Kay
This is one of the things I’ve known for a long time that I needed to write about, but I kept finding other things to write; fun things, sad things… anything but this. There is nothing sexy, amusing, or even mildly entertaining about this one. This goes back 19 years to something I’ve shared with very few people. Something that, to be honest, I’ve never even dealt with internally. Not in therapy, not in rehab, not in recovery, not even when I knew I needed to.
Why am I writing this now? Because I got a phone call from one of the few family members I speak to, one of the only ones I trust, and she asked me an outright question that I wasn’t prepared for — and I couldn’t lie in response. So I told her. And I know telling her hurt her almost as much as talking about it hurt me. Because she suspected — nothing of the details, but suspected SOMETHING. The few times I’ve talked about it have left me feeling numb, but last night was different. She’s lived through this as a parent, and knew the questions to ask, the things to say, that would make me think –- that would shift the view of the whole thing in my mind. Things that no one I’ve shared it with ever knew to ask. So to her, I’m grateful. Because burying it doesn’t make it any less real, it doesn’t make it go away. I’ll stop talking about writing it now, and just write it. It’s probably going to come out sounding very clinical, and for that I apologize. It’s not that I’m not willing to share the emotion, it’s that I haven’t learned what the emotion is yet, I haven’t even begun to process it… not even after 19 years.
I was 11 years old… already “older” than I should be, hanging out with kids a few years ahead of me because I felt more comfortable with them. I’d had enough responsibility caring for my younger brother and sister that 11-year-old’s seemed so immature to me. Our interests and maturity levels just didn’t mesh. I also spent a lot of time with “the guys” because I’ve never been able to make female friends easily, though I’m not sure why. I’m not going to go deep into my mental and emotional state at that age — I’ll just say that like most girls without a father in their lives, I was desperate for attention, affection, and love.
As usual, mom was out getting drunk — only this time it was at a family member’s house, so she had taken the two younger ones with her. I didn’t get dragged along because I was supposed to babysit for someone that night, and had things to do at home first. I wish I had gone with her, as much as I hated seeing her that way, then having to get in the car with her wasted as she drove us home, my eyes closed and praying the whole way that we’d all make it there alive.
It was me and a female friend, plus one of the guys from the neighborhood. He was 15 or 16, and his friend was visiting. I’d never met the friend before that day. He was even older, either 17 or 18. We were hanging out in the living room, watching some stupid movie, nothing out of the ordinary, joking comments being thrown back and forth between all of us. The guy threw out a “fuck you” comment in response to something – and being the smart ass that I was, my response was, “C’mon, let’s go — right now.” I was mouthy, it was the only way I knew how to assert myself. Besides, the guys I hung out with were used to me. They knew me. I’d kissed one or two guys by then, but other than that had no experience. Hell, a year before that I hadn’t even known what a french kiss was. He, apparently, didn’t see me that way. He grabbed my arm and walked me upstairs. I went, willingly, because I figured we’d kiss for a little, and then that would be it. I was so very, very wrong.
This is where it all gets fuzzy in my head – I’ve buried it for so long, it’s hard to remember, and I think I prefer it that way. I know the details are going to come back to me, but I honestly don’t know if I can handle them.
We went upstairs, leaving the other two downstairs to watch the movie. Writing this has me wondering what they were thinking – but I don’t think either of them could even comprehend what was going to happen… they knew me, and my male friend (thought) he knew his friend. Another wrong assumption. I remember him kissing me, then starting to touch me – I started to back away, but he was right there, and so much bigger and stronger. He kept going… I know I didn’t scream, I know I didn’t fight as hard as I could have. But I also (now) realize that probably wouldn’t have made a difference. I do know that words and phrases like “I can’t” “wait… don’t” “I don’t want to…” — things like that were said by me. But at some point, I stopped pushing him away, I stopped fighting him, I stopped saying anything, because nothing I was saying was making a difference to him. I shut myself down. I closed my eyes and my mind to what was happening. I hid inside myself. And he raped me.
