Trigger warning: this chapter deals with sexual violence (not entirely Alicia's, but other people's as well).
The glow of one warm thought is to me worth more than money.
-Thomas Jefferson
November twenty third, 2012.
Ten months, four weeks, and one day.
Three hundred and thirty four days.
My life was ruined four hundred and eighty thousand nine hundred and sixty minutes ago.
PJ had invited me out for a late lunch. I told him I wanted to distract myself since the eleven-month anniversary was coming up. He said he was busy on the actual anniversary, but we decided the day before was fine.
"I know it's not healthy to blame myself for what happened," I said as I pushed my spaghetti around, "but I can't stop. If I just hadn't gone out that night or if I hadn't been drinking or if I hadn't been wearing that dress or if I had remembered my phone then it wouldn't have happened."
"I blame myself every day for what happened that night. If I hadn't lef-" PJ started saying before I cut him off.
"This isn't about you, PJ," I spat harshly. I grabbed my purse, put a few notes on the table, grabbed my coat, and stormed out of the restaurant. After getting in a cab, I started thinking about what I had just done.
Was it selfish of me to say that? Yeah, I know that PJ and I should put aside some time to talk about his feelings about what happened, but every time I try to talk about my feelings, he turns it around to himself and talks about how he blames himself. He said it on the night that it happened!
When I walked through the door of my flat, Rowan ran up to me and started yelling at me before I even took my shoes off.
"Why would you say that to him?" she shouted at me.
"Because," I said blankly as I shrugged my shoulders. I walked past her and went straight to my room. I began sifting through papers on my desk until I found the business card I needed. I ignored Rowan's pleas for me to apologize as I dialled the number on her business card.
"May I please speak to Doctor Adebayo," I said to the receptionist as I shut the door in Serenity's face and locked it. I was put on hold as I waited for Doctor Adebayo to pick up the phone.
"Doctor Adebayo," she said on the other end of the line.
"Hello, it's me, Alicia Deveaux. When I left the hospital a few weeks ago, you said I could call you if I needed anything. Well, I need to talk to somebody right now. Is it possible to book, like, an emergency appointment or something?"
An hour later, I was sitting outside of Doctor Adebayo's office while she was finishing up with her previous patient. I stood up to greet her as I saw her walk down the hall.
"Thank you for meeting me on such short notice," I said as she led me into her office. "I didn't know A&E doctors even made appointments."
"Oh, I'm not an A&E doctor. I'm a psychiatrist. I specialize in eating disorders, which is how I was referred to you."
"I'm not here to talk about that," I said. "I'm here to talk about something else."
I started pouring my heart out to her, starting from that cold night in December to the moment today when I yelled at PJ.
"Was I wrong for saying that to him? Am I a bad girlfriend?" I said through gross sobs. Doctor Adebayo handed me a tissue and started talking about what I said to PJ. Eventually, the conversation led to therapy.
"I think you'd benefit a lot from group therapy," she said. "It has been proven to be more effective than individual therapy. In addition, you'll know you're not alone with happened to you. There's also the added support system of other women who have gone through something similar."
"I don't know if I'm ready to talk to strangers about what happened, yet."
"I'm a stranger and you just talked to me."
"I mean stranger strangers."
"It's normal to feel that way, Alicia. At no point will anybody force you talk. You can share what happened when you're ready."
We started talking more in depth about group therapy. Doctor Adebayo answered all of my questions. I kind of regret being so rude to her during my A&E visit.
"This is a six month program, meets every Thursday from six to seven. If group therapy just isn't working for you, I can arrange to have you meet with an individual therapist." Doctor Adebayo pulled out a pamphlet, circled an address, and handed it to me. "That's where the building is.
"This is nota twelve step program, like Alcoholics Anonymous. This is group therapy, not a support group. A trained psychologist runs this organization. Her name is Rita Woods and she's one of the best group therapists I've ever met."
"Thank you so much, Doctor Adebayo," I said as I put the pamphlet in my purse. She started making an appointment for a month from now to see if group therapy is really working for me. She reminded me that group starts in a week and attendance is important.
When I finally got home, Rowan yelled at me some more for yelling at PJ and leaving without telling her (sorry, I didn't realize I had to check in every five minutes). She told me PJ stopped by and that he'd be back later. I ignored her once again and went into my room, Sasha following closely behind. I checked my phone and saw that PJ had called me numerous times and texted me a lot.
"You were too harsh on him," Rowan said. "Everything isn't about you. He probably feels bad about what happened."
