Part 1

[TW: SA, r*pe]

What You Missed | 2020

My feet had been hanging from my bed for five minutes. My eyes were fixed on my stillness, but it didn’t take much before I pushed myself off and stood myself up. My mind was foggy yet conscious, my body was jarred but stuck in routine, so my morning began. It was 6am, early, cold, and quiet. The apartment was sleeping, but my room was awake and aware. That February morning had started whether I liked it or not and the choice was not made by me.

I woke up drunk, early, cold, and quiet. Hungover as usual, I was thinking those type of mornings needed to come to an end. While my room was awake and aware and my feet had been hanging from my bed, I was stuck in my anxious mind from the pounding of my belligerent headache, and the numbness from between my legs. The feeling was full of confusion, and it shook me conscious from friction. The physical numbness and emotional dull throb started to connect the unwanted dots of the past night. The voice in my head was silenced, and my intuition was gutted from my reluctance to face the truth in that moment. That was when my February morning started whether I liked it or not, and the choice was not made by me.

I was living in the Outer Richmond in San Francisco, and I didn’t expect this to be my last home in the Bay Area. Although small and expensive, I loved my room because I had a view of the neighborhood from our backyard. I had a view of about eight of our neighbors’ backyards, and yet I still claimed privacy and peace; and when the moon was in the right position and viewable, it shined right through my window. I’ve prayed to you from this spot often. Every house was a different pale shade of color which made our neighborhood filled with pastel and fade, and I liked it that way. My room was small, but perfect for one, and I loved when I arranged my bed to be right in the middle of the room. That February morning, my bed was on the left side of the room against the wall, leaving me with no easy way out of grip.

That past night I got back from a weekend in Oakland and was floating tipsy on BART to Union Square, and then off to the Outer Richmond in my $40 uber. I was expecting you over after we’ve spent some short time apart, so I rushed into my pjs and prepared my apartment for a visitor. I popped a bottle of wine, lit a candle, and burnt fries in the toaster oven.

You asked me why I’ve been distant, and I never told you the truth; I didn’t trust you. We sat on my bed and caught up on the past simple weeks and shared a few vulnerable thoughts; and just like that we were friends again, and more. We fell asleep to gentle touch of arms and feet together, drunk, and high but in need of light comfort that both of us didn’t want to ask for; so, it helps when we’re not sober. When I woke up that February morning, I wasn’t me anymore. Drunk from the wine and manipulation, I opened my bedroom door searching for the present reality. But what was left in my room was a dead simulation, and an empty plate with black crumbs sat on the kitchen counter.

 I was forced not awake, but to slight consciousness. Drunk, cold, and mute with a feeling of familiar touch, from a familiar person, in the only way I knew how we shared “vulnerability.” Rough hands quickly slid down my thighs with enough pressure to take my sweats down with the motion. I had sweats that were now hung on my ankles and stayed there, they didn’t drop to the floor. There was no exchange of words or nods or love or consent, and I was in and out of consciousness with the feeling of lower pressure, not pleasure. I was drunk and done and barely awake, and yet you were there on top of me. My drunk body told me that this was happening, my drunk mind told me that maybe I wanted it, and my drunk heart told me that it was cracking.

I moved the fuck out of San Francisco and depression laid me to unrest in my parents’ house, in my childhood room. I was tiptoeing around the thought of moving back home to San Diego before you, and this is what made me bolt. I was curious of what might be ahead of me if I took the time to look back, and my curiosity led me to face more that was unseen. So, I made it back home, and sat with my legs hanging from my bed again, but instead they hung for hours.

Dream | 2018

An amber glow is in my view while I drive west down the SFSU campus. I’m lucky enough to catch the sunset hour through the trees of Lake Merced while I make my way towards the Great Highway and Ocean Beach, heading to the Outer Richmond. I’m anticipating where the sun will be when I get to the highway and if I’ll be able to beat the flatline where the sun has sunk under the blue and leaves that amber glow. Everything around me feels warm and too good.

I never thought that I would see you in your chosen spiritual form. This was the first time you came to me after my whole life of visiting you on G Street. You liked your age and your wisdom; and you chose your spiritual form to exude this and your next level omniscience. 70 years old, wise, and truly beautiful, you wore the colors that embodied not only your angelic existence, but the message you came to deliver. An amber and orange scarf hugged your hair together while just enough rich brunette peaked through the top of your forehead. A heavy, short sleeved dress covered you from shoulders to toes, and was enriched in orange hue and shine. Your expression was warm, and the biggest smile beamed your peace and happiness. I knew it was you because you were floating, and I knew it was you because you were dripping in gold fashion. Genuine style came natural to you back then, and even more now. The amber glow was in my view while I was driving west down the SFSU campus. The sunset hour radiance that filled the space between the tree silhouettes of Lake Merced and the rest of the evening sky, was you waiting for me before I began my drive home to the Outer Richmond. You waited with a welcoming expression, like when you used to be on your porch behind the metal fence of your front yard, when I used to visit you on G Street.

