Anonymous Blogger
Did this really happen?
Whenever I hear about someone being sexually assaulted or raped, I often wonder if I’m really allowed to say that I was. I wonder if my memory is faulty, if I have imagined what occurred, if between the booze and the passing out maybe something happened that made it okay for it to happen. That’s wrong, it’s never okay to have sex with someone who is unconscious. It’s still such a strange thing for me to talk about but I can still remember it pretty clearly.
What started out as a celebration to end a great semester ended with me waking up naked in bed. Not my bed, not my house. I was in bed with someone I knew, someone I thought was a friend. He was whispering on the phone to a friend of mine saying he didn’t know where I was.
He did. I was right fracking next to him. What the hell is going on??
I woke up naked. How the hell did that happen?
I didn’t recall taking off my clothes, getting into his bed. The brain fuzz is started to wear off, I’m a bit scared and getting angry.
I did recall waking up with him on top of me, but then quickly passing out again.
i don’t ever remember saying it was okay for me to get naked, for him to have sex with me… as i sit up and look on the floor to find both condom wrapper and used condom.
i remember going with him for a late night Taco Bell run, stopping by his house for something, me having to use the bathroom (which was next to his room), and sitting on the bed waiting for him so we could go back to the party. I think I recall even laying back because I was really really drunk.
I was a virgin. I was almost 19. I wasn’t a prude, I just had the whole “wait til you’re married” thing scared into me by my mother that pushed me to wait it out. Of course I made out pretty well, but sex was off limits. She scared me pretty good, for whatever reason it’s like if I had sex I was going to ruin my life. I guess because I came to her sooner than she expected, she didn’t get to do a lot of things with her life like she wanted. She didn’t want me to make the same mistake and get pregnant.
When I woke up and realized that I was no longer a virgin, that this guy who was supposed to be my friend had just raped me, I was shocked. I didn’t even know what to say or do. I was pissed that he was lying to my friend. I grabbed the phone and asked her to come get me. She couldn’t. He offered to take me back to the original house to get my car. I went. I needed my car and there was no way I was walking – I should have – I was just in shock.
i asked him what happened. He said, “you know what happened” and was all cocky with a smirk on his face. I’ll never forget that smirk. I was so furious, so scared, I just wanted to be away from him. On the surface he was a good guy. Friendly, made you laugh, not at all the look of someone who would take advantage of an unconscious co-ed. Of course, looks are always deceiving.
He dropped me off at the party house. I got in my car, sped away, and cried all the way back to my friends dorm. I walked in and told her what happened.
What happened next I didn’t expect.
I really didn’t get any support. I don’t really recall her saying anything. I recall going to another friend’s room, but really I don’t recall being comforted. I remember feeling like they probably thought I deserved it or that it was consensual. I was alone. Seriously – your friend just gets raped and you’ve got nothing for her? I still don’t understand what happened there. Then again, those friendships quickly died and remained dead. Mom always said that true friends would do anything for you. It was obvious they were not true friends.
I couldn’t go home and tell my parents. I didn’t know that they would support me. I thought they would blame me because I was drinking. I didn’t have a very good trust relationship with my mother especially. I thought she’d be mad at me, I thought that she would blame me, I just couldn’t handle that. So I kept it inside. I kept it in and it almost destroyed me.
I stayed away (as much as i could) from the guy. He was involved in the same student group I was so we were bound to be around each other. He kept avoiding me when I’d ask him for details. I should have gone for help, gone to the police, done anything but what I did was beat myself up. What I did was almost destroy myself. I started sleeping around, figuring he took what I was saving, why not go screw the world? I feel like I did. I started drinking, became a functioning alcoholic. I partied all the time, waking up, getting ready, heading out to meet friends, and drinking all day. I was lucky; no STD’s, no pregnancies, no DUI’s, no accidents. I was lucky. I could have killed someone during any of the times I drove under the influence. I could have killed myself. I could have made things much worse. I was careless, but I remained untouched somehow. This went on for the next six months until I drove home in a blind stupor (amazingly didn’t kill anyone) and came face-to-face with what I was doing to myself and what I was showing others. I pushed to the edge and then disappeared for a couple of weeks. Came back, took a longer vacation away, cleared my head, and got it together.
I stopped drinking for a year. I focused on making myself better, and eventually I did. I still had trouble with relationships, with trust. Even when I met my amazing husband six years later, we struggled with things because I still got nervous about situations for reasons that I can’t explain. How he would try to touch me, hold me, or get a little rough (the good kind) with me. I would freak out. I wasn’t conscious when the assault took place so why was I getting so freaked out about certain things? I still don’t know, but we’ve worked through them. He’s been amazing.
