Surviving Spouse

A social worker told me surviving rape means doing everything you have to during the act of violence to ensure you’re still alive after the ordeal. This may even mean allowing the perpetrator to “rape” you if it will mean you’ll still be alive at the end of it, because screaming or fighting back may lead to you being murdered.

I was in my early 20s when this was shared with me. It was comforting.

Fast forward to Mbu’s passing. Here I was again. This time I wasn’t just losing something; I was losing someone I valued in a way as sudden as losing my virginity to rape. Now I’m searching for this “survival” so desperately.  

The term surviving spouse was just a legal term until now. This time it meant not only outliving Mbu but regaining my life, my purpose and dreams.

I had a lot of questions I wanted to ask God but I was afraid to ask. I was afraid they’d move me from God and I knew I needed Him desperately. I do remember asking Him to see me through whatever laid ahead though and I think He’s doing just that to this very day.

As much as nothing prepared me for my rape, nothing prepared me for widowhood. As much as I had a few friends supporting me through the healing process from being raped, the same was when Mbu passed. With the rape, only those closest to me knew about it, so I didn’t expect much support from society. But with Mbu’s passing I was naïve to think the opposite would happen. Anyways I am over that.

I don’t know if it’s because I was young when the rape happened, but I had this fighting spirit in me that wouldn’t allow me to wallow in the pain. But the pain of losing Mbu was beyond heart wrenching, it almost killed me. Maybe it’s the life experiences in between.

I think we should take good care of our belief, faith and hope. I am saying this because life will throw whatever it chooses at you, at whatever time; whether you’re prepared for it or not, it doesn’t really care.  At this point these three will help you a great deal in ensuring you make it.

I realised this when my psychologist referred me to a psychiatrist because she saw how I was battling to deal with the loss. This was another hit. Accepting this hurt. I felt like I was failing. I sobbed so much during that session, but I had to accept she was right. I wasn’t coping to say the least. I think this is when the “survival” I was needing desperately kicked in. I thought of my kids. I couldn’t let them lose another parent. I also couldn’t let me lose me. Me had so much life awaiting her, I had to survive even for her.

I didn’t see a psychiatrist. I asked my psychologist to allow me a month to try and do things differently, which she permitted. I then started taking medication to help with the chemical imbalance in my brain prescribed by my GP. They did wonders. For the first time in months I could sleep. The anxiety attacks became less frequent. I am very careful about saying I’ve healed completely, because I’ve learned widowhood is an unforgiving emotional roller coaster.