A Good Thing Takes the Place of What Is Good, And Just a Little Takes the Place of Much.

I… figured it out. I realized why Hwt-Hrw is so angry with me. It’s not what I thought it was, well at least, not entirely. Before, I was just talking out of my ass. I was spewing out the things that made sense to me. I was just saying the things that came to mind because it’s what has irritated Sekhmet in the past. Alike they may be, but one they are not. She’s not angry with me because of her shrine, though she would appreciate it being finished. She’s angry with me over the personal, over the reason that she’s here. It’s personal, so it’s going to suck.

Eleven years ago, as of last Wednesday, I was raped. I remember the night very clearly even to this day. The guy was nice to me and I had a Daddy-complex. All little girls who lost their daddies have one so I wasn’t any different. He was nice to me and he would call me and he flirted with me. He said he liked me, but he was mean to me, too. I just thought it was normal. I don’t know why–I had normal relationships before then. So why did I think his being mean to me was all right? I don’t know, honestly. I think partially this has to do with the fact that I never told my best friend at the time everything that had happened before the rape. Maybe if I had, she would have been able to forewarn me… but she was sixteen, too. She didn’t know anything anymore than I did.

It was my little brother’s birthday and he came over. He had his friends there. I didn’t like his friends because they were just… different, weird. He wanted to go upstairs but my mom was already in her room with the door shut. I didn’t want to go up there because I didn’t want to wake her up. I was scared of my mom and how angry she could get about things. She would freak out if she found a boy in my room, but he was persistent. And it seemed okay, right? We had had sex–though it’s possible we didn’t have full blown sex before because I didn’t bleed after the first time–so, did it matter? But that had been a month before the night he raped me and I had been cast aside.

I didn’t realize I was his last ditch effort after all of his other booty calls had denied him.

He wanted me to suck him off and I giggled nervously. My mom was right next door and my little brother was just downstairs, but he wanted me to suck him like a golf ball through a garden hose. I pretended like I was going to, but in the end, I said I wouldn’t. He wanted to have sex and I remembered telling him that we can’t because Nate was there and my mom was there. What I didn’t realize was that my mom wouldn’t wake up even if the house was shattering down around us because she was depressed and in the sleep of the depressed, the world could end. His friends were there to keep my little brother occupied while he did what he wanted. I was an idiot.

I told him no and I told him no but then I shut up because he was going to do it anyway. I stared at my wall because that’s all that I could look at. I had a bouquet from my sister-in-law’s wedding up there. The flowers were dried and yellowed with age. I stared at it while he did what he wanted to. He pulled back after only a few minutes and said, “I don’t want to cream in you.” Those words were branded into my memory.

Everything changed. I changed.

The worst part was that I didn’t know what had happened. No one talks about date rape because it’s harder to prove. I didn’t say anything because I thought it was consensual but I had said no. I remember saying it a few times and I remember telling him the reasons (my family) repeatedly. But, he hadn’t listened to you. With this comes guilt that not even a stranger rape can fathom. Because this rape was my fault because I knew him. I let him into my house. I had talked to him on the phone into the late hours and mooned over him in school. But I changed. Everything changed.

I’ve never been the same since then.

Anthony and I haven’t had sex in months. I don’t remember the last time we had sex… maybe in July? This week was the eleventh anniversary of my rape and it still effects me deeply and painfully. I can feel the tears in my eyes now.

Hwt-Hrw’s role is to help me with this. I am to turn to her in my times of distress, but I still turn to Sekhmet instead. She is, after all, my primary patroness. As the goddess of healing, isn’t it her job to help me? I should be healed. But, that’s the thing. I’m still technically healed. I cringe at the touch of Anthony’s hand near any of my “sexual bits” but I’m healed. Mentally and emotionally, the guilt only rears its head rarely. I didn’t realize that. There’s ever the pressing thought that I might see that bastard again, but I know I can handle that.

I’ve seen Tim the Molester twice in the last few months and I’ve handled it pretty well. I even checked him out at the store one time and I didn’t freak out or anything horrific. I had a slight panic attack later, but it was nothing. I was okay. So, if I see the fucktard who raped me, I know I can handle it. I know I can see his face and know that I am better than he is.

But, I’m still frayed. Destroyed. Distraught. I’m healed in ways that I didn’t realize, but there are other parts of me that are still destroyed. I feel guilt over that because isn’t it my fault? Shouldn’t I have fixed those patches first? If Jennifer can do it, then so can I. But I don’t know how and that’s what Hwt-Hrw is here for. She’s going to show me, to help me.

But, I don’t turn to her like I should. I don’t know how to turn to a goddess who is everything that I am not: sex, personified. I don’t know how to connect with her, in reality. I’m frightened over it, but I know I have to do this. I just don’t know how. Or where to start.

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