As has been said many times before, this may be particularly upsetting to many of you and I would warn, if you are feeling particularly vulnerable, please leave this till you fell stronger.
Lynne wrote this to read out at a drama presentation on March 5th for Rape Awareness Week. I was deeply touched when i read it and asked her if it would be ok to share it with everyone else who visited Survive, as i thought it would touch the hearts of many fellow survivors. She readily agreed, so here it is.
A survivor once said that her rape was the beginning of her long decent into hell. Along the same lines a survivor commented that while her rapist got 15 years, she received a life sentence. "Are you STILL dealing with that?" They ask me. "Can't you just get over it?" I just nod or say nothing, but what I yearn to do is scream. I wish I could not deal with it. I wish I could "just get over it" But my life sentence, my decent into hell, is far from over.
I struggle to find the perfect words to tell my story. No word I can think of seems strong or powerful enough to describe the effect it had on me. As I read over the words I wrote on this piece of paper I wonder what message I am trying to convey. Part of me wants to horrify you. Because the truth is you do not want to hear my story. Rape is not a topic which is spoken of casually over dinner. And as uncomfortable as it makes you to hear my and so many others stories it makes me three hundred times more uncomfortable to tell it. But is my not wanting to describe what happened to me a result of being socialized into a culture where rape is taboo, and the survivors fault? Is my not wanting to tell born out of a fear of what people will think of me, what they assume happened.
The fear of how people will react is enough to silence people. To many people have been asked if they enjoyed it, told that they must have done something to deserve it, and been told that they know they really wanted to be raped. To many have been denied justice by a legal system which puts the victim on trial. Rapists get less time in prison then people who commit tax fraud. I've heard the following story more times then I can count "I was raped and tried to get justice but the administration/police did absolutely nothing."
I was silent for years because I was sure no one would believe me. I was sure they would say it was my fault, I was afraid they would tell me I asked for it and had done something to deserve it. It is the survivor who is punished. But the survivor didn't do anything. Something was DONE to the survivor.
There are times when I get tired of, or angry at people who say AAR, or Rape awareness week, puts the issue to much "in your face" . But most of all I envy those people. I wish more then anything I COULD choose ignore the issue. I wish I could have a day where I did not think about it. But I was not given the choice. The issue is very much "in my face" whether I wanted it to be or not.
What exactly does it mean to survive? According to the dictionary To survive means to continue to live after some sort of trauma. But sometimes I question whether or not I am actually surviving. Does it mean to live the life I was living before the rape occurred? Does it mean going on as if nothing ever happened? If so then I definitely did not survive. Or does it mean to simply be breathing and roaming the planet. If so then a part of me certainly did survive. But a part of me did not.
When I was little and would skin my knees I would run to my mother and cry. She would soothe me and put Band-Aids on me and make everything better. Moments later I would be outside again running, forgetting that I had even fallen. I wish I could still forget that easily. I wish my mother could just wipe my tears and it would all be OK again. Doctors can sew up cuts, they can fix broken arms, they can cure diseases. But no one has found the cure for rape. Rape creates wounds that all the Band-Aids in the world can not fix.
Rape can happen and does happen to anyone. It does not matter how old you are, what class you are, what race you are, religion or sexual orientation. Men rape women, women rape men, men rape men, and women rape women.
Rape is not something that ends after the attack. Finding I was alive after it happened did not leave me with the sigh of relief one might expect. There were and are times when I wish I had died. Though during the attacks I was so afraid I was going to die, I often question if surviving was the best option.
Living was only the first obstacle of many I have and still must overcome.. Day after day I realize more and more how it truly affects me. Words, objects, places, and smells which seem neutral, or even happy to some, turn me cold. I question whether or not I will ever have a relatiobnsip where I can simply relax, trust, and be unafraid. I wonder if a day will ever pass by where I do not think about it. I wonder if I will ever be able to walk anywhere without being afraid.
My attackers don't have to be afraid to sleep. They don't have to be afraid of half the human race. They are not constantly reminded by the simplest word, gesture, or sight.
I often wonder if they ever even think about me, if they even remember me. Do they even realize what they did to me? Or have they forgotten? Am I just another women that they "scored" with? Do they even care?
The first time it happened I was in 7th grade. It seemed that his intentions were to completely destroy me. I believed I deserved it. I believed that I must have done something horribly wrong to deserve it. I was not the only person he was abusive to. Many others were the object of his wrath.
It had started with verbal insults. Words were the weapons he used to tear me apart at any chance he had. My self esteem was non-existent, which he took advantage of. I believed every single word he said about me I was ugly, retarded, and worthless. It became so painful that to ease the pain I began insulting myself. If I called myself names, it did not hurt as much when he called me them. I stabbed myself instead of allowing him to stab me. I believed I deserved to be treated badly.
Sexual harassment was not yet in my vocabulary and if it were I doubt I would have seen anything wrong with the situation. Looking back I can remember his suggestive comments, looks, and gestures. It even happened during class . I can still remember sitting there feelings powerless, vulnerable, and frightened. I didn't think there was anything I could do to stop him. The teacher noticed, but decided to ignore it. No one talked about what he was doing. None of us did anything to stop what was happening. And I never could have suspected what it would lead to.
