A little boy died one month ago yesterday and I learned of it one month ago today. He was a small ray of sunshine in my last summer and during this school year. He made me smile often and he was among the small group of children who was there when I got to play the Tooth Fairy last year. He was a student in my friend Megan’s first grade class. She’s a great teacher; she was lucky to have him.

On the one month anniversary of his passing, I had the terrible displeasure of erasing him from the summer school database. I wiped him out of our 2010 records, and that hurt me greatly. Today, I wrote his parents a note warning of the cold, heartless refund they will be receiving from me shortly. I could not bare for that check to arrive, a shocking reminder of what they have lost–what we have all lost–without some kind words. A weak attempt to soften news that can only be hard and sharp.

I miss him. While it’s true that he was not the most present child in my life, he was still there. And his absence is still noticed. And it will continue to be noticed this entire summer when the classes he was registered for–likely only days before that terrible one–will go on without him.

He was seven and he died and no one can say why. A healthy, happy little boy went from playing and laughing in one moment, to being missing the next. It’s as though a cruel game of Hide and Seek was started, and where this sweet child hid is a place none of us can save him from. He just slipped away when no one and everyone was watching.

Forgive me, Father. I have erased him, though I did not want to. Forgive me. Our records are too simplistic to keep students not attending classes in them. Forgive me. I am the only one who maintains them, who knows how. Forgive me. It is cruel that I have gotten to live as I have when he will never grow up. Forgive me. Forgive me.

Forgive me.

These are the three promises I have made to myself. They are part of my goal to be a functioning, independent human being. It’s not that I’m not these things already–I am–but I sometimes forget this. I often forget myself, and I often put myself last. This has made me an incredibly vulnerable person at times. I’m tired of being a person prone to falling apart, teetering on the edge of despair.

So I’m giving myself a head-space make over. And writing is a key component. The seven years and nearly half-million dollars invested in my education as a writer is important to me and has shaped me as a person. Writing is something I have always done, since the days when I first became verbal. I’ve come to learn that when I don’t write, I start to wilt, and that withering causes me to not write. It’s a vicious cycle that I refuse to feed any longer. So I will write. Every day, Wren. Every day.

Committing to make the world a better place might seem like a vague and tall order, but it really doesn’t have to be. It can be as simple as saying “thank you” and holding the door, or it can be far more. Either way, being mindful to stewardship and being kind is a moral and ethical obligation to me as a human being.

I’ve already touched a bit on not forgetting myself, but this is important. I really need to learn to put myself first. This has always been really difficult for me, for as long as I can remember. I’ve had altruism drilled so deep into my brain that it feels wrong to take care of myself. And it shouldn’t be that way.

And it won’t. I promise.

According to the findings, around 25% of people believe that women who have been raped are at least partly to blame because of how they dressed, how much they drank or how many sexual partners they have had.

The survey revealed that:
-38% believe that a woman is partly to blame for rape if she walks through a deserted area.
-37% think a woman is partly to blame if she flirts extensively.
-30% think a woman is partly to blame if she flirts with a man at all or fails to say no clearly.

It also found that 10% of people feel that a woman is completely to blame for rape if she has had a number of sexual partners.

Read the rest of it here.

Dear Edward —

It’s been a long time. Do you remember me? Of course you do. I “took” your virginity. That’s not the right words, though, is it? You made me take it; no wasn’t an option.

How has that been working out for you? I mean, not very many people spend their entire sexual lives as rapists. Is every encounter rape? I hope not because no one gave me the opportunity to stop you. I genuinely hope you are doing better.

I’m not writing you to berate you. Quite opposite. I love you. Our chance encounter at summer camp changed my life forever. I was angry for a long time, but I cannot live my life ruled by it and, by extension, you. In so many ways I’m glad it was me. It didn’t ruin me and it was never the worst thing that happened to me. Yes, it changed me, but I’m glad it wasn’t someone who would have been destroyed.

And I do love you, because without you, I wouldn’t be who I am today. I wouldn’t know how strong I am. I wouldn’t know how to refuse to be a victim. I wouldn’t have been able to care for my friends as I did when their own traumas surfaced.

You made me a better person. You made me a worse person, but I cannot ignore how good you made me. Without you I don’t know where I would be, or who I would be. I know I relate to others better than I did. I know my compassion and ability to forgive is nearly endless. You taught me these things.

I am the woman I am today because of you. Thank you for letting me become myself.

All my love,
Wren

I have never named him publicly before. I have never named these guys publicly either:

Dear Jakub, Dan, Chadd, and the Others Whose Names I No Longer Know —

Good evening, gentlemen. I doubt you know why I am writing you after all these years. Rape was pretty funny to you boys at 17 so I doubt you committed your crimes to memory.

This is not about that, though. I do not wish to judge you. This is my time now.

Thank you for teaching me that I need to be more self-reliant. When situations get sticky, I now know that I must be able to handle it myself. People will often not do the obvious right thing.

And I love you for showing just how important doing the right thing is. You laughed when my rapist told you his plans. You laughed and did nothing. Well, you laughed behind my back when I walked by, and avoided my gaze when you found me crying afterward. Because of you, I always do the right thing. Even when it is hard or inconvenient. I am a good person because I have learned from your mistakes.

I love you, even though you are a bunch of douchebags.

Love,
Wren

This is what accountability and release looks like.

I’m constantly trying to be a better person, to rise above the negativity in my life and move on. While in theory this sounds like an easy thing to do, in practice it is a very difficult battle that I fight every single day. I do it gladly, however, because I can see the person I want to be, and I’m willing to fight hard to become that woman.

One of my big problems is holding on to anger and resentment. I’ve made huge steps on this end over the past few months, but there’s still so much room for growth. I’m certainly a more patient person than I was, and a more open person, but it still isn’t enough. I’m still not where I want to be.

I’ve found something that has been helping, however. I’ve been writing love letters to all the people I have felt have wronged me. Instead of clinging to that rage and letting it eat me alive, I have been trying to find why these so-called betrayals are things I should be thankful for. I have forced myself to re-examine my life and find the positive instead of focusing on the negative.

It’s a very good exercise, but also a very surreal one. The other day, for instance, I wrote one to someone with the dubious title of “The Other Woman.”  Today I found myself writing to my rapist. It’s something I thought I would never do, but to find the positive in such horror has been so freeing.

To find the good in it all is life affirming. This exercise in love and forgiveness has really given me the chance to refocus my life. I refuse to be gripped by anger and negativity for any longer. I cannot remember the last time I was fully free from resentment. Pessimism is not the answer; it has proven to be a dead end. The opportunities to turn that hatred inward are too great, and I can see where I have been led down that path too many times.

I’m taking a stand. For the person I want to be and the person I know I can be. It is far easier to continue to live the fearful life, to stay where we are comfortable and with what we know. I reject this idea. I have not been happy, and there is no reason for this to continue. I am brave and I am ready to start walking forward.