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AlyssaLane

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    13
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About AlyssaLane

  • Birthday 03/01/2000

Profile Information

  • Gender
    Female
  • Location
    El Paso, Texas
  • Interests
    Mathematics, history, orchestra, and writing.

Previous Fields

  • MembershipType
    Survivor

Recent Profile Visitors

891 profile views
  1. Fantasy

    I've always imagined what my life would be like if I were never raped. I made a list, once. I wrote down every single thing I wish I was, that I knew be if that never happened. And then I wrote down everything I was because of it. It was a long list. I felt disgusted with myself and who I have become. I thought of the people in my life who are happy and optimistic. I thought about how envious I was of their ability to see the good in people and the good in life. I looked in the mirror and just felt disgusted with myself. I was disgusted with who I had become. I'm so pessimistic and negative. Unhappy and spiteful. Sometimes I'm foolish enough to believe that happiness is within my reach. I'm silly enough to think that someday I'll be balanced and normal. That I'll sleep at night and live without anxiety. I'll wake up without being depressed. I'll be normal. But anxiety is as much a part of my life as eating. Depression is as natural to me as breathing. I wake up everyday wishing I had died in my sleep. I go to bed every night regretting that I had managed to live through the day. Life isn't something enjoyable. It's a chore. I get up everyday and I have to force myself out of bed. Force myself out of the house. Drag myself through school. Pull myself to the end of the day. And then I repeat. But if I had never been raped I wouldn't be this way. I just know it. I know that I would be happy to get up. I would be excited to live everyday. I would go through everyday with a sense of bewilderment and excitement. Rather than dreading tomorrow I would be optimistic and look to the future. I would believe in myself instead of living with this sense of shame. Instead of feeling disgusted with myself. Instead of hating what I do. Instead of constantly expecting failure. Instead of hiding in a crowd. I would stand out. I would love myself. I would anticipate success. I wouldn't be so un fucking happy. But that's just an unachievable fantasy. I'm going to live the rest of my life this way. And that's just the way that it is. -Lane.
  2. Drowning

    I feel like I'm in the middle of the ocean. The cold, bitter ocean. Alone. I see ships pass by and planes fly over and I call out. But no one hears me. No one stops to help me. I'm trying--really hard to stay afloat. I'm viciously kicking in the water. I'm flailing, desperately just trying to survive. I'm going under. Sinking below the surface deeper into the waters below. It's dark and it's freezing and I'm alone. I'm gasping for air and my lungs are filling with water. I'm exhausted. I can't swim anymore. My legs are weak and my muscles are sore. Every movement feels like my limbs are burning from the inside out. I manage to get a few breaths of air but continue to slowly fail again and again. I sink deeper after every breath. After every moment of air I fall deeper yet again. No matter what I do; this only gets worse. The land lies on the horizon. Too far out of reach. Land is for those who managed to seek rescue or for those who never had to drown at all. Even if I swam for the rest of my life-- I know I would never make it there. Land is not what I'm meant for. I'm meant to drown. Alone. I am going to go under, out here, alone. The ocean will consume me and I will become just another sunken ship. Just another body that will never be found. A death never solved. Answers will be derived from what I left behind but no one will fully know. No one will know that I just couldn't swim anymore. That I was just too tired. My body hurt too much. And the pain only grew as the days when on. Waves constantly knocked me away from the land. Farther and farther out of my reach despite my constant strides towards it. Eventually, I just gave up. I couldn't do it anymore. I was never too good of a swimmer. And I never will be. -Lane.
  3. Reconciliation

