Tuesday, April 26, 2016

My Rape Story

I wish it were fiction.

Let me first say that I hope this doesn’t change the way you look at me. I hope that whatever words you would have used to describe me before aren’t going to change just because you’re now going to know a side of my story that’s been buried for a long time. I don’t want your pity. I want your understanding. But all of that is up to you. I know I already sound defensive. I know that I’m about to make myself very vulnerable.

It happened over ten years ago, but like it so often happens with tragedies, we bury how they really make us feel and we ignore the way they continue to affect our lives.

It was a friend, a close friend. I would have considered him one of my best at the time. I trusted him completely, which makes the rest of this feel like such a betrayal. We were drinking at his house with a few other people. I remember that we were playing beer pong. I don’t remember what else we were drinking. I don’t remember why or how I got so drunk. I vaguely remember him leading me upstairs. For all the times I’d been there, I’d never been upstairs. I wouldn’t have been able to lead us up there. I don’t remember how clothes were removed, but only the …vital…ones were from me. All my memories that night are ones of pain. I remember him holding me down and clamping his hand over my mouth every time I screamed out in pain. (Thanks to the RAD class I realize that my nightmares about not being able to scream when I’m being attacked come from this one moment. It took seeing some of the attack situations that we walked through for those deep-buried memories to resurface.) I faintly remember struggling but I do remember him forcefully holding me down and keeping me quiet. I came in and out of consciousness. The pain would wake me up and I’d try to scream out, but then I’d black out again. I remember blood. Everywhere.

The next morning, he went downstairs to finish sleeping on the couch, and I got up to get out. I remember looking down at the bed and just seeing blood. I still don’t think I fully realized what had happened, but I knew I wanted out of the house. I went and slept in the car until I was able to drive. I don’t remember where I went or where I cleaned up. I do remember being sore and bruised from being pinned down and silenced, and from the rape itself.

He didn’t talk to me after it happened. We didn’t talk for awhile. I felt guilty. For being in that situation, for letting it happen. Maybe he didn’t want to? He seemed to blame me for it happening. I must be guilty. It must be my fault. He had been my friend, after all. When he finally did start acknowledging me when we were out in groups, he’d tell a couple of his guy friends to “check out my tits,” and to “grab them if they wanted.” He objectified me and reduced me to a body. He gave me no rights to myself. I was something that he felt he could pass around. A body without a mind, a heart, or a soul. And I was still so broken. I didn’t speak up for myself. I am very, very lucky that nothing else happened during those times.

I’ve told myself for over a decade that it wasn’t rape, that I knew him so it couldn’t be, that I somehow asked for it. I told myself that I wasn’t a victim, because I didn’t want to be. Even last year, when I went to see The Vagina Monologues (c/o Justine!!!) with José and Hanna, I didn’t stand up when they asked who in the audience had ever been a victim of sexual assault. Here I was, in an absolutely safe and supportive place, filled with women and men who had the courage to stand up, and I couldn’t do it, because it’s not who I wanted to be.

But not wanting to be a victim of assault doesn’t mean that you haven’t been. Denying it hasn’t made it go away. Most people think that I’m strong and tough. I am always okay. Do no harm, but take no shit. I let nothing get to me or break me, because like hell I’ll be broken. That’s why messages like these get to me. They are a perfect depiction of the stubbornness, and the unwillingness to show any sign of weakness, and a perfect depiction of the support I do have from the friends who won’t let me get away with pretending:


This friend, in particular, knows all the lights and darks. He knows this story and he knows how it haunts me. Long before now, he’s probably known and realized a lot of the things that I’m just starting to.

So it happened. And now what? Well, now, I’m realizing that I have let it dictate my ideas of self-worth. I’ve believed it. I have continuously allowed myself to be emotionally abused and neglected because all I am is a body anyway. I’ve called people friends and I’ve dated guys who have not looked out for me emotionally because my first lesson in intimacy was that nothing about me mattered.

I try so hard to build others up and to help them see the goodness in themselves, because I don’t see it in me,  because I don't know their story, and I don't know if they'll just need the pick-me-up that day. I don't know what demons they're facing, so I want them to know they have someone on their side. I see others in pain and my heart goes out to them. The worst part is that half the time they end up taking advantage and hurting me too. I expect more, especially from all of us who know pain. We should know better than to make others feel worthless, but that’s a post for another day. I guess what I’m trying to say is that we should build each other up and support each other. Reach out. Check in. There are so many stories that we don’t know and things that we would never guess. I know that, to this day, I wouldn’t have the strength to tell my story if it weren’t for people like Chris (poor thing has dealt with me and those issues for years as he’s watched me destroy myself again and again; there’s a special place in heaven for friends like him), José (who sat there with such empathy on his face while I cried out my story to him), and Michaela (who watched me turn beast mode in the RAD class and then instinctively gave me support and let me share with her some of the realizations), Susan (who got me started on the path to self-defense and who has always been so encouraging and supportive), and for instructors like Tammy and Jeffrey from RAD, who helped me to literally find my voice, and who replied with words of encouragement and advice after the class.

Advice worth sharing and things that we should all remember:

Tammy: Remember that YOU are valuable and YOU are worth fighting for.
Jeffrey: “Self-defense is not just a set of techniques; it’s a state of mind, and it begins with the belief that you are worth defending”-Rorion Gracie Grandmaster of Gracie Jiu-Jitsu
Fight for yourself. Fight for how you feel and the things that you deserve in life. You deserve happiness. You deserve friends and significant others who respect you, love you, and support you. You are worthy of your own love and respect, too.

These are things that I’m still working on and thank God for the friends who remind me of what I’m worth to them.

If you want to ask me questions, please feel free. If you need advice or resources for yourself or a friend, let me know and I’ll help you. If you see me and want to hug me, go ahead. If you want to sit and cry with me about anything, I’m here. I want to know your story, too.

My fear in posting this is that people won’t know how to act or what to say around me anymore. I’m still the person that you’ve known since you met me. Please don’t change. I’m afraid that you’ll look at me and see “victim,” instead of “friend.” Silently, I’ve been a victim of this for a long time. It’s time to change the way it’s made me live my life. It’s time to live outside the shadow of past experiences.