By now most of us have heard of Amy Bleuel, the woman who inspired the Project Semicolon. For those of you who don't know what that is, let me blow your mind for a moment. Amy Bleuel was a young woman who was physically abused by her step-mother beginning at the age of six, sexually abused at the age of ten, raped at the age of thirteen, endured the loss of her father to suicide at the age of eighteen, was raped twice more in college, and then suffered from alcoholism and five major suicide attempts. That woman endured more in ten years than any person should ever have to go through. And what did she do with her pain? She inspired a revolution. Amy founded a non-profit mental health and anti-suicide organization in 2013. Amy hoped that her organization would present "hope and love to those who are struggling with depression, suicide, addiction, and self-injury" by encouraging the tattoo semicolon symbol to raise awareness and show support. Selena Gomez jumped on board after she helped to produce the Netflix series "Thirteen Reasons Why", as did two of the actors from the show. A book was later published by HarperCollins entitled "Project Semicolon: Your Story Isn't Over" in 2017 which is available practically everywhere now. This was more than just a fad, it was hope.
In literature, the semicolon is used when the writer could choose to end the sentence, but instead the author chooses to keep going. That is what Amy Bleuel did with her life until March 23 of 2017. The coroner ruled Ms. Bleuel's death as a suicide which left a bitter taste in my mouth. As we mourn the one year anniversary of this amazing woman's death I ask myself, "How could she?" She was changing lives! People all over the world looked to her for support when they had suicidal thoughts or needed emotional help to get through the grief of a loved ones suicide. How could she? I begin to feel angry when I think about what she did, but I know that deep down I'm only angry because I feel the hurt. Suicide saddens me beyond what I can describe. It is the very moment when a person who has been suffering inconsolably for so long, while everyone else around them lives their life normally, snaps their fingers and flips it around. Now, the person who was suffering is no longer in pain, and all the people around them who had been living normally are suddenly suffering instead. I want to be mad and tell those people that they were selfish in the worst way, but who am I to make such a heavy judgement? Who am I to pretend to know someones deepest pain? How could I possibly know what it's like to wake up and feel so much hurt that I couldn't get out of bed? To hate myself so much that no amount of encouragement could calm my mind? So, instead of hate, I will choose to spread love. Good for you Amy! You endured the worst that this world had to offer. You didn't become a serial killer, or the unabomber, or a terrorist. You inspired the people around you to live their best life and get help. I'm proud of you. I support your decision. And I wish that there had been more help for you, you who helped so many others. Today I would like to take two moments of silence. The first as a remembrance for an innocent little girl who was lost to the madness of hate and corruption. The second moment of silence will be for you. The you who is reading this right now. You are still here. You can still make a difference. You can inspire a revolution.
What's your revolution project?
https://projectsemicolon.com/
Showing posts with label rape. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rape. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 3, 2018
Friday, March 30, 2018
The Girl I Wouldn't Save
Heavy hitter alert! So in my quiet time this morning I noticed that I was feeling sad. My heart was a little heavier than usual and my thoughts kept wandering to a girl that I once knew in high school many years ago. I ignored these thoughts for a while until I reminded myself to be aware. I turned off the radio in the car and allowed each roaming thought to produce a scene in my brain until I knew exactly what needed to be done. I needed to remember. This girl whose face was filling my morning thoughts belonged to an old friend, but one that I had not spoken to in years. She was trouble, put quite plainly. She was wild, she drank uncontrollably, she went home with strangers after long nights of dancing and often ended up in trouble with the police. I loved her anyways, but had to distance myself. Why was I feeling so guilty? Because I could have saved her. When I was fifteen I remember this girl coming over to visit for the first time. She had stolen alcohol from her parents and proceeded to dance on the coffee table in front of my friends. When they all lost interest and left the room, she admitted to me that her father had been sneaking into her room at night.