Only a few people know what happened to me back in college. It’s been 12 years since it happened. It was brought back to the front more because I saw this guy on Facebook recently.
He always denied it ever happened – yes, I wanted him to tell me what happened and was insane about it. I should have gone to the police, but I was scared. I was numb, in shock, and alone.
I still haven’t told my parents. I’m not sure I should – it’s been so long and I don’t know what that would do but hurt them telling them “I couldn’t tell you.” I just know that I will continue building my relationship with my daughter so that she knows without a doubt if something like this ever happened to her or a friend, she could tell me. I hope it does not happen, I would kill anyone that hurt my daughter in that way – I’m sure my mom would say the same thing. I just didn’t trust it back then.
It hurts to know that I didn’t have support, that I was afraid to tell my family, that I had to live with this for so many years, and even now I wonder if what happened really was rape. Stupid, really – it wasn’t my choice, so yes it was. The only thing I am grateful for is the fact I was passed out. I wished it didn’t happen, but I’m a lucky one. I don’t have to live with the memory of feeling it, of seeing him, of the scene. I don’t have to remember that part, I just have to remember what happened next.
***
I wanted to add that it has been awhile since I wrote this piece. I asked Maggie if I could update it before it came out because of something new that occurred. I mentioned I saw him on Facebook, this was due to friends of friends; however last week he requested to be my facebook friend. I was totally shocked. Clearly he was insane if he thought we’d be friends? Then it started my brain rethinking and wondering if all that I have thought never really happened. What if I dreamed up the whole thing? I know, it’s crazy. I woke up in a man’s bed, naked, hurting, and there were condoms on the floor. Since the friend request I’ve started trying to think back on the events. I still remember it like I wrote it above, but I now have this in my head daily and it’s unnerving. I denied his request and am trying to move forward. I know it is possible. I know that I won’t always have to have this flinching reaction when I hear the word rape, see it played out on telly or a movie. I know I don’t want to have the label “rape victim” because I’m done being a victim. It’s been a long time since this occurred and I’ve got a great life and this man is not going to undo all that I’ve put together by his Facebook friend request.
I want anyone out there that has had something similar happen to not be afraid to get help, to tell someone. If it wasn’t your choice, it wasn’t your fault. Talk to someone. Get help. Don’t ever be afraid.
Thank you to everyone that has shared their stories so far and thank you to all those that have supported them. I wish I had this kind of support when I went through this but I’m so glad to see the support coming through for all.
Anonymous
It is a beautiful Spring day, there is a pot of chicken stock just getting started, the dryer is going, and I wish my husband would get home because I love being with him.
Two years ago I could not have said the same thing. When my ex was gone, I wished he would stay that way. After 17 years of marriage, and 6+ years of horrific mental, emotional, and physical abuse, I wished he would die.
It had all started with sex, and me not wanting it enough. Those were his words. At the time we had two little boys, I had a full-time job, we were building a house, and money was tight. I was exhausted from doing the job, the daycare runs, the bill paying, the cooking and cleaning and laundry; I did not want to have sex. Even though we’d still ‘do it’ every other night or so, our fights over how cold I was became epic – my clothes were ripped off of me more than once; I was shoved into many a wall; I was called a ‘fat cow,’ and ‘ice queen,’ a ‘frigid bitch.’ It became so very bad that one night I told him if he wanted sex twice a day like he said, I’d give him twenty bucks and he could hire a hooker.
But no. Hookers weren’t good enough for him. He wanted something more. I told him to just go ahead and take a lover then, because I was done fighting. He took THAT suggestion to heart, and took it farther than I could have imagined. He found himself a ‘girl,’ a slave to satisfy his BDSM longings, and moved her into our home. It beggars all description now, how I could have agreed to that, but hear me when I say that when a furious, insanely drunk man to whom you are married tells you that either you allow this other woman into your home or he’s going to take the children one day when you’re at work and leave without a trace (or even worse, he’s going to take ‘the smart one’ and leave ‘the reject’ with YOU), you allow things to happen that boggle the mind.
There were actually two girls. The first left in less than a year because he was monstrous to her. I was jealous of her for getting out. The second one was much less independent, and even after having had her nose broken by him, stayed on. In some odd way, I felt vindicated by their misuse. Their abuse informed me that I was not the one to blame for his anger.
If you think that having the girl protected me, you would be so very wrong. There were still the 3 a.m. 3-hour brow-beatings, there was still the wall-punching and the name calling, the threats and insinuations. There was still the overarching responsibility of making him happy’ so that he wouldn’t HAVE to get angry. For three years I lived this way, until the final straw occurred. It was a cereal flake, actually, or his perceived lack of them, that broke me. The lack of cereal, to him, was all my fault. That lack of cereal threw him into a fury, he screamed obscenities, hurled epithets, blasted me with insults. It was the first time he’d behaved like this when the kids were awake, and I knew for sure they could hear every foul word boiling from him.