I pulled over to my right to greet you and knew this was the moment to listen. You knew all the reasons why I needed guidance at that time, and you wanted to let me know that you’ve been listening to my prayers that I cited to the moon and you, from my bedroom window. November 2, 2017, is when you passed. I said my goodbyes a month before while kneeling next to your hospital bed. The room was filled with protection and praise from the higher power. You’ve been important; that’s all I can say.

My eyes overflowed with warm tears. I was kneeling in front of you again, but this time completely raw and vulnerable and real, without being enclosed in a white room with neighbors and strict visiting hours. We were in my internal world, and I was looking for answers. The words dribbled out of my mouth, “I want to go home, when am I going home? I want to go home, when am I going home? Tia, I want to go home, when am I going home?” You still glowed warm and bright and your grin grew wide because it had a secret behind it. It had the truth.

“Soon, Natalí, soon.” The warm tears followed me back to reality.

You said three words; but what you really gave me was the future telling to this moment of me, three years later, writing my truth on my bedroom floor from home.

Part 2

“I wrote something about you” | September 2021

I’ve had a few approaches to healing from you, and all the original ideas involved never speaking to you again. I believed that I could move in a forward direction without us crossing paths, and maybe I very well could’ve; but I’ve always wondered whether I could share the truth with you. To be honest, originally to me, sharing the truth with you would mean that I could finally rip off the shame that I’ve been living with, and give it back to the one who inflicted it.

Could I send what you sent me, back to you? Could I send what you sent me up into the air and destroy it, so it never has to haunt either of us again?

I’ve recently caught on to a cycle that I have created, which is one that I’ve switched on repeat since the day I acknowledged what you did. It’s inevitable for emotions to move up and down, but the space in between that wave is in and should be in my control. I’ve learned to manage my depression because I’ve engraved that I would be living with it for as long as I would let life wake me up. My management of the depression wave used to be successful when I could get myself to only live in bed for a day or few rather than a week, cutting down the down time. But after a year of this strategy and some measurable success, my depression wave was now doing something different and what seemed to be more painful. I was living a high happy week, and then fell to a low, heavy week. Each week took their turns to lift and then pull down, creating turbulent, unpredictable emotions that were intense and temporary. I caught on to the pattern because I realized that the past months were too fucking emotional, and I was as down as I’ve ever been in my life. I don’t believe that I’ve attached myself to my depression, because I would so greatly wish it away, but I do question why I’ve easily accepted that me and depression will be stuck together, forever. My depression tells me that I’m waking up, and that I will need to continue to wake up if I want to cut it’s visiting hours. The cycle I have created has given my depression an open invitation to visit when it pleases, often in control instead of me.

I found that my cyclical approach was fueled by anger. Anger takes me out of the equation and centers the blame on you, not just the blame for rape, but the blame for my life as of what it has been after that February morning. I’ve blamed you for my fear and extreme reservedness that has kept me so fucking small. I’ve blamed you for my strong distrust in intimacy with others and ability to build new relationships. I’ve blamed you for my depression that has truly drowned me. My life is very different after that February morning, but my life needed change. Anger had made sense in my early stages from healing from you, from my therapy sessions in 2020, and from my inner dissection to let the anger out that you put in me. What you put in me was all that was behind you, and what I was left with was both of our anger, and my search for clarity on all of what is behind me. But if we’re being real, I came to our first meeting with anger; with fear and extreme reservedness, with distrust in intimacy and inability to build new relationships. What you did just rose them to the surface, and you left some of the things that weigh you heavy, too. My anger was needed to push myself away from you and rip the attachment and reveal what has truly existed within me that I couldn’t always see. With the past months that have been too emotional, I’ve owned up to my angry approach that I’ve automated to loop because I’m fucking tired. I’ve been thinking that I need momentum in the opposite direction, a new approach from what I’m used to. I’ve been thinking that I’ve accomplished what I needed to accomplish with our anger; and I’d like to send what weighs us heavy into the air and destroy it, so it never has to haunt either of us again.

