Every Woman has a Story....This is the Most Recent Chapter from Mine (part two)

My memory of events for the next 24 hours is very vague.  While much of what I remember seems more like a bad dream than reality, entire sections of memory are gone completely.  I also lost all concept of time: I am not even sure how long I laid on the back porch after my attacker left.

I do remember that it was light outside when I woke up.  I thought it was early morning.  Only recently have I learned that it was already mid-morning.

I do remember that when I woke up, I didn't understand why I hurt all over and my head felt wrong.  At first I thought I'd been crying because fluid was running down my cheek.  Then I realized my vision was blurred and my left eye wouldn't open.  I put my hand to my face.  I touched it.  It was red. I pulled myself up and dragged myself through invisible jello about 1000 miles to the closest mirror.  I didn't recognize the deformed image looking back at me....

I have been told that I went next door to my neighbors' house and called my son (my assailant had smashed my phone when I attempted to use it to call 911 early in the attack) and told him that I needed him because I had been attacked.

I have been told that I went home and put ice on my face. 

I have been told that a friend showed up because she had been trying to get in touch with me for hours. 

I have been told that she and Dylan had a battle with me convincing me we needed to call 911. 

I have been told I kept demanding I would be fine.

I have been told I was crying and that my tears were blood.

I vaguely remember a brief interaction with a uniformed officer.  I don't remember the conversation.  I vaguely remember another, un-uniformed man appearing at some point.  I vaguely remember thinking to myself he seemed too compassionate to actually be a law enforcement officer.

I remember other uniformed people coming into the house.  I remember being moved....then riding but not seeing anything.... feeling wierd....like I wasnt real....like I was in a state somewhere between a dream and a nightmare...but for some reason I just couldnt wake up.

Every Woman Has a Story

{Note:  I am writing this blog as an honest, open account of my journey as a female and how it consistently leads me full circle back to the reason why Image Recovery is such an important part of why I do what I do.  I am also writing this blog to remind Every Woman that she is not alone.  We all have stories to tell...traumas, tragedies, trials and tribulations.  These events form us into the women we become...hopefully  women who learn self-discovery, self acceptance, and self esteem, so that we see our true beauty, our inner beauty.
 
I don't know how long it will take me to tell this chapter of my story, nor in what direction my blog entires will head.  Some of my descriptions might be a little unsettling to some, though in no way will I intentionally be graphic.  I do know that I hope in sharing my story, I will help other women face, embrace, and grow from their stories.  I encourage story sharing , comments and questions.  Together, women help each other become Unbreakable.}
 
In the wee hours of the morning on Saturday August 28, I survived an experience that left me once again changed, in some ways which I do not like. and hope to undo:  As I often do several times a night, at 1:30 am, I let my very old, very incontinent dog out for hopefully the last time that night.  As I always do, I took my blackberry and sat down on the step so she could go about her business.  Out of nowhere I saw a figure dart out to my left.  Then he was on me; this intruder in my own backyard tackled me saying only "now I'm gonna kill you bitch".
 
I didn't recognize my assailant, I have no recollection of ever seeing him before.  He wore all black: baggy jeans and a black tee shirt.  No hat. No gloves. No mask.  He must have been really stupid... or really confident he would kill me.
 
But if he was going to kill me, he wasn't going to succeed without a fight.  So I fought.  All I could think about was Dylan, my son.  I had to survive for him. I fought as if my life depended on it, which it did.
 
He punched me. He grabbed me.  He choked me. He twisted my limbs.  He threw me down. And pinned me. He grabbed my thighs and tried to pry my legs apart.  When I got away, he kicked me. He grabbed my buttocks pulling me back down.  He slammed my head repeatedly onto the ground.  I briefly blacked out.  I came to.  I couldn't fight anymore.  I lay as still as I could.  I slowed my breathing to an almost meditative state.  I could feel him looking at me.  I didnt move.  He left.  He must have been satisfied I was dead.....
to be continued...