to hold responsible and accountable for what he has done – but people who jump to dismiss allegations like this are not only slapping victims in the face but also helping those in power, upholding the system that normalizes rape and sexual violence, and I don’t know if I can give you a more concrete example of this than what I’ve just shared. 

It doesn’t matter if you call yourself a feminist or if you are “for women.” Just like it doesn’t matter if Stephen says he didn’t mean to rape anyone. It is lazy labeling without real examination of the systems of oppression in place. In the end the effects of your actions remain the same and if you refuse to examine this for yourself you will continue to be very much a part of the problem.

*This letter was published at Entropy Mag on October 7, 2014

As the stories of rape and sexual assault within the writing community continue to circulate, I realize that not only is my story a disturbingly common one, but also that many people have very little understanding of 1) what rape and sexual assault actually look like, and 2) the severity of emotional and psychological damage caused by such violence.

It is hard, though, for me to tell you much more about my story because I am still heavily dealing with the emotional and psychological damage. But that’s also why I want to say at least a few words. Victims of rape and sexual assault are so often silenced not only by the public but also by the nature of the trauma they’ve endured. They then appear “emotionally unstable” and their allegations are further discredited, so essentially the damage of the abuse they’ve endured is then used against them to further silence and oppress.  

This summer I wrote an essay that shared a sliver of the abuse I endured while in a relationship with my ex-fiancé, Gregory Sherl, whom several other women publicly came forth about this past winter. I wanted to publicly support those women, who no doubt aided in saving my life and sanity. My essay was well-received and afterwards came pouring in emails and messages from friends, strangers, as well as ex-girlfriends of his, all thanking and supporting me. One woman I did not know told me she was helping a friend leave an abusive marriage and my essay was the final push her friend needed to break free. I don’t think I’ve fully processed the significance of this.

But a few weeks later I had the essay taken down. Not because the essay wasn’t true but because I felt confused. At the time I’m not sure what was happening – I can only look back now and say that it looks like I was still caught in the cycle of abuse. I learned that the cycle doesn’t necessarily end when the relationship does.

A week after my essay went live, I received an email from someone at [email protected]:

“think about child services coming to your home and taking your daughter away. i heard you left her with a so called abusive person. think real hard.”

While I can’t be 100% certain that he wrote this, I did trace the email source to within a 15-mile radius of his parents’ address in Florida, where I am pretty sure he was staying at the time. It affected me more than I wanted it to. I felt guilty. I was hurt. I started thinking about why he would do this, doesn’t he understand? The psychological and emotional control he had over me is very strong. So strong that sometimes “had” still has to be “has.” I fell into a deep depression, and then I began to over-intellectualize as a way to cope with the pain. 

But every time another woman speaks up or a friend reaches out, I become stronger. My story becomes more and more validated. And this past week I found the courage to have my essay made live again. And it feels really good. I need all of your voices, badly. Thank you. 

aziasaidwhat:

““I am writing a book on how to write a book so I can learn how to properly explain why you look better with the lights on. I listen to a song but it doesn’t mention your name so I stop listening to the song. Your heart is noise pop. White noise is ghosts missing the streamers that fall from your ears while you sing in the car. Vermont is not far if you are already in Vermont. My cat looks at me and then walks away. He is named either after a famous musician or a body of water. There are so many words I refuse to learn how to spell. Still, I spell check your thighs after I bend you over my desk. I spell check the inside of your left ear while you bite yourself on the kitchen table. Prostrate. Today I am writing in grunts, I am playing in fonts. My chest hair is size 44 Comic Sans. My eyebrows are whittled away before I leave the mall. I have sat under the same sun as you for 25 years. Sometimes I have walked under the same sun as you. Once, I played tennis under the same sun as you. Repetition sun. Staccato sun. Wrinkled sun. I tell your skin that covers your clavicle We’ve got at least 53 more years of holding hands on a bench under the same sun. The sequel to this poem is John Cusack holding a boombox over his head under barely any sun. Fact: I want to kiss your nose even when I’m not inside you.””

— — Gregory Sherl, Please Move to Vermont and Break My Heart. (via rykketid)

(via aziasaidwhat)