Destiny Star's Blog

The curriculum at the school I’ve been accepted to is absolutely amazing. I thought I’d outline it so people can realize how much of a blessing my admission to this school is. It’s giving me the kind of chance I never thought I’d have to do some truly amazing things with my art.

The curriculum starts out with a full year worth of basic studio art and computer graphics classes. This is meant to give me and my fellow students the basis of an artistic vocabulary that will be necessary whatever field of design we wind up in. Also that year is a survey course of all the art and design majors that the Institute offers. At the end of the first year, I’ll be able to choose between 3D design, studio arts, and video arts fields of concentration, but not an actual major.

The second year is spent with the basic courses of the concentration I will have chosen. I’ll spend that year learning about each individual major in my concentration and what sort of work is done during the schooling for each major and what sort of work I would do in industry after I graduate. At the end of the second year, I’ll choose a major.

The third year I’ll spend learning specialized skills and software to complete the more advanced coursework, as well as more theory classes that my major might require. Third year is usually the toughest academically, but without the failure rate of the first year.

The fourth year is spent with the most advanced design and theory courses and studio projects. Midway through the fourth year, I’ll basically have earned a Bachelor of Arts, or Fine Arts, depending on the major I choose, but it won’t be awarded until I completely finish my course of study.

My fifth and final year I’ll spend in more course and studio work, as well as on creating a Master’s thesis or thesis project. At the end of the year, I’ll graduate with a BA or BFA and a MA or MFA in my chosen field.

All in all, the degree will probably cost me nearly $200,000. More financial aid will start to be available next fall, and I’m praying to God I get that. If not, I’ll likely be able to get scholarships as well to cover more of the costs, in addition to keeping the scholarship that gives me a free room and meal plan in their dorms.

So that’s the best description of the great blessing that’s been put right in front of me. I just have to figure out how to take advantage of it. Thirty-two thousand dollars sounds like a big hurdle, but how big is it compared to how far I’ve come?

For years I was an abused girl who got used for sex by every man in her life. I was lost and alone, working in a job where I got taken advantage of every night, lived in fear of being raped at any turn, and didn’t have any real hopes for the future but to maybe marry some rich man as a trophy wife and eventually get discarded for someone younger and prettier, hoping that I got enough to live off of in the divorce.

Now, I’m born again, well on my way to being a good Catholic girl who goes to mass every day. I’ve quit stripping, I’ve quit having sex, I’ve quit even associating with men very much. I’m admitted to a school that is to art and design what Harvard and Yale are to business and law, what MIT and Stanford are to computer science.

If I work hard the next five years of school, I’ll never have to strip or sell myself in any way to support myself and live a good life. I’ll have skills that will make me more valuable to employers than I’d ever imagined being. I’ll be free to live a life where I can give of myself to God and live the way He wants me to.

I’ll be able to marry a man who can see me as a woman who will help him and his children attain heaven, rather than as a pretty plaything to keep around as long as I’m interesting. I’ll be able to know that the man I marry will be able to look past my past sins and see me for who I am and for who I can be. Jesus told me that in our conversation in my dream, and told me that my gifts of art and my admission to the Institute were his gifts to me, I just had to take them.

Last night as I was stopping by the grocery store after going to a late mass, I saw the creepy guy from one of my last nights at work again. He was at my grocery store! This is really scaring me. I don’t know if he recognized me, since I was dressed for mass, not for work.

I don’t even know what’s going on I’ve been up all night with my pistol next to me, worried about what might happen next… I can’t bear the thought of being taken again, I just can’t. I feel like I’m losing my mind here.

I’m rocking myself, holding my rosary and praying for my safety as the night goes on. This guy just really trips all the wrong triggers with me. He was scary and creepy, and then he showed up in my neighborhood, just a few blocks from where I live. Where I live!

I can’t do this… I can’t live where I’m afraid that I’m being stalked constantly. I need to get out of this town. I need to get out of this life and into the new one that’s waiting for me. I can’t live on hold anymore.

I looked at my lease and it would cost me two thousand dollars to get out of my lease here and then about two thousand more to find a short-term place to rent near the Institute where I start school in January. I’m worried I’ll be taken and hurt again unless I make a break from my life here. If you can help me out with this, please, please help me. I need out of here.

