it has been a grueling couple of days, physically and emotionally. I am in a lot of pain and it hurts to breathe, but at the same time I am safe, my family is with me and i know i am not alone.

We went to the hospital where i was assaulted. Had to have tests done yesterday and a consult with a Dr. this morning. It's all over now and I don't have to go back for awhile--thank God. we traveled through corridors I KNOW I went through right after the assault, when they physically examined the damage the perp did to my body. My brain is swimming with memories and when I succumbed to my own exhaustion last night, my brain could only replay the freakshow that happened to me over and over in my nightmares. We are staying with some of our college friends... a husband & wife and their baby girl. I woke up screaming a few times in the night and each time, I woke up the entire household too, just in case this isn't humiliating enough. They don't know what happened to me and they probably never will.

But I owe you guys a huge "thank you." When I first came here to MS, I wasn't planning on ever telling my wife. But a bunch of you guys (along with my therapist) convinced me that if I didn't tell her with my words, I would be telling her with my actions & with my silence--and she would interpret them in a way that would eventually kill our marriage. I am so happy that I listened to all of you who encouraged me to tell her, because I can't imagine traveling down those hospital corridors, hearing the sounds of my crime scene & feeling that tightness throughout my entire body--all this and she wouldn't even know.

Now, she knows. And she reassured me that I was safe, and that we would come through this stronger than before. She took me to the chapel where she prayed every day for me while I was in that hospital. She said that while praying one day, she had the sense that she was carrying a child (even though we both thought it was not going to happen), and she showed me the dr's office in the hospital where she had her first ultrasound. We sat together in that chapel, and I cried more than all the other times in my adult life combined. I felt like such a dumbass crying in front of her, in front of God, and I was disgusted with myself when the cries alternated with episodes of vomiting and coughing and chest pain. But at least this time, I knew I wasn't alone. And thank God our friends were watching our son so he wouldn't have to see his Daddy cry.

And that is what angers me the most about all of this. I was someone's FATHER. At the time my abuse was happening, my son was MICROSCOPIC but even though he was a FETUS he had made his own way into the world, and he was ALIVE inside his mother's womb. No one, not even that SOB who abused me could take that away from me. At the same time, I am seething with anger for what this guy did to me, but even more, what he did to my son. Because my son never got to see his father back when he was whole. Before he was badly broken. In a sense, my perp stole me away from my son before I even had a chance to cut the cord. Still, I believe that life in the womb is sacred & I am grateful that even though my world was overcome with darkness after my sexual abuse, there was still a tiny, microscopic light in my world--so tiny I couldn't even see it at the time.

My brothers, know that I see you all as lights in my darkness, too.

“If a man wishes to be sure of the road he treads on, he must close his eyes and walk in the dark.”

- Saint John of the Cross