When it was over, he went back downstairs without saying anything that I can remember. I cleaned myself up and did the same. When I got down there, my friend pulled me into the kitchen and asked what had happened – I told her I didn’t have time to talk, had to get ready to go babysit. And that’s what I did. I went to work, took care of the kids, and came home to her waiting for me. Again, she asked… and I told her a glossed over version of what happened, leaving out the fact that I didn’t want to. She knew me, so she pushed, but I refused to call it what it was, or admit that there was anything wrong. She, who was a good 4+ years older than me, was still a virgin, and couldn’t believe that it had happened. But she couldn’t budge me from claiming it was a choice that I made, even years later when it would come up in conversation.
That’s where I changed… from the child I was into the teenager I became. Sex was no longer something important, something special. It was something to endure, a tool to get that affection, that attention, that sense of love – even if it was for just a few minutes, and I hated myself every time afterwards. I learned (quickly and suddenly) how to disconnect myself from what was happening to me. Where I went from there is another story, one I’m not ready to write yet. Hell, I wasn’t ready to write this one yet, either. But sometimes what you’re ready for and what you need to do are two different things. This needed to come out, for me – it needed to happen, because for 19 years, I’ve buried it. And I can finally see that until I deal with THIS, there is no dealing with the rest of my issues. And yes, 19 years later, I STILL struggle with remembering, with realizing, that it was NOT my fault. I know that on so many levels… but there’s still parts of me that believe that I put myself in that situation, that I could have done this, or should have done that, or whatever. And that’s the next thing to deal with – realizing, completely, that this was NOT MY FAULT. I’ll get there.
I can’t get anywhere else until I do.
***
Kay blogs at Chains of Yesterday.
40 Responses to “Kay”
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Yes, you’ll get there.
Regardless of what YOU say – when against your will, it’s wrong. I went thru something similar when I was 14. My ‘first’ time. And have similar feelings. But I talked about it – even tho no one thought to do anything about it.
So empathy to you today, and every day, as you try to figure it out,.
Thank you for speaking out.
I’m trying to find the right words…
I understand how you disconnected yourself. I did, have done, the same thing. I too struggle with ‘it’s not my fault’, even though I know that it wasn’t. I spent a lot of years secretly blaming myself, without even realizing I was blaming myself. Now, I am trying to face it all and it is…. hard. (that word isn’t quite strong enough)
You will get there. In your own time. You’ve taken a step already, by sharing this today. You WILL get there.
Wow. I really understand this. Like, it hits home. I’ve been in situations like this, only I was 16…the guy was 17 and we were partying. Suddenly, the one small glass of French Kiss liquor and sprite that I had had made me black in and out. Which was strange, because…well I could drink a whole bottle of it before getting really drunk and it wasn’t to that point.
I didn’t really know what was happening, and I still don’t really know what happened…
Thank you for writing this.
I’m so very sorry this happened to you. And I’m sorrier still that you had no one to whom you could take this to. You’ve made me realize yet again how lucky I am to have the mother I do.
Like you, I was a very grown-up 11 and while I had a jaded view of the world as early as age 5, yours was one experience I was spared. I’m glad though that you have been able to recognize it for what it was and realized that it has taken way too much from you. You are the only person who can start putting that back. I’m encouraged to hear you talk as if that’s happening.
Digging out skeletons is never a pretty experience and it can have a very surreal quality, as though it’s someone else’s life you’re viewing. But, you are SO right in that this is the only real way to get past it. Turning it loose is the only real way to free yourself from it. Don’t continue to pay for something that wasn’t even your fault to begin with. Kudos and big hugs for sharing something so personal and painful, but know that by doing this you are not only helping yourself, you’re helping others, too. May the peace and happiness you deserve be yours.
Thank you very much for sharing your story.
I’m gonna say something a little bit odd here, but bear with me. Writing this wasn’t the real breakthrough. The real breakthrough is documented in it though. It took seven paragraphs to get there, but you got there. You finally broke free in the last four words: “And he raped me.”
I can’t begin to comprehend how excruciatingly difficult it was to say that out loud. The fact that it took you that long to finally write it even though all of us — including you — knew it was coming, gives me the impression that you’ve never uttered four more difficult words in your entire life.
