Your Words Affect Me

Posted by Megsly in Blood Donors (guest blogs) | 9 comments

Your Words Affect Me

by Megsly (aka The Book Bitch)

In the time that I’ve been involved in the Twilight fandom, I have read hundreds upon hundreds of stories. I’ve written (and completed) six of my own, some of which were widely accepted and reviewed, and some which were tiny drops in the ocean (those were my  personal favorites). I’ve seen people come and go; some leave the fandom quietly and some leave with their own parades following in their wake.  I’ve relaxed in times of peace, and I’ve thrown my opinion out in to the seas of argument in times of fandom “unrest.” I’ve worked for Twilighted, the biggest Twilight fan fiction websiteon the Internet, and I’ve worked for MVF, a newcomer to the game that is full of promise and absolutely amazing people. I’m not an old pro at this, but I’m not a newbie to the fandom either. I’ve been around for a couple of years and will probably lurk on for a while.  What am I trying to establish here? That I have experience in this fandom. And I say this with ample reason. I’m not here to press buttons or introduce controversy, instead I’m here to point to something that is so very right within this fandom.

Jumping straight to the point, there are many fics out there that deal with rape and abuse. I’m sure everyone here has read one.  These stories, though they are fan fiction, are somewhat based on reality because these things really happen.  Rape and abuse really happen.  And just as realistic as those occurrences, are the real life victims of these crimes. Stories like these, even in the fluffy world of fan fiction, affect rape and abuse survivors. I should know, I’m one of them.

Just about a year ago, lexiecullen17 posted her personal experience with rape on this blog. She discussed how reading fan fiction dealing with rape and its aftermath affected her and how it helped her realize that she wasn’t alone – that there were others out there who understood where she was coming from. It was a very powerful statement on the ability of fan fiction to affect the lives of readers in very real ways.

I guess to understand what I’m going to say, I should give you some back story on my own experiences.  When I was sixteen, I met a boy. He was a fabulous boy. He could do no wrong in my eyes. He gave me flowers, showered me with kisses, paid for everything, and told me he loved me. I believed him, and I loved him in return. At the time, he treated me like gold, though occasionally he would wander off with some other girl and do his thing with her. But that was okay, at least to sixteen year old me it was, because in the end he always came back to me.

Fast forward two and a half years. I was a freshman at a college nearly 3 hours away from my home town, far away from Mr. Perfect. I went wild with the freedom, and in my quest to find myself, I dumped the boyfriend I loved so dearly. Now, that should have been the end of that, except about 8 months after I dumped him, I called him up and, like a good regretful ex-girlfriend, pleaded for him to come back to me.

He came willingly, and my nineteen year old heart rejoiced at the fact that I had won my old love back.  For a few months, we were happy. He was the boy I had loved all along, though his cheating ways still occasionally returned and jealousy started to rear its ugly head in my life.  Working my way through college was stressful, and even though the good times were plentiful, the bad times were beginning to show between me and my not-so-charming-prince. And when I say things were bad, I mean they were very bad. As time passed, they gradually went from bad to worse.

I joke about it now, although there’s nothing funny about that time in my life. I joke about how I’m naturally clumsy and am always hurting myself, which is true: I am clumsy. But out of the dozens of bones I’ve broken, most were not accidental. And as far as humor? Well, the nightmares spawned from that period of my life don’t wake me up in the middle of the night laughing, despite the fact that I joke that nightmares are the reason I don’t sleep well. The fact that I’m unable to breathe if I twist the wrong way because it shifts broken ribs that never healed correctly isn’t something that makes me chuckle.  In fact, almost five years later, it leaves me breathless, scared, and crying. Humor is a defense mechanism of mine, but there’s nothing funny about what I’m sharing, though I rarely know how to reference it in my life without a forced laugh and a wary look at everything and everyone but the person I’m speaking to.  Humor was my way of attempting to diffuse a bad situation in the past, and it’s my way of dealing with the memories now.

There were times the police were called because we were screaming at each other or because  a concerned neighbor heard something (me) hit the wall. There were times that I’d have to wear a hat and heavy makeup to cover the bruises or wrap my arm up and pretend I’d fallen, just so no one would see the hand prints around my wrists and forearms.  When friends were around, he was the perfect man, but when they were gone and an argument arose, he’d become a monster I didn’t even recognize.  I stayed with him for another two and a half years, enduring bruises, concussions, broken bones, and many, many tears because in my heart, I truly believed I could change him. Afterwards, he would beg for forgiveness, threaten to kill himself, and draw his own blood to convince me not to leave. I would stay, and for few weeks things would be perfect before something would set him off once again.

At the time, I didn’t stop to think that I was afraid to leave him because the thought never truly registered in my head. Really, it didn’t. There was never a time where I said, “He scares me,” when I was trying to justify staying. Instead, it was things such as, “If I go, he’ll really hit rock bottom” – “If I go, where will he go?” or “If I leave, he’ll kill himself.”

But in the end, the simple truth was that I was afraid; Deep down in my soul I was terrified of him. At the time I was fairly slim and much lighter than he was, and though I would instinctively fight back when he struck me, I was no match for him. Never once, however, did this pop into my internal arguments as to whether to stay or leave him. I don’t think I was capable of acknowledging it to myself – I was too far into denial. To be honest, I never even really admitted to myself that I had been a victim of abuse until several years later. It’s a hard role to accept, and after seeing abuse victims portrayed in movies as weak, it horrifying me to include myself in their ranks.  I didn’t want people saying, “Well, you were the dummy who stayed with him,” or “You shouldn’t have dated someone like that to begin with.”  I was terrified that people would think I was weak or stupid for dealing with the abuse for so long.

