Digg3r wrote:I can't wait for my ex to read this article. Then her next affidavit in family court will either have me as a Pimp at said brothel or a regular customer.

My Story (hopefully it will help you feel safe to tell yours)

Posted: November 4, 2014 | Author: mstobo2014 | Filed under: Uncategorized | 32 Comments

Open letter to all you beautiful hearts,

My name is Mandy Stobo. I am a visual artist in Calgary, Alberta. I created a project called Bad Portraits, that highlight our flaws to be seen as beauty and to spread joy through art as the project allows it’s subjects to see themselves without ego, but with pure love. I have a beautiful 8 year old, and a baby on the way. I recently married the most incredible man. My life is full of support, creativity and kindness. But that wasn’t always the case.

Here is my story, and I am sharing this because I am disgusted by the fact that rape culture exists. I am disgusted by the fact that women and men, who are abused in any form, are in silence. I am disgusted that by sharing stories of pain, people are targeted and shamed. I can no longer be idle in this culture. And I beg every one of you to use your voice, and find the bravery together that we need to abolish this horror.

I want to preface with the fact that I have the best and most loving family that I could ever imagine. And without them, I don’t think I would be here. I am so grateful and know my luck that I was able to be surrounded by love during extremely hard times.

From the age of 3-9, my cousin babysat my sister and I. He also forced me to put his penis in my mouth. He touched me everywhere. And he raped me. For six years. As a toddler going into childhood, it was a part of life. I was threatened if I spoke up. I was told my parents wouldn’t love me. Or worse, something would happen to them. I never questioned it, because I was a kid. And this is what happened. I wouldn’t realize until years later the damage this would do to my mind, my brain and how I would be able to manage in this world. It changes you. And for years, I wouldn’t even know it. I learnt fast how to blackout and block it all.

When I was 12 I became severely anorexic. And after battling it for some time with my family, trying everything from acupuncture to shaman journeys, I was hospitalized. It was the only thing I could control-my slow malnourished life that would near death many times. There was a bed crisis in the hospital, and since my state was “terminal”, I was to be sent home. My parents said no. So I was moved to the adult psych ward where I was in a high surveillance room, tied to the bed. Here, my night nurse, would have his way with me. Including rape, cutting, and more. He would then write on record that I was having a psychotic break and that I was inflicting these wounds on myself. This was the reason I quickly started eating and adding pounds on. To be released from this world.

Having a second set of experiences, similar to my childhood, the main thing it did to my mind was solidify that I was worthless. That it wasn’t unjust. That I was so disgusting, the world could see it and they should and could do whatever they like to me. I had no beauty. For how I felt in my heart and mind must be wrong, since evidence was leading in the direction that I was no good. I had no good.

Again, since I was in survival mode, all I could do was get out of there and move on. I avoided all thoughts about it. I tried every day to hold on to the hope that I had some good, somewhere inside of me.

When I did speak up, however, I was met with nothing but shame. Except for my beautiful parents. But, I was advised, as a young teenager, that since I had two serial accounts of rape and abuse, that it would reflect poorly on me, that I would look as though as I am just seeking attention and that most likely, the courts wouldn’t look twice at the case. On top of that, the hospital in which I was in care, had threatened my family and we were strongly advised to never pursue anything or that we would regret it. I was also told, that even if anything were to come of these cases in the law, that the men convicted would be out within a year or two and that most likely, they would find me as soon as they could. None of these things were things that I thought would be helpful to my family or I. And so I sat in silence.
That nurse lost his license in Canada but is working in the UK.

I managed to do well in high school. I learned how to be over the top bubbly, how to pretend to build a world of rainbows and joy. All the while pushing everything deeper and deeper into a pit that hopefully would never arise again.

Years later, through many struggles and a “get up and go” mentality, I found myself travelling the globe, alone, running away from anything that could get close. I ended up in Cambodia, where, after many years of thinking I had conquered things and that perhaps I didn’t deserve abuse, and that maybe, just maybe I could have self worth and hope, etc… I was taken off the streets and put in a brothel. I won’t go into details here, but there were many rooms, and in each room we were chained to a mattress, and next to us was shelves of tools, crowbars, knives, etc… that the ‘client’ could use as they pleased. Most “clients” were American and European men, who could come abuse and use women as they wish for less than $5. I was tortured and raped multiple times a day. But I was one of the lucky ones. I was able to get out and run right to the Khmer police (which, this was shortly after Pol Pot, so they weren’t exactly police like you would think ours to be.) This was the first time I spoke out right away. And I wasn’t shamed. They sang bob marley ‘s three little birds to me and then went to take down this place. I still sing that song when I fall into an episode… I was sent to Vietnam, and after being hospitalized there, I was on my way home. Vowing to never have to experience such horror again. Vowing to pick up my chin and truly hope and create the world I wanted. Vowing to help try and change the fact that this behavior is getting normalized. That, although, I had multiple experiences, and that there was no logic to any of it, that there are so many women around the world who are experiencing worse. And they are doing so without any support.

From here, I turned to anything I could to either banish any thoughts of shame and pain from my life, i.e. drugs, self mutilation, alcohol and bad relationships. Although I was no longer in direct trauma, I would find myself attracting and seeking relationships that were abusive in order to feel something- or to feel the one thing that I knew to be true. I MUST BE WORTHLESS. So, keep showing my world how worthless I am. The only thing that saved me from this cycle was the birth of my son. I was lucky enough to be able to look at him, remove myself and think “there is no way I want him to feel worthless, to experience abuse, and to ever have to question his own mind, perspective or heart.” Without that, I don’t think I would be here today. And although I continued to find myself in dark and horrible relationships, he was always holding my hand, pulling me out, inspiring me to do the work I could in order to start expecting the same kind of things for myself. Through him, I had to (have to) chose boldly every day (hour) that I can chose my worth, that my love is real and that my dreams aren’t ridiculous.

I am ok.

Once I regained strength and regained hope, I started living, or had thought so, but once you are in survival mode, it takes many years of structure and care and support to get out of it. I wish I could tell you that going through those experiences were the hardest part. The hardest part came years later. With the delightful thing called PTSD.

What bothers me the most about abuse is the fact that it will never leave you. Once your worth is stolen, your brain is changed. The fact that my son and my husband are used to mommy being triggered, falling to the floor in a flashback or crying for hours without control now that I can feel things, now that I am safe enough to feel things, is the saddest thing in the world. The fact that abusers take and then walk away, having damaged their victims forever, is disgusting. The fact that our pieces are scattered everywhere once it happens, without ever being able to regain them fully, is so overwhelming. I wish with all of my heart that this could be reversed. That the damage made could be fixed and left even better than before. But instead, we are left slightly less whole, with a shell that transforms into anything it can to protect our minds and hearts from truly feeling the horror, always keeping those close to us at arms length.

This has got to stop. I am writing this to be vulnerable. I am writing this to hopefully allow one more person to share their own story. We need voices. We need to eliminate the shame attached with screaming silently in pain and start shouting out that this is not ok. We need to ask for help. We need to be supported.

I am lucky enough to be able to choose every morning to hope and to love and to create. But I am a select few, and it’s because of the support around me. But those of you who feel like you don’t have enough support, please find it in every person that decides to share their world and experiences.

I wish I had answers and I wish I could help in this world. I hate rape culture. I hate injustice. I hate seeing so many damaged hearts not being able to shine. Please, let’s grab a hold of each other. There are so many of us. And we are the strongest there are out there. Even when we don’t feel like it at all.

Be brave. We got your back.

-love always
mandy stobo