I recall deciding not to care. My brain went dark. I shut off the hurt, threw down the burden, and started thinking of a way out. Two weeks later, we had ‘the conversation.’ Telling him I was out of the marriage was frightening, there could have been dangerous battle as a result and I could have easily wound up with his hands around my neck, again. Once the words were out of my mouth though, something left him, deflating him somehow. I’d crushed him, which was shamefully satisfying.
It was hard as hell walking out that door. It was hard as hell admitting I’d failed at marriage. It was hard as hell living on bare bones and hope for months on end. It is hard as hell sharing custody of our boys with him. It’s hard as hell writing a check out to him every month for his support. But ‘hard as hell’ isn’t really hell. I should know, because I lived there for far too many years. It’s possible to get out of hell, and it’s almost never too late.
***
This blogger asked to remain anonymous because she has never mentioned any of this on her own blog.
Eva Marie
Tonight was one of those nights where light bulbs were exploding in my head. A night that was filled with listening to others about their experiences, reflecting upon mine, and realizing yet once again..everything does in fact happen for a reason.
After coming home from a meeting where a handful of women share their experiences, dreams, hopes and steps towards healing from emotional abuse, I found myself repeating over and over something in my head I’ve said a thousand times before…. To heal you need to grieve… To grieve you need to feel… To feel you need to be open for the ache… To do that is to love yourself, and know you are worthy of the time and energy involved.
Much like living, I believe surviving will be a lifelong process. There will always be situations or comments that will trigger a memory or thought no matter where I am in that process, but the true test will be how I digest it, and respect it when it happens.
It’s one thing to announce to others that I am a survivor of child sexual assault, domestic violence, and spousal sexual assault and quite another for me to allow myself the respect and grieve the loss of all of what that means.
The first time I realized all of that was an extremely emotional period for me. It came after many nights of no sleep, days of not eating, and a feeling of dread every time I entered my home. For so long I had carried the shame that was not mine to own. In a way it provided a comfort; with it always there, I never had to grieve the loss I had suffered.
It was on that night that I realized that the “little girl” I had always felt was lost, was actually still in me. She always was, except I had spent my life ignoring her needs much like the abusers who clawed at her.
I was only a very young five-year-old child the first time I was molested by a neighbor. Right then and there is when that little girl became frozen in time. There were other men in my childhood who molested me after that. None of them knew the other, and none of them were blood relatives, the only thing they had in common was they were able to see me for the scared little girl I was, the lonely little girl that I am sure they knew would make a perfect victim.
Until recently I never cried tears for the real loss I suffered at their hands. I did cry for the shame I carried — their shame — but never did I grieve the loss of innocence too early until that one night, when all of a sudden the tears and sobs poured out of me, and I realized that I was grieving the loss of my childhood.
Perhaps in a twisted way it was also because on that night I was unable to get my estranged husband’s words out my head in which he unleashed on me that final assault, that last assault in which he physically, emotionally and sexually assaulted me with my two boys within ten feet from us.
It was as he had me pinned on my bed, after he violently ripped my legs apart, and while his unrecognizable controlled face sneered at me that he said, “What’s wrong? Bringing back childhood memories?”
That statement haunted me for well over a year, until that night. That night where I found myself grieving my childhood. Lost years. Lost innocence. Shattered dreams… all of which over the years accumulated to fears and shame I held close to my heart.
It was then that I realized I needed to grieve not only the loss I suffered as a child, but also the one dream I held on to so tightly that I never realized the nightmare it actually was: my marriage. The one thing I thought I could control how it turned out. If I was the perfect wife, then I would have the perfect marriage, the perfect love. I put so much focus on that over the years that I never realized just how heavy and burdensome that shame I carried in me was. How could I have a good marriage, let alone a perfect one (if there is such a thing), if I didn’t respect myself enough, didn’t love myself enough, to even grieve all that I had lost? He knew it, obviously he did when he issued that statement to me. He knew I carried that shame because he knew those words would cut me like nothing else. Not even the pain of him ripping my legs apart as he pinned me down hurt as bad as that statement.
Love should not hurt. Love should not punish. I needed to love myself. I needed to stop hurting myself with the burden of shame I carried. I needed to stop punishing myself for the actions of others. I needed to grieve the loss of the dream I never lived to begin with. I needed to comfort and console myself. I needed to respect myself for all that I had been through and, most importantly, I needed to realize I deserved so much more than I had allowed myself to receive. Yes, that night was the night I started my grieving process. That was the night I started loving myself.
