September 29, 2010

• That Night

  Warning - This post could be triggering for people who have been victims of sexual violence.

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  My dreams lately have been filled with people who are disapproving of me...and of course they are the same people whose opinions I value. I wake up feeling lots of shame, dread, and deep sadness. Then this morning I woke at 5am with vivid recollections of when I was raped. When I was in therapy, my therapist encouraged me to blog about it, but I never could. I think it's time to do that.

  It was Homecoming night my Junior year. I had just turned 16, and I was a virgin. Really, I had never done anything before; I was just beginning to round 2nd base. I went to the dance with the same guy (Joseph) with whom I later cheated on my first real boyfriend. (I dumped my boyfriend because of it, before he could dump me. I think I realized later that he would have stayed with me though. I guess even then I was throwing away love with both hands for people that could hurt and manipulate me.) There are pictures from that night, and I'm standing with a group of my friends, my date on one side, the ex on the other. I looked much better standing next to the ex.

  Since there was a lot of sexual attraction between me and Joseph, I knew we would end up making out or something along those lines. We went to the dance, halfheartedly did the dance thing for about 45 minutes, and then decided to leave. His friend Justin came with us. We went back to my house. My mom was home; my dad was not. I think because my dad was cheating on my mom and she wanted to be loved, she tried to be the cool mom. She bought us liquor and let us have the run of the house, just me, Joseph, and Justin. My little sister was there too, who was 12. For awhile the guys wanted to play strip poker, but since I was wearing a dress there wasn't much to take off, and when it came time for me to strip, I balked at it. Justin tried to take the dress off anyway, and ended up tearing the strap (my mom made me that dress).

  I talked them into just drinking or something instead, which I had never done before, but took advantage of because it was there, and oh my! There were TWO boys paying attention to me. I remember going into the garage with everyone, getting into my car, and hotboxing it with cigarettes. I didn't smoke, but the boys did. How disgusting that was, and it made my head spin. We all started guzzling down the liquor my mom bought me - mostly lame stuff like Sour Apple Pucker. Since I had never had alcohol, I got drunk pretty fast. Somehow my date Joseph ended up pairing off with my sister and going to her room with her. I think about that now, the fact that she was 12, and I feel sick. I never even bothered to ask her if anything happened. I don't think I ever told her what happened to me. And I hate this, but some part of me was jealous that my date liked her better, and I was left with Justin (who was nicknamed Trout because of his lips).

  We started making out, because that's what drunk, horny teenagers do, although in the back of my mind I was devastated that I was given the consolation prize while the guy I liked went off with my younger, prettier, thinner sister. Justin and I headed down to the basement, almost falling down the stairs in our drunkenness. The making out got heavier, and pretty soon he said he wanted to have sex. I was on my period that night, and told him as much. He started begging me to "take it out" (meaning my tampon). I told him no several times, and eventually he lifted up my dress and started going down on me, then pulled the tampon out with his teeth. This pretty much shocked the hell out of me, but I was too drunk and freaked to end the situation right there. He got on top of me and started pushing himself into me. Again, being a virgin, it hurt, and I started pushing him off, yelling no, telling him please stop, it hurts, no. He kept pushing, and at that point I was screaming and hitting him.

  After awhile, I just went limp and let him do it, and when he didn't stop, I started actually participating, I guess so I could pretend that this was my choice and not something that was being done to me. I was so afraid that if he didn't cum, the rape would continue forever. This is the part I'm ashamed of. He asked me to do this and I was too beaten down emotionally to refuse. After him raping me, I got down and started giving him head. He tasted oddly of peanut butter and blood. I will never forget it. Finally he was done, and I went to the bathroom to clean myself up, then moved to the other side of the basement to a couch by myself. I told myself it was my fault, because I gave him mixed signals. I told myself it was my fault because i got drunk and did sexual things with him, meaning I gave him permission. I told myself it was my fault because I gave in and let him do it, and then started participating in it again. Maybe he didn't understand that he did anything wrong, since I stopped screaming towards the end of the it all, and started helping him climax. I didn't yell at him, confront him, or say anything about it ever again. The next Monday at school, I acted like everything was fine and continued to be friends with him for awhile.

  At some point during the rape, I cut myself off from reality. That disconnect, that refusal to admit what happened to me, lasted for 10 years before I finally started to comprehend. And here is where this is still affecting my life. Yes, I lost my virginity to a drunk horny loser who raped me. And that's shitty, but it's something I can move past. But what kills me is that at no point did my mother, whose bedroom was directly above the basement, come downstairs to check on the situation. She said she didn't hear anything. But she is the one who gave liquor to her daughter and 2 male friends, then allowed them free reign of the house to do whatever they wanted. She didn't protect me. I'm angry at her for this. She says I didn't tell her about what happened until 2 weeks after the fact. This may be true (some of the details are still blurry). But why didn't she tell my dad? Why didn't she go after Justin? Why didn't she report it to the police? Why didn't she insist on taking me to counseling? And did anyone even ask about my sister? I was horrified this morning to think that I never even questioned what could have happened to her until 13 years later.

  One of my acquaintances started dating Justin a few months after this incident, and I couldn't even bring myself to warn her because I never fully admitted what happened, even to myself. I was afraid I would be called a liar if I ever said anything, and so I said nothing. My post-rape behavior seemed like a nail in the coffin too: I didn't report it, didn't stop being friends with him, etc. Who would believe me? There were many times when I looked at my friend and felt so sorry for her because she was dating a guy who didn't give a shit about women. I remember hoping he never did anything to hurt her, and then feeling like a piece of shit because I didn't even try to tell her to watch out. I remember feeling like I had raped her because I didn't try (although I don't know if anything like that ever happened between them).

  This is my story. Sometimes I wish I had been raped by a stranger, a mugger or something instead. That way I wouldn't feel the guilt and personal responsibility that comes crushing down on me every time I think about what happened. Somehow when it's "date rape," it feels like the woman was at least partly responsible for what happened to her. But I was a virgin, on her period, who was out with someone I didn't love. I had no intention of having sex with anyone that night. But I still feel, even though I know I shouldn't, that it was my fault. And then I get angry at my mother. And now I'm wondering when I'm going to start being angry at HIM. And I think with horror that he might have done this to someone else. Maybe lots of someone elses. And I wish I could tell my father, but it seems like there is no reason to do it and upset him after such a long time. And then I feel lame for even writing about this, because it was over 10 years ago, and I should just get over it. Sigh. He lives in Denver now...

  • 11:26 am
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