But on January 3rd, 2006 I put my foot down and told him to get out. There was no outright battle for dominance, and for once I wasn’t a victim. For once, I took control of the situation. We were at breakfast at a local restaurant; he had asked me to marry him three days prior. He wanted to clear the air, to acknowledge his guilt as an unfaithful man. He told me he’d bought a teenage prostitute in Mexico the year before and that he’d felt horrible about it ever since. I’m not sure what crossed my mind or what triggered my reaction to that news, but I stood up, told him to have his stuff out of my house that night, and walked away.  The funny thing is – the idea that he victimized a teenager in Mexico bothered me far more than the fact that he beat me. In the end, that was what it took for him to cross the line. That was what it took for me to save myself.

A few years ago, I saw him back in my home town in the local Walmart. I had just gotten off of work and was getting some last minute things for my classroom when I passed him in the grocery section. I can still picture him clear as day in my mind – I can see the shirt he was wearing, his hair, and the look in his eyes when they met mine. My mind clouded with fear, my heart started racing, and my vision blurred. I was terrified of him, even standing in the middle of a crowded Walmart. I turned, leaving my buggy in the middle of the aisle, and fled. I knew then, without a second’s doubt, that I had been a victim.  Until then, I’d still thought of it as a relationship gone bad, not as domestic abuse, and when I first realized this, I blamed myself. There were things I could have done differently. I could have argued less, agreed more. I could have not screamed back at him when he yelled at me. I could have, I could have, I could have…

But now I know that the world is not made of could haves and should haves. The world is made of do’s and don’ts. Yes, I instigated shit with him – yes, I argued – and yes, I let my temper get the best of me, but who doesn’t let that happen occasionally? Yes, we argued, and yes, I was far from the perfect girlfriend but never once did I hit him first (yes, I said first, because you better bet your sweet bottom dollar I fought back when that man swung at me) and never once did I deserve to be struck. I didn’t deserve to be ran around on or to be made a fool of. I didn’t deserve to be pinned down in his fits of rage. I didn’t deserve to be slapped. I didn’t deserve to have my ribs broken or my jaw dislocated. I did nothing to warrant the bald spot that appeared on my scalp one evening because he thought I was flirting with someone else. I didn’t deserve any of that, but it happened, and I will carry the weight of that relationship with me for the rest of my life. It has made me who I am today and led me on a path to become a stronger woman, but most importantly, it has shown me that no matter how bad things may be, I will not be broken.

I know it seems like this blog has little or nothing to do with fan fiction or literature in general. But it does because the words we read on the pages of books or fan fiction mean something to every reader. These stories often remind us of an experience we have been through or a person we have known. For me personally, every fan fiction or novel out there that addresses domestic violence and abuse in any form affects me both as a reader and as a survivor. Some leave me horrified that there are people in the world who can justify falling in love with their rapist or feel deserving when they are abused, while some leave me in tears, thankful that my situation didn’t get that bad.

I’m a proud survivor of domestic abuse, which is why seeing stories that portray it in such a positive light horrifies me, just as I’m sure seeing fics about rape victims falling in love with their attacker horrifies victims of rape.  But even in a sea of badly written abuse/rape fics, there are gems that out sparkle the brightest diamond. There are fics that can help you heal, that can help a victim become someone who will speak out against domestic violence – fics like Saluki’s Eden Burning. The summary is as follows:

This is a story of what-ifs.  What if Nessie was never born?  What if Edward didn’t change Bella?  What if Bella got tired of waiting?  Eden Burning is the story of what happens when the shine of new love wears off and Bella and Edward have to confront whether their love is enough to overcome the obstacles in their path.
This story speaks so deeply to my heart, much, I gather, in the way that the stories lexiecullen17 read affected her.  First off, in a sea of stories glorifying abuse, Eden Burning does the exact opposite. It approaches an abusive relationship in a very real way. There is no glorification, there is no applauding of the perpetrator. It’s not a happy ray of sunshine beaming down from the fan fiction heavens. It is real. It’s so real that I can see myself in Bella.

I read the story before Saluki started posting it and cried many tears as I reflected on what I had been through. I asked myself the same questions Bella asked herself: What did I do to deserve this? Can I fix this?  Why doesn’t he understand me? Does he still love me? Am I worthy of him? How can I make him love me like he used to? Is this even fixable?  I can see myself in those actions, hear my voice saying similar words to the man who treated me in a very similar way.  Eden Burning is deep rooted, pulling from the heart of the problem and addressing the many internal wars both the abuser and the abused go through.

I don’t want to go into too much detail because I don’t want to give the story away. I just wanted to share my story and tell you about how this beautiful story by Saluki affected me – how it gave me the courage to share my story with people I don’t know (which is a first, I’ve never shared like this before. As I finish writing this piece, I can say it feels good to see the words come out on the page – better than I ever anticipated). So thank you, Saluki, for writing something so eloquent and real, for taking a series we all love and taking the lesser known road. Perhaps, if it had been possible to read this when I was with him, I would have recognized the signs sooner. Perhaps this story can help someone recognize the signs for themselves and take the first steps to getting away. So thank you.  You write from the heart, and it’s really struck my soul.  I appreciate what you’ve done. Your words made me feel.

Click here to read Eden Burning on MVF

Click here to read Eden Burning on FFn