It Happened ….
I was 16, working in an office job, straight “A” student. I was saving myself for marriage.
It Was ….
I remember the first time I saw him. I could feel his eyes crawl over me, like a nest full of spiders going down my body. He followed me to my mom’s office, and as my mom greeted me she excitedly mentioned she was glad we passed so that I could meet him. That night she explained how she’d known him since he was a kid. At 36 he was in Maine for a “fresh start,” after being released from jail. He moved into my home. Into the bedroom next to mine. He spent the next 6 months raping me in my bedroom and my car, walking into the bathroom while I was showering and watching me. He showed up at my high school during my lunch hour…administration let him in. He arrived drunk after school to my practices. I would later learn he kept me on GHB, along with a handful of other things, to keep me compliant and quiet. All in my home, right under my oblivious parents noses.
It Made Me Feel…
Betrayed, isolated, cheap, like I’d lost control of my life… I started smoking at 16. I became insanely promiscuous, because having sex on my terms was better than having it on someone else’s. I slept around in an effort to feel in control. I became apathetic towards everything. Went on anti-depressants that only made me suicidal. I hated my home, and the first chance I got to leave it I did. Went into relationships I had no business being in because it afforded me the opportunity to sleep somewhere other than my house. I struggled to understand the positive emotional intimacy that came with sex in a healthy relationship, even after I married. And now that I have a daughter of my own, I’m terrified of the world for her. I fear passing on my trust issues to her. I fear squashing her love of the world because of my own experiences.
I Told…
Months after he returned to Florida, I told my mom. She told me she had her suspicions and admitted to seeing us kiss once. Said she’d asked but apparently he and I were adamant there was nothing going on. Nobody reported it, nobody asked me if I’d like to pursue it. I was told, by my mom, that because he had left the state there was nothing they could do. Since then, my mother has made it a point to bring it up every few years like it’s something she had to go through and experience, and I end up comforting her about it. I discovered lots of people had their suspicions or knew what was going on. Ultimately, everyone kept it quiet. Their reputation and my family name was more important than my hurt, honor, or security.
I Survived…
Owning my story. Choosing to not be angry at him. Not because he deserves it, but because I do. I couldn’t control what happened, nor could I control how friends and family didn’t stop it. It’s going to be a part of who I am forever, but I can choose what role it takes in my future. By taking control, and realizing I deserve a better life than my past gave me, I control my story. I let it define my courage, my strength and my resilience rather than letting it define my self worth. I take what someone intended to destroy me with, and let it be what has fueled me to excel and rise higher than anyone ever expected I would.
I Dream…
I dream of bodily autonomy being taught in health from an early age. Of information regarding consent covered in sex ed. We cover the indisputable mechanics of sex and tell kids how to have it safely, the least we could do is cover the legal ramifications, not just the medical ones.
I dream of an advocate at every school where kids can get help. Someone who has more time than the average high school guidance counselor. A way to reach out for help without worrying about needing an adult with you to speak with someone since your adult may be your abuser.
I dream of an upheld minimum sentence for someone found guilty. A society where the ramifications of sexual, emotional and physical abuse are taken seriously. Just because there is not always a quantifiable loss, pain or damage does not make what a rape victim experiences any less. We are often dead on the inside for years, if not the rest of our lives, even if we’re still breathing.
I Want…
I want survivors to know, don’t let them win. If nobody ever believes you, if nobody ever advocates for you, if the justice system lets you down… that doesn’t mean they won. YOU decide if they win. It’s not easy, some days it’s a hole you’re going to have to claw your way out of. It’s hard. It sucks. And sometimes you have to do it alone. But YOU ARE WORTH IT. Do not give your abuser the satisfaction of being the weak person they assumed you were. You’re not.
I want those who haven’t been affected to know that the best thing you can do is to listen. It might be hard. It might make you uncomfortable. You might blame yourself. But this isn’t about you. Let our story be heard, to help us heal, to help us prosecute our attackers and to help us make it known that we are a safe place to turn to if someone else is going through this. Read between the lines. Treat people with grace. If you’re the person they reach out to, despite your history, be there for them. Have compassion. Compassion is everything.
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