Since I’m trying to get back on a normal person’s sleep schedule, I drank some chamomile tea and took a melatonin. That put me right out and I woke up at a reasonable time.

What happened in between, though, wasn’t something I was going to immediately blog about at first, because I’m sure some people will think I’m crazy for it.  I thought and thought and realized that there’s nothing crazy about it when I really think about it.

Last night, after falling asleep, I had a dream that was unlike anything I ever remembered dreaming about before.  Everything seemed incredibly real, but I somehow knew I was dreaming.

Shortly after I realized this, I found myself walking through a flower garden with lots of beautiful bushes, flowers, and trees I’d never seen before.  In the middle of the garden, sitting near a fountain, I saw a man and two women.

I went up to them and realized that the man was Jesus.  The women were Mother Mary and Mary Magdelen.  They said hello to me and asked me to join them.  Jesus told me right away that I was dreaming, and I told him that I knew.

We sat and talked like old friends for what felt like hours.  Jesus huged me and kissed me on the cheek and called me daughter whenever He spoke to me.  The Marys hugged me and called me sister.

They all said they were proud of me for the changes I’m making in my life, and Jesus told me that He has big plans for me.  We continued talking and eating, and in the end, they told me to enjoy my night’s sleep, and that they would try to see me again soon.

I’m not trying to claim that this was an actual appearance by Jesus and two Saints in my dream, because there’s no way I can really know that.  I don’t know whether it was just a lucid dream where I subconsciously decided I wanted to meet Jesus, Mary, and Mary Magdalene, or if they actually decided to come to me.

What I do know is that it was easily one of the most moving experiences of my life.  I woke up this morning crying with the memory of it.  I haven’t felt so perfectly loved in years, and I haven’t felt so worthy of love in years.  If Jesus Himself tells you to your face that He loves you, how can you doubt that?  How can you doubt that He’s right to love you?

I know I can’t.  Today I’m happy.

Being stalked is probably the most terrifying experience anyone can have. You meet someone and are nice to him, and he’s nice t you, but for some reason, things just aren’t going to happen in a relationship. You tell him you just want to be friends, and suddenly your life is turned upside down.

I met my stalker at the club where I work. He asked questions while I was dancing, and even invited me to just sit and talk. We talked, I tod him about my art, and even gave him a way to see some of it online.

He started coming in to see me dance more often, and started reading commetns on my art pages. He even commented a time or two and made me feel special. One day h came into the club wih a box of art supplies for me. I thanked him and continued my night.

He coninued to come in, and while I didn’t realize I at the time, he would get extremely jealous whenever I danced for someone other than him. I didn’t know that when he wasn’t there watching me, things were getting extremely creepy.

He was frequently following me around town. He knew my car and my license plate number. He knew my home phone number and my cell phone number. He knew my real name. He had my myspace and facebook addresses with my real name on them.

He knew who my parents had been. He knew where I lived, he knew when I worked and when I didn’t. He knew hings about me that I thought were deep, dark secrets from all but my very closest friends.

He would watch me from the shadows outside my home as I dressed for bed. He watched me go to sleep. He watched as I occasionally had sex with someone from the club or a bar. He got jeaous. He got angry. In his mind, I belonged to him, and no one else should have me.

He started to plan.

He started learning everything there was to learn about everplace I went reguarly. He learned the layut of the cub. He earned the layout of my home and the homes around me. He learned about the stores where I shopped and the parks where I ran.

He learned everything about me and made his plan foolproof. He hid severa times near each place he thought he could catch me alone at times he thought I would be there to learn if he really could catch me alone.

While all this went on, he continued to be a regular at the club whenever I was there. He and I continued to have little conversations whenever I danced for him. I thought we were, well not friends, but people who had a very pleasant working relationship. He was one of my favorite customers because he tipped well for dances and didn’t expect me to do things for him.

Then, one day, it happened. I was walking to my car at the edge of the parking lot of the mall I liked to shop at on my nights off. It was late and the mall had just closed. A van was parked next to my car. As I unlocked my car door, the van door rolled open and I was pulled inside.