    Sometimes, I still feel like that child. That scared shitless kid hiding in a closet, hoping that all of this will end. Waiting for the yelling to stop and for the threat to go away. Hoping that this won't happen again. That I'll be okay and that I can just go about my life normally like I did before all of this began. Deep down, I'm still that 11 year old girl who feels the hope depleting from their spirit. Who feels the light drain from their life. She's still there. When most people look at me, they see a growing woman. Someone who's "going places" in life. And when I tell them I'm more destined to kill myself or end up a failure, they look at me like I'm a joke. Like I'm joking. Like what I'm saying is something to be laughed at. Like that's just "my sense of humor." I've spent a lot of time these past few years working to stop hating myself. I haven't done the best job. Some days I feel like I've made and others I want to throw myself off a building. But I've tried endlessly to reconcile what I feel with who I am now. People will always tell you that you need to learn to love yourself. In order to love the rest of the world, in order to live a positive life...you have to love yourself. Or at least like yourself. What they don't tell you is you have to love every part of yourself. What I've done all these years is repress my 11 year old self. I didn't love her. I pushed her back into that closet and let her live in fear. I've let those horrible moments be her entire existence. That's the only life she's known so fear is the only thing I know everyday of my life. Anxiety. Sleepless nights. This endless cycle. I need to unlock that closet. And let her out. Reconcile what she feels with the rest of myself. I hate her. I hate that scared, weak child. I blame her. For not being stronger or louder or faster. I blame her for being at the wrong place at the wrong time. In my mind, for years, she's been what ruined my life. That's not true. And I need to realize and reconcile the truth with who she is now. With who I am now. I'm someone who survived something awful. And I didn't fall into the woodwork. I didn't give up. I didn't become another at risk teen who couldn't make it. I didn't become another rape victim who kills herself-- though I have tried and sometimes consider it. I didn't become just another statistic for some report. I'm so much more than that. Every one of us is so much more than that. My life would just be another news story. Another thing that people forget about. Typical. Forgettable. But if I keep fighting I have the potential to change my life. To change the lives of others. To make an impact. People will see me for who I am rather than what I was. For what happened to me. I'm more than that one moment in life...though it often does define much of my character. I'm a survivor. And whoever you are, most likely if you're reading this, so are you. I know things are hard. I know just how fucking painful all of this is-- even years later. It's hard. It's always going to be there. It's never going to be easy. But you have to love every part of yourself. You have to reconcile your emotions. Settle this inner turmoil. No matter what you have to do. I'm still trying. Still working. Don't let this give you the impression that I'm okay. That I'm healed. I'm still working on it. Still trying. Everyday. And if you need someone to talk to...if you need help...shoot me a message. I'm always here. For anyone who needs it. Even if I can't give the best advice or give any answers. I know that sometimes all you need is for someone to listen. -Lane.
  4. Support

    For many years, I fought my battles alone. I barricaded myself with the idea that I did need anyone else to get what I was going through. In my mind, every other person was just an intruder. Almost as if letting someone else in was like opening my doors wide open to some kind of attack. I felt like I would have been more vulnerable than Poland during WWII. Germany would invade, and I would be left defenseless. However, every country needs allies and every person-- a friend. Although I technically still had people in my life, it wasn't much of a support system. Mostly because I didn't allow them to support me. I felt that they simply wouldn't understand or that they would have no idea what I was talking about. Or, worst of all, that they wouldn't believe me. That I would be seen as some kind of liar simply trying to garner some kind of undeserved sympathy. What I had to learn, and what I feel many of us have to learn, is that people can't help or understand if you never even give them the chance. I understand better than anyone that it can feel like nobody cares or that nobody will listen. But, trust me, they will. Whether you seek help from people in your day-to-day life or you find it online, in a place like this, you just have to find somebody. Keeping it all inside. Bottling it all up. Repressing it. Waiting for it to go away. That will never be the solution. You can't just outrun this. You have to face it and you have to fight it. Because no matter how fast you try to run or how hard you try to ignore--it will always be there. And as you get faster so will it. And as you repress it it will just become harder to ignore. The pain you and I feel-- it will grow like a cancer. And like cancer the only way to beat it, naturally, is to fight it. Fights are not won alone. Wars cannot be won without assistance. Every country still needs and ally and every person still needs a friend. Talk to someone. Opening up can be hard. Some people, like myself, are like locked doors that even they cannot find the key to. But even where there is not a key there is a locksmith. Where there is not a locksmith there are tools. No matter how hard it or how long it takes...we all have to open up. We all need support. -Lane.
  5. Bird

