An awakening passion to help others gives Michelle McKenzie the strength to navigate through the long-term trauma of rape.
I was raised in a loving Catholic family. We had problems like all families, but I was always supported and encouraged. I was a happy, energized young girl who looked optimistically toward the future. I lived by all the rules and traditions that the church valued and tried adamantly to maintain their standards of purity, especially being pleased with my decision to remain a virgin until marriage.
Life changed drastically during my high school freshman year when, one Sunday afternoon, a young man from my church youth group took me to his home and raped me. My virginity was stolen from me, my childhood ended, and I plunged into a downward spiral of self-destruction and hatred.
I changed schools to get away from the memories and began using drugs. Instead of escaping my memories, however, they led me to persistent thoughts of suicide. This is how I spent the remainder of my high school years, depressed and rebellious. I didn’t tell anyone about the rape for three years.
By the end of high school, I felt spiritually lost. I questioned why I had to endure such pain. I went into therapy, which helped me to stop wanting to die. But, I became afraid of death, a hidden fear that surfaced and grew stronger each day. I had horrible thoughts about getting hurt again. I believed someone was trying to kill me, and so I never allowed myself to be alone. These thoughts increased and led to almost daily panic attacks.
I continued to feel a spiritual absence and knew that I needed something. I had been inspired by Buddhism on a field trip to a Buddhist temple during my senior year in high school. The more I read about Buddhism, the more I was determined to become Buddhist.
But this determination slid for a while, and my fears worsened. One evening, during an extremely bad panic attack, I was convinced that someone was inside my house trying to kill me. But no one was there, and for the first time, I admitted to myself that my obsessive fears were not normal. I sought therapy once again.
It was soon after this that I went to my first SGI-USA meeting. The moment I heard everyone chanting Nam-myoho-renge-kyo, I felt as though I were home. I began chanting immediately and felt hopeful that one day I would sit alone and not be afraid.
Although I had not yet received the Gohonzon, I was chanting and attending SGI-USA activities. When my therapy ended four months later, I had overcome my panic attacks, although I continued to suffer from my fears. Because of my Buddhist practice and the progress that I had made, however, I was ready to focus on my future instead of my past.
During this time, I was a French literature major but felt no passion for a career in literature. At SGI-USA meetings, people often talked about mission and struggle for our dreams. I thought, It would be wonderful to be enthusiastic about a mission in my life.
Since the rape, and despite therapy, I had engaged in so much self-hatred that I didn’t even really know who I was. Now, I wanted to find something that I could be proud of, that would motivate me, so I began chanting to find my mission in life.
But time passed, and my desire to chant decreased as my family problems—including closing our family business—increased. I still felt like that lost girl from high school and was no closer to understanding what I wanted to do with my life. I almost stopped chanting altogether but was fortunate to have a wonderful young women’s leader who kept inviting me to Buddhist meetings. I attended when I could, mostly because I was still hopeful about what I could learn. My leader often shared SGI President Ikeda’s guidance with me and encouraged me to study. After all of her encouragement, I decided to receive the Gohonzon. I felt I was on the correct path toward self-discovery and was slowly learning how to have faith in the Gohonzon.
Then I had a dream that was so vivid, it felt real. I was standing in the center of a stage and holding a book, my autobiography. I was smiling and had a strong sense of accomplishment. I awoke as if charged with electricity and knew that I had to write a book about my life. I fully understood at that moment that my mission was to fight against rape stereotypes and speak out about date rape. The passion I felt in that moment has kept moving me forward during these past five years to achieve my goal.
Through practicing Buddhism, I could see my future, and I now know that I am on the right track to help other women who have been assaulted, as well as changing our social views about rape. I began writing the book at least a dozen times. Finally, I got the funding to move to France, and in seven months of writing, I released many feelings and memories that I had tried to forget. The result is a strong sense of self-identity, of valuing myself, and a 200-page novel about acquaintance rape.
Many struggles lie ahead in order to publish my book, but I cannot call this my mission if I’m not willing to overcome all obstacles for it. President Ikeda said, “When youth are awakened to a sense of mission, their power is limitless” (Faith Into Action, P. 191). My mission, I understand, embraces my entire being; it motivates me when all hope is gone. I am dedicated to fighting for my dreams and sharing my life with others so that we can all move toward a violence-free society. I am positive that this book will not only help women who have been assaulted but will also contribute to kosen-rufu. In fact, it already has.