"Oh my god. I'm the one that was raped and now I can't even talk about my feelings because otherpeople feel bad? He says that every single time I try to talk about it. And every single time I have to stop talking about my feelings and reassure him he'snot to blame. Nobody asks me if I'm okay. His feeling of guilt doesn't take priority over my well-being," I yelled as I slammed the door in her face.
A week later, PJ didn't stop by. While he did try to call and text me a few times, I didn't answer. This isn't something we talk over text or the phone about. If was really sorry, he'd say it to my face.
I walked into the aging building and walked all the way up three flights of stairs (I picked a good day to wear boots) until I found the room. The room had dirty yellow brick walls and a panelled ceiling which looked like it was about to fall down any second. Rows of ugly orange chairs were sloppily placed in the middle of the room with one lone chair facing them all in the front of the room (presumably for the therapist). A woman at the door then told me to pick a seat near the front.
I scanned the seats for dirt and other gross things, and I eventually found a clean chair next to a girl sitting sideways in her chair. She had long curly black hair that stopped at just below her hips and she had perfectly tan skin. She also had on an adorable striped sweater with cute bows on each stripe. I'll have to ask her where she got it. The girl gave me a nervous look before she went back to biting her nails and staring at the wall.
Another woman came into the room and introduced herself as Doctor Wendy Clark. She started pulling us off the side of the room one by one. Eventually it was my turn.
She just asked general questions about me, such as if I've had any previous group therapy, or if there's any pseudonyms I'd prefer to go by in group, or my goals for group. There, they also had me sign an agreement that I would honour confidentiality and I would respect the other people and whatnot. Wendy also stressed how important attendance is.
"Hello everybody, I'm Doctor Rita Woods," she said. She waited for everybody to stop talking before she continued. "This is a group therapy for women who have experienced rape or attempted rape, sexual abuse, or sexual assault. I want to start by saying you are all so brave for taking that step towards healing by coming here."
Wendy introduced herself and told us she was from the rape crisis centre here in London. She said she would most likely only be here every few weeks.
Rita then stood up again and reminded us of her business hours. She then gave out a business card with her work, mobile, and home phone. Wendy gave us numbers to crisis hotlines in case we really needed something and couldn't contact Rita. Rita told us some of us might want to swap phone numbers once we get more comfortable with one another. Then she told us she'd also like us to inform her that if we do talk outside of group because some "difficult emotions" could be brought up if we call. She said that this wasn't meant to be a breach of privacy, but a safety measure.
"This is part of the session I'd like to call the 'getting to know you' part. I would like everybody to stand up, share their name, and give some background information about yourself, whether it is about your experiences or what school you go to, or whatever you choose to share. I'll start. My name is Rita. I got my degree at the University of Bristol. I am a survivor. What I hope from being involved in this group is to help other women survive their own experiences of sexual violence."
Rita asked the woman at the other end of my row to go first.
"Hi, Rita. My name is Janie. I am a full time nurse. I have four kids and I've been married for over ten years now. I am a survivor. What I hope to get from group is to learn how to cope with what happened to me."
"Hi, Janie. I'm Mandy," a small girl with a voice to match said. "I still live at home with my parents because of what happened. I hope that group will be able to help me regain my trust in people." After she had finished talking, she slouched back down in her seat and tried to make herself as small as possible.
"Hi, Mandy. My name is Cheryl," said a larger woman with a smoker's voice said. Her hair was already greying, despite looking younger, and she had it back in a sleek ponytail. "I am a stay-at-home mom, but I was a dental assistant. I have two sons now. I was in an abusive relationship from the ages of nineteen to twenty five. I want to learn how to deal with the trauma because of the abuse."
"Hi, Cheryl. I'm Sakura. I'm a full time student at UCL. I'm working towards my doctorate in psychology to help people who have been through similar experiences. I am a survivor."
"Hello, Sakura," a Black woman with an accent said. "My name is Nicia. I am from the Republic of Congo. I came here with my two daughters in 2005. I am a counsellor at a school here in London. I also am a survivor. I spend so much time helping other people that I decided it was time to help myself."
Rita pointed at me and asked me to go next. I slowly stood up as I mentally prepared myself to speak.
"Hi, Nicia. I'm Alicia. I'm a model at Silver Dreams Modelling Agency. I've been working for them for almost a year now. I am a survivor. What I want to learn how to overcome what happened to me," I said shyly. I figured I'd be shy, but I didn't actually expect my voice to break while saying that.
"Hi, Alicia. My name is Eden. I'm a mathematics major and the mother of two beautiful cats. I've faced a lot of troubles in my life and I want to get past it," the girl next to me said.
