= To Kinder Hearts =

I need to be honest here, about the inspiration behind my work; a snippet, a glimpse behind Wicked Lovely. It is my life line. It is therapy to uncover and process the deep rooted sexual darkness of my past. May my story and what I have suffered through never ever happen again to yet another young little girl or boy. For there are so many of us hidden out there and the severe damage it has caused not only to our bodies but to our society as a whole. For this could be your daughter. Or even your son. For this is my story and it could be theirs too. 

This is my reclamation story. This is My story.

= Trigger Warning =

When I was just a small thing, I was molested by someone I trusted; a family member even. I now understand that he too was molested, and someone had molested him, and maybe that man had been as well. 

But it stops with me.

For the longest time, I thought it was my own Father - the confusion - the pain caused -  and a father daughter relationship utterly destroyed even before it had a chance to bloom. It was at this very young age I learned I had to protect myself, for in my child-mind, every man in my life had let me down immeasurably. For there was no support - We were all just trying to survive after all… 

I was only 5 years old. It was here. This very moment when I became divided. The Feminine: seen as weak in the toxic Masculine cultures I had developed in, and even adopted - emotionality seen as something that must be kept away, secret, hidden; something to sneer at if exposed. And so, I had become a protector out of need; my Masculine side developing rapidly in order to protect my soft, broken Feminine. Each time I remembered, it was quickly covered up. 

Over, and over, and over again: Memory Loss.

For the life of me I could not remember, hard as I tried. And again, when I was 17, I was raped at a friend’s winery party. And oh how the wine had flowed. I distinctly remember saying, “NO. I have a boyfriend,” while sober, but he had followed me the entire night from room, to room, to room, into the early hours of the morning. Cornered in the bathroom. “No” I said, “no…” but Black-Outs exist and thus I had been “conquered”. I did not know my genes were more sensitive to alcohol than others. Combine this with the damage caused by the initial sexual assault and the knowledge of what early sexual assault does to one’s mind, body, will-power, and boundaries.

Playing by the time’s toxic patriarchal perspective, I had convinced myself I had cheated, and therefore seen as a whore by the biased rules of its logic. But was I the whore? I didn’t feel like one before? For I was only 17 - now ashen with the deepest shame and guilt - a sharp fracture in the looking glass. How could I have betrayed myself like that? I couldn’t understand. I had told my boyfriend the very next time I saw him, thinking that he would understand - would help me to unravel this sticky mess: Our first fight. Instead he told everyone, ruined me at school, and then quickly tried to win me back. “No,” I said, feeling something was amiss. Even so, I blamed it all on myself, and then minimized and normalized it in order to survive; to keep on going - utterly swept under the rug - I was swept under the rug. Deep down, I needed to believe there were good men out there.

I did not know that I was desperately searching for them.

“Oh Brother, Where Art Thou?”

Since that moment, I was trapped in a cycle of distrust and abuse, desperately searching for pure hearts. Every romantic relationship had suffered and I couldn’t understand why. Why God? What was wrong with me? I felt dangerous. I couldn’t understand myself - why I did certain things, and who I was at certain times. The repressed subconscious pain was driving me to a place of madness, of insanity, to a place of escapism my child brain could not cope with. I was stunted. I was trapped. The guilt - piling up higher and higher. And unbeknownst to even myself, I was on the run.

  The second time I was raped, I had fallen in love with a silly Australian man in my early 20’s and travelled around the world with him. We were even talking about marriage, and for the first time in my life, “Yes,” I thought. But I had come home after a year and a half of traveling, severely homesick. I went out with a new friend -  or so I thought…  “No. I have a boyfriend, and I’m in love for the first time in my life,” I said. “I would NEVER do something like that,” he hastily replied. And stupidly, I believed him - far too trusting - but weak men lie like Snakes - a Snake in my Beautiful Garden. I was too blinded to See from my own chosen naivety and the ignorance of past and misplaced forgotten guilt. It was the second time I had ever blacked out, and for the second time I had paid the price, heavily. I had gone mad with guilt and shame, but yet again, something was amiss... And how on earth could I tell the man I loved? I still didn’t understand it entirely. It didn’t feel like I had cheated for I had never consented, nor was I going out “looking for it.” I was just too ignorant, too repressed, and far too shiny; an “exotic” piece of fruit in white society. 

During Covid 2019, the thick wall my mind had built was slowly removing itself; my castle walls crumbling. During this time I was going to school to become a traveling writer and English teacher, but in my extreme physical and emotional isolation, the hyper stress of going to Berkeley, and everything else around me, my health was in rapid and severe decline. I was pissing blood, losing my eyesight, my hearing, my voice; my mind. Deep down, I knew I was dying, and I was terrified. 

    Reason: Unknown. 

When I moved back home, I didn’t know how to communicate what was happening to me to my family. This furthered the already all consuming pain. How to explain? How to get them to understand? How could I? I didn’t even know why or how, nor did I have the words or logic, for Reason had left me completely. In its stead, deep confusion, extreme emotional pain, severe physical pain, and hyper suicidal ideation were blocking me out. I was too far gone at this point to even know how to seek help. I was utterly lost, trapped, and trying to take it all on my own -  a toxic trait of my masculine side; the only protector I could trust. I was so very suicidal, and still, I didn’t understand. Why God? Why? What was wrong with me? I kept up appearances - a master pretender.  I realize now that I stopped eating from an early age because of it, and developed one of the most malicious eating disorders in an attempt to control at least some aspect of my life. I’m still fighting it to this day and the unknown autoimmune diseases and C-PTSD that developed in the process - a direct link to these traumas. 

I realize now that the dissociative states of mind, the depersonalization, the extreme depressions, the severe memory issues, the extreme mental disorganization, weakened boundaries and hyper anxiety were all worsening and had secretly plagued me my entire life, far into my adulthood because of it. I again ignored it all in order to survive in this harsh and motherless climate. 

My mind was and is a dangerous place to exist at times… a place of fire and ice. But no more pretending. No more running. My very life depends on it now. I was once so bold and strong. I’m still working on it… putting the pieces back together. It is extremely painful work, but I’m putting in the time and patience required to figuring things out; Drenching myself in Honey to Heal - To reclaim the broken pieces of Self - To one day learn to love again - To accept help - To trust. 

To feed Her.

Because I remember now. I remember it all. I now understand that these terrible memories were brushed under the rug; a terrible learned coping mechanism. “Just pretend everything is fine and it will be.” No. It won’t be. For unseen things follow you until you face them head-on and storm-chase it down like the Buffalo do, bull-fighting your way directly into the Eye of the Storm. For this curse ends with me and I’ve learned that it is Truth that sets you free. 

This is just one hidden story of so many women out there, and some men I know and love too. We are those who have lived in fear, in deep unfathomable confusion, pain, guilt and mistrust. May my work and my art be a small flame; an offering - a light to other Kindred Spirits navigating this darkness.

To my Kindred - Tell them your story. You must. It is the only way. If you’re walking through Hell, don’t stop there: Keep walking. Why would you stop there? There is still hope even in the darkest of hours.

So Men, be Kind to your Women. For you do not know the Hellfire that we face. We are in need of Brother's, Allies & Friends.

Stand up. We need you.

May we all grow kinder and more compassionate through the understanding of stories of the voiceless - of the weak - of the seemingly cursed. I see you. I hear you. I’m so sorry. I love you.

This is my story. This is me taking back what was lost. 

- To Kinder Hearts -     

With Love, Wicked Lovely