MY JOURNEY AS AN EMOTIONAL WATER WITCH | Martha Duke |
5 years ago last week I was raped by a man who worked for the UN. The kids were away so I planned to make some extra money renting out the spare room. This man was married with 2 kids, Australian and needed a crash pad while he looked for an apartment for his family. So fast forward I wake up with him having sex with me. I froze and said, “STOP, NO YOU ARE RAPING ME!” I knew from experience if this was reported I would be asked if I said stop and no. My first call after the fact was to my mother. I told her I woke up to him having sex with me. Her response: you need to get that man out of your house. Then alone in my apartment knowing I only had the day to figure out what to do since he was at work, I cried, showered and called the rape hotline. No one ever believed me before and acted like I deserved it, even my own mother who told me when I was raped in the past it was because I was doing something I shouldn’t have. When I told her a used car salesman molested me, she said well he took two thousand off the car. The well was dry, for all the empathy I had for her she had none for me. So what does one do who has no one, head to the bar and get trashed right? A friend of mine was planning on meeting me that day. I met him and told him what happened and drank, he left and I stayed at the bar. I decided to up the party with some molly and had befriended a guy at the bar. Eventually I blurted out that I can’t go home. I was raped and he might be there. Horrified, this absolute stranger and father of 3 daughters stayed with me and convinced me to go to the police. An absolute stranger had more compassion and kindness than my own mother. Enduring the rape kit he stayed by my side, he helped me tell and retell to numerous people what happened. My mom wasn’t checking on me. She wasn’t flying up or even offering for me to come home. I was as always alone in my trauma, she had my kids for the summer which was always what she wanted. A friend invited me to California where he let me heal and rest at his beach side condo. Another absolute stranger I met offered me a place to stay til I could get a new apartment. Still my mother could care less.
My friend who had survived a very brutal rape and knew about the judicial system was by my side all summer and made me feel not so alone. There was comfort in having someone who could tell when I was getting uneasy or triggered. She met me for lunch the day I learned the DA would not be prosecuted because as they said I was an imperfect witness. Still nothing from my mother. I finally got a new amazing apartment, my dream high rise and most of all a doorman which made me feel safe and friends in the neighbourhood. My mother comes with my kids and instantly starts complaining about my luxury high rise apartment. My drinking did nothing but escalate, my panic attacks became unmanageable, and the drinking became constant. This year on the 5 years I did the math, sober 3 and a half years, which means I got sober a year and a half after the rape. Behaviour that had perplexed me no longer did, but what smacked me in the face was my mom was an empty well and always had been. I look around at all the wonderful people, strangers, friends, and even people I work for who constantly show me love and compassion. The other day someone referred to me as a “big deal” in a business meeting and I was mortified, and I could just reply the Kentucky in me wouldn’t allow me to say it. Truth is how can one be a big deal if their own mother never loved them. I see so clearly now how many times I went to that empty well to just be disappointed. That was my last trip to the well, and it sent me downward. As horrific as this all may seem there is a peace that comes with the realization. Stating your truth is important and freeing, my mother doesn’t love me. I’m sorry she had a rough go at life, but that is no excuse to pass the trauma baton. I can’t waste energy questioning it anymore, but just accepting the fact and being free to stop trying to drink from an empty well. To cultivate my own wonderful circle of friends, supporters, and my own inner well. When I was a kid I would go to friends' houses and see their parents loving them, hugging them, and not making them feel like burdens. by Martha Dukes
by Martha Dukes
| AUGUS T 202 1 • HOL A SOB E R |
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