    Thank you so much for saying that. I'm sorry that you felt that way but I hope that things can someday be better for you. I think one day that your soul will be soar, too.
  6. Days Go By

    The days go by. Slowly. One by one. Life travels sometimes at what feels like a snail's pace. Everyday is just another trial of what I can really get through. Or another test of whether or not I can make it. Some days, I wake up and I won't to put a bullet in my head. Getting up feels impossible. Survival feels improbable. I have a hard time seeing any reason to be alive anymore. I feel hopeless. Worthless. Like a shell of a human being. I'm not who I used to be. I'm nothing like who I used to be. I used to be happy and full of life. Now, though, I'm scared and constantly wanting to disappear. There are these brief moments, however, when I feel okay. When I feel like the days will go by and I will one day be normal and adjusted. There will be a time where the nights go by without fear or nightmares. A time when I'm healthy and healed and what happened was just a memory rather than a defining part of my entire character. I just know, though, that that simply is not realistic. I will never get there. Some days, I can only see my future as painful and fearful. A time where the days will continue to go by slowly. Each day feeling like a lifetime. I had a dream once, where I was 40 years old and still the same. I was still scared and jumpy. In my dream, I was just as lonely as I am now. Just as isolated. I lived alone. I was destined, at that point to die alone. There are brief moments, though, where I can see potential. Potential for life to be new and different. Where I can be something more. Where I'll fall in love and get married. Have a family and pets. A house with one of those picket fences. I have the teaching job I always wanted. I work everyday and I'm happy. I'm okay. I don't cry at night. I don't get scared in the dark. I don't feel alone in the days. I'm still young-- I technically have time. I just know that that reality is too idealistic for myself. I know that can't be me. I know that I'm destined to forever be confined to my own prison of fear. It's torturous. No one understands me. No one understands why I'm so afraid. Why I'm so alone and purposefully isolated. I can't tell if it's better that way or not. Once people profess to understand you, they make assumptions and they make judgements. They make suggestions and intrude on your life. They tell you what helped them assuming you're the same. Or they force things on you. They tell you that it's your fault you're like this. That you need to move on and to get over it. They don't realize that you've been trying for trying to do just that for years. Get over it. Now that's the real dream. To be "over it." But, again, I don't think that's a reality that I'm going to be able to achieve. The days will continue to just go by. One by one. Day by day.
  7. Bird

    Do any of you ever wish that maybe you could just leave? Not just your surroundings but your body. Just leave your entire self behind. I just always feel so trapped. My weird feelings about wanting to leave myself often make me so uncomfortable I refuse look in mirrors. I don't look at my own body in the shower. I get anxious trying to sleep at night because all I can feel is my own body-- this weird sense of self awareness that I can't get rid of. That's literally the weirdest kind of thing to have to admit and I don't even think I've completely described the feeling. I've such an uneasy, fearful feeling. Honestly, and this is probably too much, but I usually get it when I take off my bra. I don't know why but in those moments I just want to fucking disappear. I've always felt that if I were any animal, I would be a bird. I would be a bird because birds can fly away whenever they want. They can go wherever they want. Do whatever they want. What they lack in intelligence they make up for in spirit. Additionally, birds are never really alone. They come in flocks. They travel in groups. I, however, am always alone. I'm everyone's last resort. I'm always the cancelled plan or the back-up friend. I'm the last person you think to text. And when I text you-- you groan and put the phone away. You ignore me. Everyone ignores me. Everyone hates me. I don't blame them, honestly. I hate me, too. If I could pick any bird, it would be a seagull. I know they're just huge assholes (me) but hear me out. They live in warmth and safety their whole lives. I've only been the beach about 3 times; and when I stood on the shore and looked out at the ocean horizon, for the first time in 5 years (at that time), my mind was drawn a blank. I wasn't thinking about all of my problems.I wasn't thinking about what had happened to me. I wasn't thinking about how afraid I was. I was thinking about the impact we could have in the world. Like, my feet were moving the sand and in all technicality, the sand will never be exactly the same again. It will NEVER fall in the same place exactly like it had before I touched it. My footprints may wash away but the sand will never lay like it once had before. I think people are, sometimes, like sand. I sometimes still think about this girl, who I didn't even know that told me, after hearing me call myself trash, that I wasn't trash. That I should never call myself trash. That I was beautiful. On my worst days, I still think of that girl. She probably wasn't even thinking when she said that. She probably walked away embarrassed. She probably thought herself to be silly and intrusive. But I still think of her. Anyway, if I could capture the peace I felt on that beach forever, I would. I would do it. I would fly around above the ocean everyday. I would look around and be with other seagulls. I would be at peace and I would never really be alone. I'm always so alone. And I'm always so afraid. -Lane.
  8. I Remember Falling