One day I went to the bathroom. It was not the stereotypical dark ally in the bad neighborhood. It was a bathroom, in my school, where I and hundreds of others had gone millions of times. Maybe if instead of warning me about dark ally ways, people had warned me about bathrooms it never would have happened.
One thing I learned is that you are never truly safe anywhere. Most rapes happen in the survivors home or dorm room. It does not matter where you are or where you go. It can and does happen anywhere.
I often wonder if he planned it. Had I not gone would he simply have found another time? Was it premeditated? Or was it a sudden spur of the moment idea?
Even now when I am in the bathroom and someone enters I shake uncontrollably. I see the look on his face, the smile that turned me cold. I feel his hands grab me and push me. I feel the sharp pain in my head and back as I slammed into the wall. His laughter echoes in my ears.
My first reaction was to scream hoping someone would hear me and come to my rescue. He clamped his hand over my mouth before sound could escape threatening to kill me if I yelled.
I struggled to get out of his grasp but was powerless against him. The reality of what was about to happen did not quite sink in. All I could think about was getting him off of me and escaping. He had me pinned underneath him. He had caught his prey and I was helpless to do anything about it. My body was not mine anymore. I was his object. He was in control and had the power to do whatever he liked.
He made me touch him as he pulled down my pants. He made me say I wanted him. He told me I was lucky and should enjoy it because no one was ever going to want me anywise. The pain was unbearable. I went into a state of emotional shock staring at the ceiling thinking I was going to die.
When it was over he just left me there. He had gotten what he wanted and left, as a cat deposits a mouse carcass after it devours it. He didn't care. There was no hint of remorse or sorrow. I felt I had had an encounter with a truly demonic creature.
I curled up on the cold floor feeling like he had literally torn my insides out. My body burned with such pain, movement seemed impossible.
I did not realize exactly what had happened. It did not occur to me at first that I had been raped. I assumed I must have done something wrong. I believed that something I had done caused him to do this to me.
I told no one, but I felt like everyone knew. That somehow they knew just by looking at me that I was not the same person. That part of me had died in that bathroom. I believed they saw me as dirty, ruined, and disgusting.. It was how I saw myself.
For many days after I felt detached. Like my body was going through the motions of everyday life but my soul, my spirit, was somewhere else. It felt like I was watching myself, as one watches a movie.
I eventually repressed it. When it came back to me I was paralyzed by the horror. I felt like who I was was a lie. As things slowly came back I began to question my entire past wondering what else there was that I had completely forgotten. When I told someone I had gone to school there with she hugged me and told me she was not suprised that he would do such a horrible thing.
Three years after the rape I became involved with someone who emotionally abused me and later assaulted me. To him I was an object. His possession. He took advantage of my low self esteem, using it to tear me apart.
I did not even realize what he was doing until later. If I could not see him every weekend or talk to him every night he would get angry. He swore he loved me and threatened kill himself numerous times because I did not love him back. He got angry and jealous if he saw me talking to anyone. He blamed me for his depression. If he felt bad it was my fault for not paying attention to him.
I blamed myself. Having forgotten what happened in 7th grade I could not explain my feelings when he touched me. I could not explain why I was so afraid and jumpy. I assumed that I was messed up.
The first time he assaulted me I did not realize he did anything wrong. I thought something was wrong with me for feeling weird and bad about it.
The pain brought back emotions I could not quite understand each time it happened. He didn't truly care about me. He pretended to just to get something. And if I said no he would get depressed and angry. I had no choice. There were times I thought he was going to hit me if I didn't submit. Though it was not "legal" rape the agony was the same. My body no longer belonged to me. I no longer belonged to me Ending it was the scariest and best thing I ever did. I came dangerously close to going back to him numerous times, but managed to stay away.
I was not even sure that something had happened. I had no idea that it was an abusive relationship. It was not until I came to college that I realized that something was wrong with what he had done to me When I went to the sexual assault presentation new student week I was stunned to learn the truth. I was stunned that I was not a freak. That nothing was wrong with how I was feeling. There there were millions, people around me even, who felt similarly. I cried that night in relief that I was not the insane person I believed myself to be, and in pain for what he had done to me.
At take back the night last year I broke my silence. For the first time I told someone what happened to me.. I was not going to be silent any longer. Breaking my silence had a very profound effect on me. Hearing other peoples stories and learning about rape helped me to realize that there was nothing wrong with me. Something had been done to me. For the first time in so long I realized I was not alone. That in itself gave me the courage I needed to heal. And I am determined to heal. I am determined to help change the twisted society which we live in. Had I knows that there was something wrong with what he was doing to me, had I told someone in 7th gade what happened, I wonder how differently my life would have turned out. I wonder where I would be right now. I don't regret those decisions.
Regretting would not get me anywhere. Instead I am taking what I learned and applying that to try to stop the silence. I am taking my experience and examining why it was that I was silent and did not realize anything was wrong with what they did to me. And am using that knowledge to take action and end the social structures which I became a victim of. I get so angry. I can't just sit back and this happen anymore. They asked me what my goal was as convenor. I told them that my goal was to end the need for organizations like AAR. I want to wake up from this nightmare. I want my life sentance to be appealed. I want to abort my decent into hell. But most of all My wish is to put AAR out of business. To end the cycle of sexual violence.
Written by Lynne 24th January 1999
Last updated 27th January 1999