So as I sat there tonight listening to women discovering this aspect of healing for themselves, I was reminded of the road I am still walking — grieving takes time. To survive something, first you must grieve whatever it was you lost…..To heal you need to grieve… To grieve you need to feel… To feel you need to be open for the ache… To do that is to love yourself, and know you are worthy of the time and energy involved.
Tonight I do not question that I am worth every minute of my own time, for my own healing and, most importantly, to honor that little girl that spent many years lost within myself.
Wednesday Q&A: How Can I Help My Kids Avoid Abuse?
QUESTION:
After reading last week’s question [from a mother struggling to help her daughter cope with an abusive relationship], I started thinking about my own children, and I started feeling anxious. I have two daughters, 10 and 13. My oldest daughter is definitely interested in dating, although we don’t allow her yet. I have read the statistics and I know that if something bad happens to them, it most likely will happen at the hands of someone they know. I want to send them out into the world as safe as possible. Is there anything I can do now, as their parent, to keep them from being abused when they grow up?
ANSWER:
Thank you for this question! A crucial part of ending domestic abuse and sexual assault is through sustained prevention efforts starting when kids are young.
According to recent national studies, alarming numbers of teens and tweens experience dating violence themselves or witness it among friends. Yet less than 25% of teens say they’ve discussed dating violence with their parents. It’s critical that adults become more involved in this part of our children’s lives.
Unfortunately, there is no guaranteed protection against abuse. However, we can reduce our children’s risk of being abused by teaching them to recognize the warning signs, and by helping them learn to respect their own personal boundaries and the boundaries of others.
As a parent (or any adult who participates in the life of a child, as a teacher, relative, neighbor or friend), you are in a powerful position to influence your child’s future choices about relationships.
Here are a few things you can do:
Model healthy relationships. How do you interact with other adults in your child’s life? Your actions and choices heavily influence your child’s expectations about what relationships should look like. Actively model positive conflict resolution, how to negotiate decisions in a respectful way, and how to respect other people’s needs and feelings.
Talk about gender equity. Kids today are still inundated with messages about what it means to be a girl and what it means to be a boy. Ask them to talk about how these messages affect their choices, how they see themselves and others, and how they think about their place in the world. Communicate to them regularly, through conversation as well as your own actions, that no one is inferior or less valuable as a result of their gender, and that no one deserves more power and control as a result of their gender.
Talk about relationships. What are signs of healthy relationships? What are signs of unhealthy relationships? What are fair expectations between partners? What expectations and behaviors cross the line? What can they do to help a friend who might be experiencing an abusive dating relationship?
Talk about their relationships. When your daughters start dating, invite their partners to spend time at your house with your family. Check in with your daughters about their relationships, in open, nonjudgmental ways: What do they enjoy doing together? Do they ever feel frustrated? What makes them happy? Help them put words to what makes them feel happy, vs. what makes them feel unhappy or unsafe.
Consider everything a “teaching moment.” These messages shouldn’t be add-ons to regular family life — instead, find ways to weave them into everyday situations. Point out examples of positive conflict resolution, healthy (or unhealthy) relationships, respect, equality, feeling safe, etc. When these issues appear in the current events that capture your kids’ attention — such as when Chris Brown and Rihanna made headlines — ask for your kids’ opinions and talk about how these issues affect their lives.
Explore your resources. The following websites offer helpful information and interactive tools for parents, kids and teens:
And remember! It’s important to do this work with girls AND with boys. Encourage your friends to have these conversations with their sons and daughters, too.
***
Each Wednesday we feature a Q&A with an expert. This column is not legal advice, nor is it intended to take the place of legal advice, professional counseling, crisis intervention, or safety planning. For legal or emotional support or for safety planning specific to your situation, please access help from the National Domestic Violence Hotline, the National Sexual Assault Hotline, or from a domestic violence or sexual assault agency near you. This column is intended for educational purposes only.
Please exercise the same safe, supportive, non-judgmental restraint in the comment section of the Q&A as you do for survivors, as many of them are reading.
Our volunteer expert, Carrie K., is a trained advocate who has worked with survivors of domestic abuse and sexual assault, as well as their families and friends. Her background includes hotline advocacy, community education, and awareness and prevention programming around issues of domestic violence and sexual assault. She currently works for a domestic violence intervention and prevention program in Wisconsin. She blogs at rageisgood.blogspot.com
If you have something you have always wanted to know about domestic violence and/or sexual assault, please email your question to carrie [at] violenceunsilenced [dot] com.