But what a profound and powerful four words. I hope they are as liberating, as empowering, to you as it sounds like they are. Examine that sentence. “He” is the subject, the agent of the action. “Me” is the direct object of that action. And whatever other sentences you may construct about that night, about the other things that happened, about the things you may have done, never ever forget that the word “me” is objective case — it cannot ever be the agent of action in a sentence. For at least one sentence in this story, you were not in charge. You were just a kid. He was supposed to be an adult — or nearly so. In any case, there is no way you can be accountable for what he did to you.
I don’t know what it’s like to be you. I do, however, know what it’s like to spend years second-guessing yourself. That way leads to madness. Trust me on this one. So I’m hoping with all of my being that this was the breakthrough for you that it appears to be. Because you’re right, this is where it had to begin.
Even if the story didn’t begin until the end of paragraph seven.
Thank you for sharing this, Kay. I cannot imagine how hard it was for you to write this. But by doing so, you’ve taken a huge and important step, and I send huge congrats for that.
Keep writing. Keep taking steps.
Again, thank you.
I’m with Mojo: a huge step was taken in typing those four words.
I admire your courage. You WILL make it . . .
It was NOT your fault. And despite all the what-ifs that swirl around in your head, you could not have stopped him. You did what you had to to survive. You are strong and brave, and it wasn’t your fault.
Thank you for sharing your story.
Your ability to get this out in whatever way you can shows how brave and determined you are at getting there. I have faith you will get there in your own good time and I thank you for writing this today.
Cat
mojo hit the nail on the head. writing those words must have made you feel powerful and out of control all at once. but you’re such an inspiration and (although i don’t know you) i am so so proud of you.
my first time, i was unconscious. 15, wasted, with a 23 year old who should have known better. it took years for me to say the word ‘rape’ and at times i still feel like a fraud saying it. i know the feeling all too well and i also know that there is great strength in the knowledge that NO child (which, i’m sorry, but i don’t care HOW mature you felt, 11 is a child) asks for it, wants it, should ever be subjected to sex.
i can tell you over and over that it’s not your fault.
i wish you the speed of a stampede of wild horses in getting to the place where you tell yourself and you finally believe it.
Thank you for sharing your personal story. It hurts to remember, but I think you are on the right road to revelation. I think you already know that it was not your fault and I am glad you have come out and said that. Someone out there is surely feeling the same as you from a similar situation, and perhaps they too can realize it too is not their fault.
writing this is a brave first step
I know that feeling of not being ready to and not wanting to, but needing to. I feel stuck in that place right now. I’m not ready to and I don’t want to, but I feel as if I need to in order to survive or move on. It’s scary as hell. Thank you for being brave and doing what you thought you couldn’t. You did, and you’re still alive. you’re still breathing. you’re still living. It means you survived and you survived well. You are strong and brave and amazing. And none of it is your fault. know that. feel that, believe that. Or if you can’t, just believe that we believe it. love.
Oh Kay, I’m so sorry this happened. My heart breaks for you. I’m so sorry.
Kay,
As usual when I read these stories, I am speechless. I wrote one of my stories here last week. It was hard. It didn’t involve rape, sexual abuse or physical violence.
I have another story by which I can identify with you. One day I may tell it. The phrases that we said in a joking way, or to relate, or to be liked. How those phrases lead to assumptions by the other party. How that other party used psychology or brute strength to overcome resistance. How that resistance was so small because of …. well … we just don’t know. And how we can blame ourselves because we didn’t put up a bigger fight.
But, as so many others have said Mojo hit the nail on the head.
May you find complete healing and learn to enjoy sex as the wonderful act that it can be.
….and now, I feel like I want to provide a bit of wisdom that will make everything click emotionally and spiritually for you. But, I don’t know what to say. Maybe I’m just not smart enough. Or maybe the renewal you will have is a series of moments that combine into it.
Thank you for having the courage to write your story and call it what it is!