I was tied down, gagged, and covered with a blanket. I was driven around for a long time, probably in circles. Eventually we stopped and I was carried like a sack of potatoes to a room where I was tied down on a bed.

He sat and talked to me. He told me all about his obsession with me. He called it his love for me. He told me that now we would be together forever. I cried. He cut my clothes off me.

He didn’t rape me right away. He tried to act like he was my lover. He kissed me all over. He touched me. He made my body betray me by becoming aroused. When he entered me, I screamed. I screamed that I hated him. I screamed that he was the worst thing that ever happened to me.

I made him angry. He beat me. He raped me again. He sodomized me. He told me that I would die as his property. He told me that I was his, and that I’d never see anyone I loved again. He told me that if I wanted to be see someone I loved I’d better start loving him.

I was kept chained to that bed for I don’t know how long. He would occasionally let me go to the bathroom, but would stay and watch me. He’d make me go with him standing right there looking at me, and then he’d chain me back to my bed. He’d rape me whenever he felt like it. He’d use me however he wanted.

I’m only alive and free because my roommates missed me and couldn’t get me on the phone, and I’d parked in view of a security camera at the mall. The police looked for me, found out I’d gone to the mall, found my car, and saw me being kidnapped. They saw his license plate. They found his address.

They found me chained to a bed, beaten, bloody, and feeling like my soul had been raped out of me. He was tried, I had to testify, and he went to prison. He wasn’t a big, tough, or mean guy, so he spent some time being raped repeatedly himself before he tried to fight back and was killed.

He’s the rapist it’s easiest to forgive for some reason, because he was the third. He was the one who led Miranda to bring her priest to talk with me. He was the one who ultimately led me to Jesus, and, in a way, I suppose I owe him for that.

I hope that he found God before he was killed, and I hope that his soul was saved, because otherwise he’ll spend the rest of eternity longing for the time he spent in prison and wishing he could have traded places with me chained to that bed. I won’t pray for him to be released from purgatory, and I won’t pray that he suffers in hell. I do forgive him, though, and I hope he found his salvation.

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This is my prayer to my patroness, St. Mary Magdalene

St. Mary Magdalene, penitent who had the courage to wash Jesus’ feet with your tears and dry them with your hair, pray for me to your friend, my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, that He will grant me the great gifts you were given.

Ask Him to teach me your penitence, that I may weep at His feet for forgiveness of my sins, as you did.
Ask Him to show me a penance as perfect as yours, that I may serve Him as perfectly as you did.
Ask Him to show me the miracle of His resurrection with the clarity He showed it to you.
Ask Him to teach me humility, for while my sin of pride was not as great as yours in your sin, I am still too proud of my beauty and do not use it for His purposes.
Ask Him to grant me the peace and the joy of serving Him that he taught to you.
Ask Him, as He cast seven devils from you, to drive the devil’s influence from my life.
Ask Him to show me the forgiveness He showed to you, as I weep at His feet.

Pray for me, St. Mary Magdalene, that I may find my way out of sin and perfectly into His service as you did.
Amen

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Shauna told me tonight about a job she’s thinking of taking. She says she’s considering becoming a dominatrix. Apparently the money is better than stripping, better than being a regular escort even. The trouble is, you apparently have to spend a couple months in training.

So basically, what she’s decided she’s going to do is keep dancing for about as long as I am. The only difference is that during the day, she’s going to be a “slave” to a man who specializes in teaching girls to be dominatrices. At the end of that time, he’ll set her up with a couple of clients who’ve been begging this “master” to be some girl’s slave.

Part of me is repulsed at the idea, but part of me knows that I’d have jumped at this chance if it had come along a couple of years ago. I’d have loved to be taking the chance to vent some rage on men who were just asking for it.

It’s so strange to think that if I had met a different person a couple of years ago, rather than preparing to go off to a school that will make me able to get out of this life, I’d be deeper into it than ever. I’d be beating sweaty, little stockbrokers with whips and doing other nasty things to them.

I’m trying to get Shauna to go to mass with me, but she’s already a lapsed Catholic who doesn’t see what the church can do for her. I pray God will give me the strength to help her out of this situation she’s putting herself in.

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