And I just... stopped, and tears sprang to my eyes, as I heard that line in a way I never had before. And did the undignified crying that gets me all snotnosed.
Elizabeth is the name I told my rapist.
Not just a name - a construct. I was determined not to give him anything of me. He took my body, but I refused to let him know me. So for a few hours a dozen years ago, I was Elizabeth, from New York, with a brother who had a potassium deficiency; I threw everything into being Elizabeth, making Elizabeth real, a person to not kill. I spun story til near-daylight to keep myself alive, knowing every second how close I was to never seeing daylight again.
And it is a dozen years later, and I'm okay.
And that night, I didn't know if I ever would be.
So here's a letter to the younger me.
Dear 'song of June 5, 1994,
I love you.
You are strong.
You survive this.
You get out of this frozen moment, this hell between heartbeats. You get out alive. Hang on.
You survive this. And you get out of Vegas, and you get off drugs. And eventually, you get so much. You marry the perfect man - your best friend ever. You have the most amazing child - if you were to imagine the perfect kid, this kid would do you one better. You have wonderful friends and loves. You get published. You get to do some fantastic things.
You help people who've gone through this.
Yeah, there's some crap up ahead. You fuck up sometimes, but it all works out in the end. You get some new problems, but they're nothing compared to this night.
You will have a wonderful life.
Hey Elizabeth, y'know... I'm doin' all right these days.
'song of July 31, 2006
And then I checked, and... $3,079.00 raised. I am awed and amazed and so, so grateful. And yeah. It's a good life. And one wee stubborn loudmouthed girl can make a difference. And yeah. Kleenex time.