    It was during the summer of this past year. My friend invited me to a party. Parties, naturally, have never been my thing. I hate big groups of people. In my mind, at least one person in a crowd could be evil .They could be a murderer or a rapist. I have trust issues. I trusted my step brother almost 7 years ago now and just look where that got me. I don't remember much of the party. I do know now, though, that I really can't handle my liquor. I shouldn't drink it. I knew that going into it but I was stupid and reckless. I was really depressed at the time and I just wanted to relax and forget for just one night. I wanted just one night of peace. One night to say that it wasn't on my mind. To say that I wasn't thinking of my past and what has happened to me. I just wanted one day of that awful week to be happy. That was a huge mistake. Everytime I try to be happy-- something bad always happens. Honestly, I should have fucking known something would happen. When I woke up in the morning, I was confused. I honestly didn't remember how I got home. I smelt like vomit and had McDonalds lying next to me in my bed. I remember bits and pieces throughout the night. I remember sitting on a couch and waiting for my friend. I remember riding in a car and not knowing where it was going. I remember people asking me if I was okay-- I think I was crying. I remember every time I said yes and asked them to leave me alone. And I remember falling. I was in a dark room in the house. It was a pretty big house and my drunk self couldn't really navigate it. I was looking for my friend, who I think, had disappeared with her boyfriend at some point during the night. I should have known that they would have been doing scandalous, consensual things. But I'm an idiot and went looking around anyway. Partly because my friend had promised not to leave me alone for too long, because she knows I have anxiety issues, so I just got a little too worried. I ran into someone. I was suddenly in a room with someone I didn't know. I remember little bits of trying to fight back or yell. Something like that. Then...i fell. Next thing I remember I'm in a car with my friends and I think we're going to eat. Not remembering makes me feel like an idiot. What if nothing really happened and I'm just being silly. I did wake up the next day with a hickey and bruises but that could have been normal drunken promiscuity and falling around. I don't know. It's probably a good thing I don't know everything that happened. But for the past (almost) year since it happened, I've been a reck. More anxious. More depressed. More nightmares. I already had these issues because of what happened to me when I was younger and my biggest fear has always been having it happen again. I guess, in a small way, I should be grateful I got lucky and didn't remember all of it. Sometimes, I dream about and I can't tell if they're just stupid dreams or memories of some sort. It's kind of driving me insane. I've kept all of this to myself. Since it's so recent I don't want someone to tell me to go to the police or pressure me into something of that sort. What am I supposed to tell them, anyway? I don't have a name or even a description. I don't know the address of where the party was. I don't know everyone I was with. I don't know who I spoke to throughout the whole night. I don't know what room I was in. The report would just be a mess. Nobody would believe me. Sometimes I don't even believe myself. I feel like a fucking moron. -Lane.
  9. Again. Almost.

    I'm sorry that that happened to you. I want you to know that you're not an idiot for going for a walk. For some reason that's what stuck out to me, initially. I think a lot of us have this bad inclination to find some kind of reason to blame ourselves in one way or another, and it's not your fault. You should tell the police, I think. I always regretted not doing. But, honestly, I'm not really one to take my own advice. I hope that you heal and things get better for you. Again, I'm really sorry. I know how shitty this kind of garbage can be.
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