Thank you for having the courage to share your story.
thank you for sharing. i think you are very brave. i wish you all the healing, peace, love, joy and freedom the better parts of the world have to offer. (hug)
I understand too well that shutting down of your mind. The words we whisper and shout, and then stop speaking because we simply find a quiet place inside our minds to retreat. Call it what it is…RAPE…it took me years to understand it too. And still, even after all I’ve shouted and cried and wondered and self-blamed, I’ve yet to fully mourn the childhood that could have been.
This was not your fault and I hope you’re able to connect the dots between your mind and your heart to feel it, to own the fact and to release the pain. I wish you peace.
I honestly don’t even know what to say.
I read and comment on EVERY story that is posted here. Because in my heart, they are ALL worthy of my time, my thoughts, my prayers. They are all worthy of being told. And each author is worthy of my respect and gratitude.
Yet, I somehow could not equate that with myself. I couldn’t believe that my story was worthy of any of what I just said above, let alone deserving of the comments it’s received.
I commented on each story because I thought I knew how important comments would be to the author. I was so very, very wrong. I had no idea that when I forced myself to click on my own story in my reader and reread it here, as if it were any other story on this site, that the comments would literally bring me to tears. No idea that a simple line of “Thank you for telling your story” would be so… reassuring, uplifting, inspiring. No idea that each one would mean so much to me.
Even more? I had no idea that I would feel so damn proud of myself. For finally speaking out. Writing it was a major step. Sending it to Maggie was huge. Knowing it was going up freaked me out. But seeing it here? I felt no shame. No desire to hide my face and pretend that it’s someone else’s story.
I’m not sure if I can explain it right – I’m beyond emotional at this point. But I’ll try anyway – not only am I proud of myself for telling my story – I am, for the first time in my life, proud (instead of ashamed) that this is MY story. It’s like telling it publicly made it mine. It gave me back the power that was taken away 19 years ago. And while I’ll never be glad it happened, I can now say, honestly, that I am no longer ashamed that it happened. He did this to me, but he no longer owns it. I’m not sure if that came out clearly at all – but what it comes down to is this… I will never be silent again.
I do have quite a few comments that I want to (and will) respond to individually – I just need to let all this sink in for a little bit. But to all who commented – please, keep doing it, like I plan to. Because it means more than I ever imagined – each comment made me feel just a bit stronger than when I pulled up the site, shaking, early this morning.
You are much closer to there than you are giving yourself credit for.
Thank you for being brave enough to share your story.
Wow…. I felt like I was reading my own story. Not all of the details were exactly the same but so much was the same. Thank you for being so brave to put that all out there. I know that your healing just took a giant step forward and you helped so many of us heal too. Maybe one day, I’ll write something too. I finally told my husband (who is the best man in the world) everything. That was so freeing. I was able to forgive the “boy” and then forgive myself. I don’t know if you are a mother or not, but that has helped my perspective too. I look at my kids and see how truly young I was. I wasn’t grown enough to carry so much blame I have been putting on myself for what happened. You were even younger. I’m starting to ramble now so I’m going to stop, but please know that just writing your story has sent out ripples of healing. Thanks.
Your courage is remarkable. I’m glad for your sake and for ours that you shared your story. By publishing the truth (and for letting the truth stand – and being patient waiting for the truth to reach us) you have helped yourself and others in ways you may never know. Your children are blessed to be in a world made better by your strength.
Kay –
I can’t say anything that hasn’t already been said, especially after Mojo’s so eloquently written comment, but please know that you already have everything inside of you that you need to fully heal and move on from this traumatic experience.
Learn to trust in yourself.
Thank you for sharing!
~Annie
Kay –
I can’t say anything that hasn’t already been said, especially after Mojo’s so eloquently written comment, but please know that you already have everything inside of you that you need to fully heal and move on from this traumatic experience.
Learn to trust in yourself.
Thank you for sharing!
~Annie
P.S. – Sorry, forgot to tell you great post!
As you already know, there is way too big of an age difference there for anything you said to have made it your fault. It was rape even if you stripped and teased him. You were a child. Children don’t understand consequences, children are mouthy, children get taken advantage of and that’s why we have statutory rape laws. Because even when a child says yes, it’s the duty and responsibility of the adult (or much older person) to say no.