"Hi, Eden," a dark skinned woman with kinky curly hair and a great sense of fashion said. "I'm Justine. I am a fashion designer at Red Lace Couture. I am a survivor. I joined group therapy because I want to better understand my trauma."
"Hi, Justine. I'm Melody. I am here today because I just want my life back." When she finished talking, she sat back down in her seat and tried to make herself as small as possible. She had long light brown hair, beautiful green eyes, and very pale skin.
"Hi, Melody. I'm Emily. I'm working on becoming an actress. I am a survivor. I hope to be able to come to terms with what happened to me." She seriously looked like she could be my twin.
"Hi, Emily. I'm Afsana," a girl with very long and wavy hair said. "I am going to school to become a journalist. I'm also doing some internships around the city. I am a survivor. I don't want what happened to define me anymore."
"Hi, Afsana," a woman with short brown hair and piercing blue eyes said. "I'm Ajna. I'm from Bosnia and I moved here when I was fifteen, two years after the Bosnian War. I am a survivor. I hope to better understand my trauma for the benefit of myself and my family."
Rita thanked us all for our participation. She asked if we saw any recurring themes in our reasons why we're here or any major differences. I said that we all wanted to get help. Nicia said that some of want to get better for ourselves while others want to get better for their family. Janie said that the way we worded our answers said a lot about why we're all here and our state of mind.
After a few minutes of discussion, Rita pulled out one of those big note pads and flipped open the cover to reveal a list titled Survivor's Rights.
You have the right to be believed.
You have the right to be given the same treatment as any other crime victim.
You have the right to receive help.
You have the right to be treated with respect.
You have the right to ask questions.
You have the right to make your own choices.
You have the right to change your mind.
You have the right to receive support from others.
You have the right to heal.
When we finished discussing what the "rights" mean, Rita wanted us to share ways rape has affected our lives- both positive and negative. She said there are three general areas: our personal lives, our relationships, and society.
A few asked how sexual violence could possiblypositively influence our lives. Some said that it strengthened their relationship with their family, and others said they feel like they can survive anything now. On the other side of the spectrum, somebody said that intimacy has been difficult, which can strain relationships with husbands or boyfriends. Some said they had nightmares and PTSD-like symptoms. Eden said that feels even moredistrust and hatred for the police (she did stress even more). Rita wrote all of our responses on the next page of the big notepad.
After we discussed the ways sexual violence has affected our lives, Rita started talking about themes for future sessions and then she told us what we're supposed to work on during the next week. She asked us if there was anything else we'd like to talk about before the session ends. I decided to talk about what happened last week between PJ and me.
"Was I too mean to him?" I asked the group. "Was I overreacting? It's not entirely about me either, right? I just get so mad when he tries to make what happened to meall about him and interrupt me."
"No, you're right," Justine said. "It's not about him and it's not okay that he keeps derailing the conversation to talk about his feelings and leaving no room for yours. He has feelings and he has the right to talk about how what happened affects him, but it happened to you. If somebody is in a car crash, are you going to focus on how the victim's family feels, or are you going to focus a lot on the person in the crash?"
When we done talking about that, she gave us a few minutes to socialize and exchange phone numbers and whatnot.
"Hey," I said, turning to the girl next to me. "Where'd you get your top? I really like it."
"I don't know; I got it for my birthday. You wanna see what the tag says?" she asked. I nodded my head and she turned around. She moved her long hair out of the way so I could flip the tag out. I noticed she flinched when I touched the back of her neck. I turned out the tag and took a mental note of the brand.
A minute later, she was out the door. By the time I got outside, she wasn't there anymore. As I pulled out my phone to call a cab, I walked around to the front of the building so the cabbie could see me when they get here. As I turned the corner, I felt somebody grab my wrist and say my name. The voice is definitely male, and sounds familiar, but not familiar enough for comfort. I yanked my arm away, pushed the person away, and started swinging my bag around in self-defence. After a second, I realized who the person was and let down my guard.
"I'm sorry; I wasn't thinking," PJ said. His voice is raspy and his eyes and nose are red. "Rowan told me you'd be here. Listen, I'm sorry about what I said. You're right, it's not about me and I shouldn't have tried to make it about me every time. I'm just… I'm sorry."
I didn't say anything for a minute. I didn't know if I should forgive him or not. I wanted to forgive him, but I didn't know if I should. Eventually, I came to my decision.
"I forgive you," I said simply. He opened his arms in an inviting hug. He asked me what this building is. "I joined a therapy group."
"How did it go?"
"It went okay," I replied.
He asked me if I still wanted to talk about my feelings. I said I did and then we went home.
Once again, everything was in its place.