Forgiveness seemed like an approach that someone would offer if they’ve never gone through what you’ve gone through. When I was sitting with my anger from that February morning, sitting with that anger for the past 20 months, I couldn’t see how forgiveness would ever be something I could hold for you. I was so used to holding our other emotions for us; emotions that I have just started to understand and root. Emotions that I’ve had to sort out of what was mine that I needed to look closer at, and what was yours so that I could let it go. My anger told me I had work to do; your anger allowed me to understand the bigger picture, even if it wasn’t pretty. The story filled with anger is predictable and repetitive until you make the choice to make it stop. It isn’t easy or quick getting to that point, but the exhaust from the same angry story will force you into some heavy work to get rid of it from living inside you. Living my life choosing that anger for you has shown me that I’ve been living my life choosing the same cyclical torture. The story filled with anger relives my shame. The story filled with forgiveness involves our paths crossing again for one more conversation, and allows me to move in my direction far away from you, forever.

When I said I would be writing to expose the weak, I was talking about me.

“I wrote something about you” is the first message I’ve sent you in over a year. It was time that I told you about our experience I was writing; and it was time that I offered forgiveness. Turbulent and unpredictable, forgiveness is the one thing that I began to hold for you, and it is the one thing that started to release the shame. How could I hold grace, forgiveness, and understanding for my healing, and not hold the same for you? When I look back for me, it is impossible to not look back for you. When I dissect culture and generations for me, it is impossible to not do the same for you. And when I see all the bad that has happened to me, around me, and behind me, I can see how that is all there for you, too. I have had it with my anger, and if there’s any emotion I will hold for you, it will be one that I want to hold for myself, because what I hold for others, no matter what I’m holding for what has been done, will still live in my body; so, I might as well be wise about it.

Healing from rape takes a lot of brain and body power. I’ll never forget that February morning; it’s stamped on my heart and my mind. But I’ve done the looking back, and what I saw was your life torture. How you truly feel about yourself must’ve carried such a burden, since you needed to let go of it in me. Your last hateful words in response to our truth showed me that we all have our own cyclical torture. Your words told me how you feel about yourself, and I hope that my words told you how I feel about me. Attempting to break out of my own cycle is somewhat new and experimental, but I’m feeling measurable success. With forgiveness on my mind, with the tight hold of forgiveness for myself and forgiveness for you in my body, self- love has flowed back in, and life is starting to move again.

When I think about it, the trauma doesn’t have to live in me forever. I have to deal with it, but once I face it, I can let it go and move with confidence that only trauma transmutation brings. The trauma must be transmuted. I am in charge, so why not let it fucking go? Life with me holding on to my hurt slows me down. Can’t I understand, accept, release, and step forward; loosening my grip on the tight hold I have with my stored hurt energy, one finger at a time? Can I break free from my own tight grip?

I’m cutting the visiting hours down. I’m cutting the visiting hours from depression, from trauma, from thoughts and memories of you and what’s behind us. Purging all of it and letting some higher- level emotions find their home in me. Flushing my emotional system of stagnancy from anger and replacing it with forgiveness and love. Rewriting my visiting hours guest list and making the list strict and extremely intentional. The only one who pays visits is me. The intimacy that was stolen from me, my given right to consent that you overwrote and the abandonment you threw me in needs my undivided attention. It does not have to live in me forever. I knew that what you took from me would need to be transmuted and restored by me, and restoring intimacy with myself needed to be ritualistic. Spiritual, soulful, ritualistic, mystic; a true destruction of the old and rebuild of what I know I’m supposed to be. I’ve been all these things, and part of my forgiveness for you is that you brought them to the surface, reminding myself that these things live within me, innately; and always. They will never be lost, even if I need to get creative to bring them back up. So, in healing from you and all of what is behind me, I’ve brought my powers to the forefront; and I’m getting ritualistic and spiritual about fucking myself to break free. Rewinding with courage, unwinding with compassion, and orgasming to destroy what weighs me heavy, so it never has to haunt me again.

Part 3

Love, Respect, Body Appreciation, Protection, and Safety | March 2022

My 2018 vivid dream visit from you, my Tia, and my 2020 traumatic experience somehow tied themselves together; and when I made the connection, I began intuitively writing about my past in 2021. Opening up in the way I know how to communicate has been the best gift I could give myself. I’ve checked in with the moments that I’ve sat down and written what has weighed heavy on my heart, and now I can see and feel the undeniable proof and truth that I am now in my power. The space that’s balanced by Shadow & Light set me free in uncountable ways aside from that February morning.

