Resurrected.

•February 14, 2017 • 2 Comments

Hello everyone. It’s been nearly three years since I killed off O. M. Grey, but I will be posting on this site again. For the past few years I’ve been writing on my personal blog, but the need to find new employment has made it impossible to vent, process, and write about such highly personal things on there anymore.

Although this is the first day I returned to write on this site, I will populate this blog with articles from my personal site and set them on the day they were originally posted. Some posts will appear on both blogs. Sometimes I will refer to myself here using my real name rather than Olivia (O. M.) Grey, but I’m sure you’re all smart enough to follow along.

The Grey Ghost has returned, and she’s got a lot to say.

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A Violent Spectrum

•July 5, 2017 • 1 Comment


TW: sexual assault, rape, PTSD

“It’s horrible and shameful that women in 2017 still live with the constant threat of sexual assault, but it’s a reality we don’t have to accept quietly.” (Source)

A friend shared this Bored Panda article on my Facebook wall today:

Guy Left In Tears After Trying To Grope Woman, But Not Everyone Agrees She Has Right To Fight Back Like That

So many don’t understand this is *sexual assault*. I didn’t even understand that myself until about 5 years ago. We are socialized to accept such behavior as normal, and if we react at all, we’re shamed and silenced for “overreacting.”Sexual violence occurs on a spectrum, where even the slightest offense is too much. It is assault.  

Once I consciously accepted what my body had known for over twenty years (thus the Complex PTSD), I realized that I had been sexually assaulted across the spectrum multiple times, mostly by people I knew and trusted. Acknowledging that was like another assault. It was traumatizing. 

Whether someone grabs your ass, crotch, or breasts without consent or doesn’t take no (or indication of no) for an answer, it’s sexual assault. 

Period.

If there is penetration into your body (mouth, anus, or vagina) with any object, including but not limited to a penis, fingers, foreign object, no matter how slight or for how long, it is rape.

Period.

We (as women especially, but also covering the spectrum of gender) have been socialized to accept so much sexual violence (pretty much anything falling short of extremely brutal stranger rape) as acceptable behavior. So much in fact, that only ~25% of women whose experience matches the legal definition of rape consider themselves a rape victim.

This is what is now known as “rape culture.” It’s a society that minimizes and normalizes sexual assault. 

It’s a society that *socially* puts the burden of proof on the traumatized rather than questioning the accused.
It’s a society that not only accepts sexual assault and its perpetrators but celebrates them (John Lennon, Bill Cosby, Michael Jackson, etc.)… The USA elected a sexual predator for president. 

It’s a society that doesn’t believe victims when they come forward (even en masse and/or with witnesses and overwhelming physical/video proof) and then shames victims who choose not to come forward (to face further abuse). 

It’s a society that makes excuses for the perpetrator, aka rape apology, like “s/he probably didn’t realize,” “s/he was confused/drunk,” “but s/he’s so nice to me/never hurt me,” etc.

It’s a society that blames the victim or target of violence: “why was s/he there at that time/alone/etc.?”, “look what she was wearing?”, “why didn’t s/he fight back?”, “did you say no?”, “did you say no forcefully enough?” 

Ad nauseam. 

It’s a society that has tens of thousands of untested rape kits. 

It’s a society in which only ~14% of perpetrators ever see the inside of a courtroom. One in which only 3% of sexual predators ever spends a single day in jail. 
It’s a society in which ~80% of sexual violence is perpetrated by someone the victim/target knows. 

One in which 1 in 3 women have or will experience sexual violence. Personally, I think it’s much higher than that, as I’ve yet to meet a woman over the age of 15 who hasn’t been groped against her will, let alone finding it difficult to think less than 50% (of women I’ve met) who’ve experienced attempted or completed rape.  

All this starts here, with things like this article. The fact that so many still question whether or not this woman had the right to defend herself against assault tells me we still have a long way to go.

