I Wear Fearlessness Around My Neck

Sleep used to be a refuge for me. Sinking into the deep comfort of feathery down, resting my head meant dreaming of colors and flying or even just plain, lovely nothingness. I would wake, refreshed and happy, so warm and secure in my sheets that the thought of setting foot on the floor and into reality was just too much. "One more hour!" I would beg of no one in particular. "Let me close my eyes for just a few minutes!"

There was a time where sleep was not a time of fear for me.

My attacker ruined that dream. I was 22 years old, sleeping alone in a hotel room following a graduate school dance I had attended with my then-boyfriend. As the party continued in the adjoining room, a man I did not know - a student - entered my room and climbed on top of me. He woke me by kissing me on the mouth; once he started groping my breasts, I realized something was very, very wrong. I opened my eyes to find a shirtless stranger above me. A quick scan down confirmed his pants were on; I was not raped, thank God.

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder set in almost immediately. Two nights post-attack, I wet my bed. I had vivid flashbacks and would shoot high into the air if touched even slightly while sleeping. My appetite plummeted, my focus at work disintegrated. It took weeks for me to get the feeling of his hand off my right breast, where it remained like the bright flash of a photo being taken.

Soon, horrifyingly vivid nightmares of being chased, assaulted and raped began taking over my nights. My sheets soaked with sweat. It took years of doctors toying with medical cocktails to get the terrifying dreams under some sort of control.

As the legal wheels set into motion, it quickly became clear that I would be the one on trial, should this case be pursued. Every time I drove to meet with the District Attorney, my body trembled with raw anxiety and dread. For I knew that, even though the DA was "on my side," each meeting would devolve into her steeling me for what the accuser's lawyer would say.

For instance, she told me, it had become known that the night of the dance, I had told some racy jokes. I had even danced with more than one man, his lawyer said. And why hadn't I been wearing a bra beneath my pajamas when the attack occurred? Well, I suppose I got what any unconscious tramp deserved.

Despite the fact that the man had admitted to the assault, (even claiming I had "acted like I wanted it" - shades of supermarket tabloids, no?), I dropped the charges. The case was taking over my life and I wanted to move on. I allowed my fear to reign. The DA, however, pursued charges on her own, and the attacker was given a proverbial slap on the wrist. He wrote me a trite letter of apology, which I have stored in a file along with the letter that arrived one year after the attack notifying me that, based on his good behavior, the defendant's record had been expunged. His paper trail is free and clear.

After years of therapy, I ceased to think about the attack as regularly as I used to. The flashbacks faded and the nightmares lessened a bit. Then, while flipping through the pages of a magazine one day, I learned that actress Mariska Hargitay had founded the Joyful Heart Foundation, dedicated to helping survivors of sexual assault in the healing process. With Me&Ro jewelry, they created a silver, rectangular pendant that read, simply, FEARLESSNESS. I wanted that necklace. I needed it. Much like some people get a tattoo to commemorate a special event or others pen their memoirs, I craved something tangible that would show the world I was getting better...I was moving on...I was overcoming my fears.

When the necklace arrived, I fastened the clasp around my neck but found that the pendant, while beautiful, rested high atop my clavicle. I had known from the moment I saw it that I wanted this necklace to hang low, the word FEARLESSNESS between my breasts, close to where we all grow up believing our heart beats. So I restrung the small rectangle on a 20-inch chain and began wearing it nearly every day.

After a few weeks of explaining to people what it meant, I simply started saying, "It's for a sexual assault awareness organization founded by the star of Law & Order: SVU." I figured they could infer the rest of the story. But the mere act of wearing my FEARLESSNESS did more that raise awareness. It made me feel stronger. I would find myself rubbing the pendant absentmindedly, like some people spin their wedding ring or twirl a ringlet or hair. The necklace turned dark and smooth from wear. Proof that I was mastering my fear.

My FEARLESSNESS pendant now lays on my bedside dresser at home - my first one, that is. A friend who knows of my experience recently bought me a new one to honor how far I've come. Tonight, I'm writing this essay from a hotel room, on a book tour. I've been spending many nights in hotel rooms alone. The deadbolt is safely in place and the bed feels mighty comfortable. Yes, I am still dealing with the remains of a sleep disorder that, no matter how much I try to dull with medication or diffuse with acupuncture needles, plays a paramount role in my life. I take a magical combination of pills to help me sleep, washed down right before my head hits the pillow. But the pills are dwindling in dosage, the intensity of the nightmares has diminished, and one day soon they will fade to black.

Two years ago I married the love my life and best friend, who has supported me throughout the ordeal. He wakes me up with kisses and it's the best feeling in the world. My eyes may be closed, but I know it's him. I've mastered my fear. In those moments, I feel like I'm dreaming. And I am awake.