After

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately. 

When I talk about the fact that I've been raped, the bolder people sometimes ask how it happened. Every once in awhile people will ask how I cope with my past and lead such a normal life today. But no one ever, ever asks what happened after. What were the moments like immediately after. 

For me, the very first time I was raped left a big impact on my life. (Probably because it is one of the few times that I remember every single detail of what happened. Every other time are just blurry memories that remind me of their existence.) The bigger impact on my life is what I did after. Those moments shaped everything I did for the next three years of my life.

Even today I have a hard time escaping those moments because they haunt me every day. 

I didn't scream. I didn't cry. I didn't leave. I didn't run. I didn't think. I picked myself up. I accepted what was. I moved on. 

I don't know if what I did makes me strong or weak. I just know it made me.

Me...

I have this problem of walling myself up. Not letting people in. I really don't like people knowing who I am. I let people see what I want them to see. The get the revised version of myself. The nicely polished edition. The version people see is that nice, new American History textbook. The edition where we gloss over the Native American massacre, the racism and slavery, the religious persecution, the ethnic persecution, and all those other bad bits of our history. The edition that shows the Americans as being the saviors of all. In every day life I leave out the bad parts, the gruesome stories that know one wants to hear, the imperfections, the moments where I fuck everything up, the times where I'm the really bad guy.

This blog makes me nervous. I am trying with all my might to show the truth. To show me. The real me. The good me. The bad me. The in between me. The unsure me. The sad me. The scared me. The me that has no clue. The self-conscious me. The betrayed me. The hurt me. The vulnerable me. The mean me. The completely and totally imperfect version of me.

Every time I hit the publish button I have a pit in the bottom of my stomach. The one that says "You'll be judged. You'll be a pariah. You're problems are too much to handle. You're not worthy of anything. You don't deserve anything that you had, have, will have or want." I'm putting everything out into the world for anyone and everyone to see. I'm nervous. I still want to be perfect and polished. I am giving over a small amount of control every time I push that hugely intimidating publish button.

What I Want

It's taken me a long time to realize why a part of me likes my job.

It's the reason why I acted when I was little. It's the reason why I loved dancing as much as I did. It's why I love singing. It's why my tragedies are conveyed  through humor. I love entertaining. I love making people laugh. I love making people feel something.

In my every day life with my friends and my family, for the most part, I like to be in the corner. I like to be over-looked. I like playing second fiddle. I like to disappear. But the moment the lights dim and I'm on stage or the focus. I part of me comes alive. When I acted as a little girl, I made people laugh. As a dancer I put so much emotion into everything I did that it didn't matter if I was a beat behind or not as technically good. The audience felt my dancing. They knew what I was saying. It is one of the few moments that I open up and let everyone in and let everything out. When I sing, truly sing, I've moved a few people to tears. (I'm hoping it's because I don't completely suck. If that is the reason, then I should probably stop.) Before people get to know me, I mean truly know me, I come off as, my friend states it, "overly sweet and caring, a meek person, someone that can be walked all over, unassuming, mediocre, always quiet and just plain nice." When I'm acting, singing, dancing that person doesn't exist anymore. I surprise people. They see me. Not the person I want them to see.

There has always been a part of me that hungers to dance and sing. It's always been my dream. One that nags at me, eating away at me. I see people my age and younger who are so successful, for the soul reason that they are going after their dreams and doing what they have always wanted to do. I've never been able to go after those dreams. I don't know if it's because I'm too shy. Or if it's because I've never had the opportunity or support. Or if it's that I'm too scared. Or the fact that I can't stand being let down more than I have been. Or if I don't want to let people in. Maybe all of them combined. Because if I take a moment to truly admit it to myself. I really think that I may have enough talent to succeed.

The only reason I like stripping is because in those few moments on stage when I'm not naked and just entertaining. In those few moments all that I am doing is entertaining through actual dancing or making people laugh. I enjoy making people feel something. Sometimes I like being the center of attention. I wish I could entertain in the real world. I wish that something could compel me to stand on a stage and sing. I wish I could dance. I wish I could give a performance that makes someone feel they're not alone. I wish that I could give a performance that changes my life. I wish my dreams would someday be something more than what I know they will always be... Dreams.

And occasionally, I make myself feel something.