whether we are aware of it or we learn of it after we have invited them into our lives
in these past two weeks i have been so blessed with the support and love of numerous people,
but one night a friend approached me saying that she had no idea i had been through these things
she had a story
and she felt comfortable enough to share it with me
and she felt led to allow me to share it with you
the following is an anonymous testament to despair, healing and strength
these are not my words,
but hers...
This
story is full of detailed accounts of assault, suicide, and rape. I’m giving
you the trigger warning to end all trigger warnings. If you are in a bad place,
this isn’t the story to read. There are no unicorns and happy endings. I
promise you.
It’s funny how music can
take you back to a time and a place so fully and immerse you in a moment so
fully that you forget that time is a real thing. I had a moment like that
tonight while listening to the Disturbed version of “Sound of Silence”. I have been
thinking of writing this for my friend for a few days, but with homework and
life, it was easy to put off, but when I heard that song tonight, I was
reminded so strongly of my time in Wilmington, NC that I almost got sick.
You
see, that was the year I was raped by my best friend. My best friend who we
always joked about looking exactly like David Draiman (the lead singer of
Disturbed). Any time I heard Disturbed on the radio, I would think of him.
Unfortunately, I still do. That situation was difficult, but the aftermath was
the worst. He was married. He had a son. I was living with the man I was
engaged to. He had just been hospitalized for 3 weeks after an accidental
overdose on an MAOI and it had altered his personality. After it was over, I
laid in the fetal position in my bathroom floor until he left but the next day
he called.
“Did
something happen yesterday?” he asked. I can still remember the tremble in his
voice.
“Yes.
You raped me.” I was pretty good at hiding my emotions and even managed to come
off indignant.
“Why
didn’t you call the police?”
“I
don’t know.” And I didn’t.
“Well,
it won’t ever happen again, but if I ever hurt you, call the cops.” That
stopped me right there. I don’t want to defend him, but some part of me fell
apart when he said that. I’ve agonized over that for years. But, to understand
why, you have to know a little bit more about me. That wasn’t the first time
I’d been attacked.
I
have been assaulted or molested by three family members, one boyfriend, and my
friend mentioned above in some fashion since I was six years old. It started
with an older niece. She had been abused by her mother’s boyfriends and I guess
her way of handling it was to take it out on me. She was emotionally and
mentally abusive, but it was when she made me do things to her that the dynamic
changed. I would spend weekends around her and she would tell me that if I
didn’t do what she told me to, that she would make up a lie to my dad and he
would never want to talk to me again. She said she’d make him not love me
anymore. So I did what she said.
Then,
when I was a little older (around 10), I started to blossom. I was the first
girl I knew with boobs and a butt and apparently my grandfather thought I
looked much older. One day he caught me in the mudroom and knelt down in front
of me. He put his hand between my legs and said “I haven’t felt down there in a
while.” I was horrified. I’m still horrified. He was my second favorite person
in the world next to my cousin. I had always felt like an unwanted outcast
around my grandmother, but Papaw had always made sure to make me feel special
and loved. Little did I know that I was extra
special. Any time I was there after that incident, I tried to avoid him, but he
had a way of sneaking up on me. Like when I was sleeping on the couch. His
death a few years later was very difficult for me. I mourned the grandfather
that made me feel loved but hated the man who made me feel worthless. And to
top it all off, I had to listen to everyone talk about what a tremendous, godly,
man he was. I still do. I can’t tell my Dad what happened. He idolized his
father. Same with my brother who was basically raised by him and who brought
him back after his heart attack just long enough for Papaw to say “tell my
family I love them”. Too bad he didn’t have the courage to say “tell my
granddaughter I’m sorry”. He left this world and met his Maker to whatever end,
and left me here to pick up the shattered pieces of my childhood.
The
next on the list is my cousin. It seems each story gets a little more difficult
to tell. I used to spend a week every summer with my aunt and cousins down
south. She had a pool and that’s where I spent most of my time. I always loved
swimming at night, but even though I could swim very, very well, they were always
really strict about never swimming alone. I was around 13 and so I convinced my
cousin – we’ll call him Sam – to swim with me. The pool was lit and warm after
a very hot summer in southern NC and we were having a nice time. Sam kept
pulling me over to sit on his lap which I thought was odd, but we had always
been a very affectionate family. Plus, he was much older than me and had a
daughter a couple years younger than I was. I was a little freaked out,
especially since I could feel him
under his swim trunks. It got bad enough that I said I was ready to go to bed.