You should see a therapist. It won’t fix your problems overnight but it will help. Please take it from one who has JUST gone through this, repressed memories aren’t easy or pleasant to recover but you can’t truly move on until you do. It’s the swamp you have to squash through if you want to reach the pretty meadow on the other side.
One more thing – I had no idea when I said this to my husband, that the words would come to have significance for me as well. But I told him months ago, when he started telling me some of his own horrific experiences as a very young child, that one of the first things he needs to let go of is the need for control that these experiences sparked in him. As a victim, especially a child, it makes things easier to deal with if you convince yourself that you ARE at least partially in control of the situation and are allowing it to happen. Because to believe otherwise would kill a part of your soul. The flip side is that as long as you continue to believe you had a say, the guilt will continue to haunt you. Letting go of the thing that helped you survive the experience is very hard, but necessary to your healing.
Thank you for telling your story. It’s somewhat similar to mine. But I was 16 and should have known better. Congratulations on this courageous step.
Kay, many thanks to you for sharing your story. It was a HUGE step. Someday when you are ready to deal with it all, you will be able to. Many ((((hugs)))) to you.
Wow ~ what a story! And how wonderful that you finally have the courage to speak about what happened and to share it with others and hopefully you and those who have also suffered similar fates will be able to start healing and LIVING again!! My mantra (while I was going thru a very rare cancer 4 yrs. ago) was and still is ~ “Strength, Courage and Hope. . . everyday baby!!!” Please borrow/use my mantra if it helps you too! One step, one day at a time. . . you are healing! Have a beautiful day!
You just took a giant step in getting there. Hugs.
You did so good. Thank you for much for sharing your story with us – I pray that it has freed you, even a little, from the mental and emotional prison that abuse places us in. Congratulations on taking such a huge step towards healing.
you will get there… the telling is the first step, no matter how long it takes.
and, you’ll have women along the way, who will help and listen and know you did nothing wrong.
we’ve all been there.
thank you for writing it…you’re not alone
I’m glad you got it out. Giving it away can be a great way to deal with something like this. Keep sharing it, keep giving it to the people who can handle it.
Kay, thanks for having the courage to share your story. This is my first visit to this site. I will be back to read other stories.
On my blog, I write about my experiences as an incest survivor. I was the age of 11 when first an uncle and then a few months later, my dad raped me. It took years of counseling before I could call it rape. I didn’t say no. I didn’t say anything to either of these men. I was raised to obey adults no matter what they told me to do. If they had asked, I would have said no. I wasn’t given that option. I saw myself as bad and deserving of such treatment. I thought I was at fault.
You took a huge step in writing about this abuse. It will now be easier to talk about. Don’t shut yourself back down. You did the hardest part. Now choose someone that you trust and talk it out of your mind and body for your own healing. Find someone who isn’t going to ask you “Aren’t you tired of talking about this yet?” You have held it in for years. Now you need to talk about it and feel all of the anger and hurt that you have been holding in and denying. Not everyone is safe for you to tell it too. Let your gut guide you as to who is safe and who is not. Someone else already said find a counselor. I second that statement.
Again, thanks for sharing your story. It not only heals you. Telling your story allows others the right to heal as well.
My God that’s .. well said.
Thank you, Kay, for bringing me another step closer than I was yesterday, by taking your step toward acknowledgement, owning that fear and pain and disappointment, placing it in its rightful momentous part of the past that molded who you are, and deciding you ARE going to heal, you were a victim, and now you are a survivor, capable of setting a new path for others to follow, to lead by example.
I’ve read a few entries of VU already, and each one brings me closer to an adamant truth that part of my past did happen, it mattered, it should’ve been dealt with, I should have been protected, believed, and helped. I should not have had to deal with it alone, to feel guilty, to allow that incidence and how “loved” ones reacted affect the rest of my intimate friendships and other relationships in the future.
YOU, Kay, have helped another, by helping yourself. Thank you. My hot tears and loosening knot thank you, from a deeply stored and shelved little me, many years ago.
[...] so sometimes the time lines on pieces are a little confusing. Kelly has posted before on VU as "Kay"–she sent her submission in March and it finally ran in June. Back in March, right after [...]