Looking inward for my answers soon revealed that I had no idea of the extent of truth and magic I would be exposed to. Healing physical, mental, and emotional intimacy with yourself after trauma is lonely. I didn’t want to let anyone in but myself, and I felt that if I couldn’t heal this on my own, then I wouldn’t feel safe in a relationship ever again. It took time for me to begin to explore myself again, and it took crying out all the pain to make room for replenishing myself with something new. I was powerful enough and ready to restore life into me. I was getting ready to jump into my body and shake out the truths and put out the fires, while simultaneously fighting off everything outside of me with a lifeless smile.

I’ve always believed in my sexual power whether coupled or alone, and I knew that there was something special on the other side of creating and committing to an intentional self- pleasure ritual. I wanted healing in this way, and I wanted to use what I knew could be powerful tools for restoring intimacy with myself, with truth and magic. I bought my first Chakrub in 2020. The rose quartz crystal for my cracked heart was the pairing I believed in.

Receiving, unwrapping, cleansing, and charging my rose quartz Chakrub was the start to deep practice. It was beautiful and it was meant to shine its beauty in me with my own set of intentions. I was in charge and in power of what my Chakrub emulated with each Moon bath it took.

With what you let go of inside me, I would need to go in and find it for myself to drag it out. I would go in and find out the truth; I’m not sure if you expected for me to know more about you when I chose to pull you out of me. What you left me with was so dark that it wiped out my sacral light that used to glow bright amber. My sacral wheel stopped to pull me in closer, and that was when the magic begun. I was aware of the deep healing I would need to commit to, and in doing so, I would be healing our trauma.

My rose quartz Chakrub made its space known in my bed. I wanted it to live under my pillow to infuse my dreams with love. I wanted to be surrounded by love while I was building up my self- love, and I needed all the mystical help I could get. I could reach back when I was ready and assess my body with my Chakrub. I could give myself that safe space that I needed with consent and begin to restore what was taken from me. After beginning my practice, I began to release what had been stored inside me in secrecy and shame. It was as if Pandora’s Box was opened, and all the evils of the world flew out; and the evils of the world that were stored inside me revealed themselves as my shadows, and the shadows of others. I had a powerful orgasm that released “Love, Respect, Body Acceptance, Protection, and Safety” from out of my mouth, my heart, and my sacral. My rose quartz Chakrub would then be charged under the Moon with that truth, and it would power the glow and movement of my amber sacral wheel from there on.

My Chakrub collection began to grow once I grounded my self- pleasure practice. I was growing with love and prophetic knowledge from my practice because what I was gaining was not just clarity on my shadows and how to repair, it was my answer to why I was placed in my timeline. When you release what they dare you not to question, you release generations of fears, truths, and evils. When you take on the power to commit to the work, you realize that the evils aren’t so evil after all because they don’t amount to your power; and no one in your timeline before you knew they could release and destroy all that weighed them heavy, so it never had to haunt us again.

Our answers came to me in what seemed like visions of the past, visions of my life experiences, and visions of generational experiences that happened before me. The dots revealed themselves in a way that eluded their desire to be known, and I started drawing the lines to connect them. What I could see was our constellation of shadows, and from this view, in my self- pleasure healing, in my therapy sessions, and attempt to end my cyclical torture, I knew my answer.

Me and my rose quartz Chakrub lit up my light that was put out by you. Full and dripping with love, my love stone did what it was supposed to do and slowly powered my sacral wheel. The natural pink power invited me to glow amber again.

The energetic orange and amber wheel that was placed just beneath my bellybutton began to spin rapidly. The orange and amber wheel began to glow and spin and grow. It unraveled a gold ribbon that swung around my body, hugging my hips, and then wrapping around my legs, then down to my feet. The ribbon thickened with glow, energy, life- source, and length while it tailored itself around my ankles and made its way up to my shins, then knees, then thighs, then hips, then belly, breast, chest, and shoulders as cloth that was enriched with gold hue and shine. The ribbon clean- cut itself after it drenched a heavy, short sleeved dress over me that covered my shoulders down to my toes. The orange and amber wheel then spun its gold ribbon that made its way to grab the nape of my neck and hugged my hair together while just enough rich brunette peaked from the top of my forehead. My sacral energy wheel that was fueled through healed sexual energy, mind, body, and spirit, could now drip me down in gold fashion. Now, glowing from the connection of the important dots of the unknown past, the secrets that were hidden within me, the unseen realm, and the truth that your grin expressed; I asked myself, “was this my story, or yours”?