Poem: For Just A Few Moments

•January 2, 2017 • 4 Comments

heart

For just a few moments
I captured your heart
A sweet, brief reunion
After decades apart

For just a few moments
We talked through the night
Sharing stories and thoughts
Of both darkness and light

For just a few moments
Our souls intertwined
Our hearts dared to hope
And joy filled our minds

For just a few moments
I let down my shield
You let yours down, too

For just a few moments
I thought it was real

My sweetheart, my darling
My muskrat, my dove
Your sweet gentle kindness
Grew quickly to love

You coaxed me to fall
Right alongside you
For just a few moments
It surely felt true

My battered heart so scared
To go too far in haste
But, after thirty years
Time we shouldn’t waste

For just a few moments
You made me believe
In love and hope and joy

For just a few moments
You made me believe
In you. In me. In us.

Then I watched you leave

An instant, a breath
The blink of an eye
Silence. Discarded.
You left me to cry.

I tried to reach out.
I tried to amend.
You shut down completely.
No lover, no friend.

I don’t understand.
I racked my brain ‘why?’
No reason. No cause.
I can’t say goodbye.

After searching so long
After finding you now
I can’t let you go
Please, tell me how.

For just a few moments
I laid myself bare
A future of hope
Adventures to share

For just a few moments
I had this nice dream
Where I sure loved you
And you sure loved me

For just a few moments
I believed in it all.
A foolish young schoolgirl.
Nothing more, after all.

Well, Hello Me!

•April 17, 2016 • 2 Comments

Freedom! Joy! Beauty! Laughter! There I am! I’m living again!

After a ridiculously stressful time, I’ve once again found peace and joy in my own company. When my anxiety reaches dangerous heights, when I’m crying every morning, when I’m self-medicating just to make it through the day, I should know something is off; however, when I’m engulfed in the darkness or in crisis, I don’t see my situation clearly because I’m in survival mode and everything is distorted by those dark glasses. Continue reading ‘Well, Hello Me!’

My Stories. My Choice.

•April 10, 2016 • 2 Comments

annelamottquoteyouowneverythingthathappenedtoyou

My stories. My emotions. My blog. My life. My choice.

Try to silence me and watch how very loudly and clearly I will speak.

I will never, ever be silent again.

Poem: My Dangerous Heart

•April 5, 2016 • Leave a Comment

Beware! Oh, beware!
My dangerous heart
Its treachery knows no boundary
Forever alone
Forever apart
It killed the love that had found me.

True interest remains
As long as you stay
Far, far and away from it
For when you get close
It swallows you whole
Trapped in its cavernous pit.

Impressive and smart
Romantic and real
It’s bright and light and true
But beware! Beware!
My dangerous heart
If my eye doth fall on you.

For then you shall see
My dangerous heart
Will clutch you within its vice
I’m telling you now
To please stay away
You interest’s not worth the price.

Like the siren’s song
It pulls you along
Promising beauty and trust
But beware! Beware!
My dangerous heart
Will squeeze you until you’re dust.

So please heed my words
And run for the hills
Please save yourself while you can
My dangerous heart
Will tear you apart
Though love is its only plan.

So sad and alone
It yearns to be known
And really does try its best
But soon will be clear
My dangerous heart
Will destroy you like the rest.

It’s something so dark
So damaged and bruised
An emotional black hole
Thus beware! Beware!
My dangerous heart
Or it will consume your soul.

—-{—-{@

You Say You Want to Talk to Me

•March 31, 2016 • 5 Comments

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Over the past few of months I met someone for whom I felt a considerable amount of emotion. Love, actually. My readers know him as Mr. Impossible. As you read in the poem I wrote about him “The Moment You Smiled,” I hadn’t planned to stay in touch as friends, but he reached out to me wanting to know more, curious about me, my past, my work.

We started to become friends, and you can imagine I was overjoyed because I felt so much for him already. He was brilliant and kind, funny and real. He had the ability to own his shit and mistakes and apologize. He was honest and trying to be more open, something difficult for him. Above all, he was genuine. Genuine in his words, his actions, and his affection for me.

At first. Continue reading ‘You Say You Want to Talk to Me’