I can still remember how my chest had tightened and my face grew red at the thought of what she was going through. I immediately told her that she should tell her mom or move in with me or run away or call the police. She had to do something! But she gave me every reason she could think of as to why I had to keep it a secret, and I agreed to. But as time went on and I kept her secret and watched her act out time and time again, I began to feel resentment towards her. I didn't just resent her flirting with everyone else's boyfriends and flaunting her body, I resented her secret. You see, she had the nerve to tell me about her secret and let me carry some of that weight. But I had a secret of my own that I had never been brave enough to share with anybody. I resented that I had been carrying the weight of my secret all by myself for so long while she seemed perfectly content to burden other people with hers. I resented that, compared to her secret, my secret didn't seem very big anymore. Not only was her secret worse than mine, but it was more complicated than mine. But I think if I'm being completely honest, I resented how scared she made me feel. It was a loss of control. If she decided to tell someone then did I have to tell my secret too? What would happen if people found out? Would the family be torn apart? Would anyone be mad at me? Would everyone hate me? So I did nothing.
It's easy to say, "I was just a kid." "I didn't know any better," is also a good excuse, but looking back as an adult I feel guilt because I should have said something to a trusted adult anyways. I should have ignored my paralyzing fear and stood up for her. If I had, then maybe she wouldn't have tried to kill herself only to awaken alone and covered in her own vomit two days later. No one had tried to call her while she was passed out; no one even knew she was missing. It's sad. It's such a damn shame. A girl as beautiful and smart and wonderful as her had become so wild from her inner pain that other people had trouble being with her. I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I have tried to find this girl, to reach out to her and personally apologize, but I can't find her. She has no social media account, her phone number has been changed, and her family is refusing to give out her contact information. All I can do at this point is forgive myself. But I won't give up on her either. I wish that I had known back then that no one secret is worse or bigger than another. I wish that I had known that there was always help and support to be found, and I have nothing but overwhelming compassion for any woman who has been though sexual abuse. You are not alone.
What's your #metoo?
I can still remember how my chest had tightened and my face grew red at the thought of what she was going through. I immediately told her that she should tell her mom or move in with me or run away or call the police. She had to do something! But she gave me every reason she could think of as to why I had to keep it a secret, and I agreed to. But as time went on and I kept her secret and watched her act out time and time again, I began to feel resentment towards her. I didn't just resent her flirting with everyone else's boyfriends and flaunting her body, I resented her secret. You see, she had the nerve to tell me about her secret and let me carry some of that weight. But I had a secret of my own that I had never been brave enough to share with anybody. I resented that I had been carrying the weight of my secret all by myself for so long while she seemed perfectly content to burden other people with hers. I resented that, compared to her secret, my secret didn't seem very big anymore. Not only was her secret worse than mine, but it was more complicated than mine. But I think if I'm being completely honest, I resented how scared she made me feel. It was a loss of control. If she decided to tell someone then did I have to tell my secret too? What would happen if people found out? Would the family be torn apart? Would anyone be mad at me? Would everyone hate me? So I did nothing.
It's easy to say, "I was just a kid." "I didn't know any better," is also a good excuse, but looking back as an adult I feel guilt because I should have said something to a trusted adult anyways. I should have ignored my paralyzing fear and stood up for her. If I had, then maybe she wouldn't have tried to kill herself only to awaken alone and covered in her own vomit two days later. No one had tried to call her while she was passed out; no one even knew she was missing. It's sad. It's such a damn shame. A girl as beautiful and smart and wonderful as her had become so wild from her inner pain that other people had trouble being with her. I'm sorry. I am so sorry. I have tried to find this girl, to reach out to her and personally apologize, but I can't find her. She has no social media account, her phone number has been changed, and her family is refusing to give out her contact information. All I can do at this point is forgive myself. But I won't give up on her either. I wish that I had known back then that no one secret is worse or bigger than another. I wish that I had known that there was always help and support to be found, and I have nothing but overwhelming compassion for any woman who has been though sexual abuse. You are not alone.
What's your #metoo?
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