Did it Help?

"Did it help?"

The question, as vague as it may have seemed on the surface, was anything but vague in reality. I was at Erin Knightley's house, the first time the two of us had gotten together since I'd completed writing BREAKAWAY, and I knew exactly what she was asking me.

You see, Erin knew that I had written a romance novel about a woman who'd been raped and, in the aftermath of her rape, had suffered from panic attacks. Not only did Erin know the subject matter of my book, but she knew some of my past--enough to know where the idea for writing a character like that would have come from. She'd been the first person I'd told about my panic attacks, after something (completely innocent!) she'd said to me one day in passing had triggered one. I'd experienced panic attacks before that day, but I hadn't recognized them for what they were, and I hadn't pieced together what triggered them. That day I figured it out, and not long afterward I told Erin about it.

It could only help to talk about it, even if it was difficult.

Readers have asked me since I first posted the unedited chapters of BREAKAWAY on my blog how I would have come up with the idea of a character who has panic attacks after being raped, how I could understand and write so clearly and coherently about what a panic attack feels like. I know because I've been there. I thought of it because I've experienced it.

Maybe a week before that day at Erin's house, I had been working at Starbucks one afternoon with Sabrina Jeffries. I'd recently posted the first chapter of BREAKAWAY on my blog. At one point, Sabrina had turned to me and asked if I'd based the character on myself. She had that look writer's have, when we recognize bits of our author-friends in the characters they write. And, like with Erin, she knew some of my past. Enough of it that it probably wasn't hard to piece together at least as much as she did.

Even though my characters are not me--and Dana Campbell, the heroine of BREAKAWAY is most definitely not me in so many ways--there are always bits and pieces of me, of my life, my personality, of the people I've known and loved. Those pieces find their way into the make-up of the characters because it is what I know. This one part of Dana just happens to be very much a part of me, too.

I was raped.

It was date rape. I'd said no. He'd stopped at first. But then he'd started again, and he'd kept going, and I was young and scared and insecure, and I didn't know what to do. It didn't take too many repetitions of this pattern before I stopped saying no.

He taught me that no didn't mean anything, at least not when it was coming from me. He taught me that I had to do what others wanted of me, whether it was what I wanted or not.

He was wrong, but I didn't know it at the time. I still have to fight to remember how very wrong he was.

It had happened a few times, and each time I hated myself a little more...until I hated myself so much that I couldn't function. I stopped answering my phone. I stopped answering my door. I stopped going to work. I curled up inside myself and wished I could undo everything.

When that didn't work, I tried to go back to my life as usual. I tried to pretend nothing was wrong, that nothing had happened. That didn't work either.

Then I ran away. I packed up, sold almost everything I owned, and moved from Texas to Alaska. I loved Alaska, but I still hated myself.

No matter what I did, I couldn't get away from myself, from all the shame and self-loathing and worthlessness I felt on the inside.

Over the next year, I gained about a hundred pounds. Looking back on it, I realize that was a subconscious move on my part. I was trying to make myself unattractive, so that no man would ever want to do something like that to me again.

Then I only hated myself more.

Eventually, I got into some counseling. It took several years, but I finally understood that I had been raped, not that I had simply made stupid decisions. I gradually grew in confidence. I stopped hating myself and even began to love myself a little. That last part--loving myself--is still hard, but I work on it every day. I started to figure out what I wanted out of life, and I started working toward it.

But I still couldn't bring myself to have a relationship with a man--at least not a romantic relationship.

It's not that I don't want one. I do. On an emotional level, I know that I'm ready for one. I've been ready for one for quite a while. At this point in time, I can't because of my panic attacks.

Over the years, friends have tried to set me up on casual dates. Not anything serious--more as friends. Each time that's happened, I've had a panic attack. At one point recently, I'd thought I was ready. I made a profile on a matchmaking website. As soon as a man contacted me through it, I had a panic attack. In my living room. While I was completely alone, other than my two cats.

So I knew exactly what Erin was asking me that day when she asked, "Did it help?"

I couldn't really answer her, though. All I could do was cry and stutter and mumble my way through an attempt at an answer which didn't even make sense to me.

The truth is--I don't know.

I am both a very analytical and highly emotional person. I spend a great deal of time trying to understand myself, trying to think through how and why I react in certain ways, trying to reorganize my thought patterns and my often overly emotional responses to things so that I can grow as a person. It's a slow, cumbersome process. It only takes a moment to destroy something. It takes years to rebuild.

I'm still rebuilding.

In writing about Dana Campbell, a character who went through a similar experience which resulted in the same sort of physical responses, I was able to confront it at least somewhat. I was able to at the very least conceive a means of getting through the panic. Would it work in a real life setting? Would it work for me? Without trying, I can only make wild, stab-in-the-dark guesses.

Which means that I have to try. I have to somehow screw up enough courage, to be brave enough to try something that I want but am terrified of.

So...did it help?

You tell me.