He said okay, but suggested we dry off some before going inside so we didn’t
drip on the floor. So I laid down on the hammock with him. Getting more and
more nervous, I decided to pretend to fall asleep hoping he would either leave
me alone out there or push me off to bed. He did neither. As soon as I leveled
off my breathing, he took the chance to touch me very inappropriately. I thought I was over this, but it still makes
me sick to my stomach to think about to this day. Anyway, I realized that the
situation was only going to get worse, so I pretended to wake up and literally ran to my bedroom where I cried myself
to sleep praying to God that he had never done anything to his daughter like
he’d done to me. I never told anyone this because I didn’t want to hurt my
family. I didn’t want to be responsible for tearing up my family, never
realizing that it wouldn’t have been my fault if that had been what happened. I
still see this cousin every once in a while. I wonder if he can sense that I
know. I wonder if he feels sorry.
When
I was 18, I started dating a guy that I knew through close friends. I thought
he was different than all the other guys. Aren’t they always, though? He was
smart and affectionate and always complimented me, but after about a month
things started to change. He could see in me the weak, impressionable girl that
he could push around and control. It ended up being the worst nine months of my
life. He was a diagnosed schizophrenic sociopath and during his rages, he would
hold me down and twist my neck to the point where I could feel ligaments
tearing. I wonder if some of the spinal problems I have today are from the
abuse I suffered under his hands. The night of my high school graduation, he
had got mad because I talked to a male classmate. He was also mad because I
wanted to go to college, but he said he would kill me before he let that
happen. To drive home his point, he shoved me on the bed and put his hands on
my throat and growled in my ear “remember what I said I’d do to you when I
wanted you to know that I hated you?” Well, I give you three guesses what that
was. He hurt me physically, but at that point I think I was numb. I remember
lying there thinking if this is all rape
is, I guess it’s not that bad. Who gets to a point in their life that they
think being raped isn’t as bad as
what could be happening? This girl
does. But, as in the first part of this story, this one doesn’t end happily. Two
months later he committed suicide in front of me.
So
you can see now why, just two years later, when I was holding that phone
talking to my best friend and rapist, I wasn’t sure what to do. I never did
report him, but we never really spoke again. I sometimes wonder what happened
to him, but I realize it would do neither of us any good to find him. The only
people I ever told about this were my childhood best friend (who is like my
sister now), my fiancé at the time, and the man I’m involved with now. My best
friend was the only one who understood. I told my fiancé after we broke up and
he acted like I had cheated on him because I never told him. The man I’m with
now says that I’m not allowed to be upset because I allowed it to happen and
didn’t call the cops. He also says it’s my fault if he ever went on to rape
anyone else. This is everything that’s wrong with our society.
Since
when is it my fault because I didn’t
stop him? I’m not at fault for any of the other incidents, but this one I am?
He had about 175 pounds on me. I was scared, but numbed. It was just a messed
up situation. I’m mad that he got away and terrified that someone else got
hurt, but I understand my reasoning. I don’t blame myself. In our society and
justice system, I question whether he would have been punished, yet my reputation would have been dragged
through the mud. In our advanced culture, we still question the clothing
choices and personality traits of the woman before determining whether or not
she’s allowed to be a victim. So, in my mind, I chose not to be a victim at
all. All these things happened to me, but they do not define me. I am defined
by my ability to overcome them, not be overcome by them. I’m sure I can come up
with some more euphemisms, but I’ll save you from that.
The
point is, yes my life has been pretty rough, but there’s a lot of people that
have been through worse. At some point we have to decide how we are going to
process our lives and use the events that take place. My friend who owns this
blog was adamant about me being okay to tell my story and I really am. Yeah,
some parts still make me mad and yes, I still cry especially when I think about
some of these things, but every day that I think about it and don’t fall apart
is a victory over their choices. I have come a long way to say that I love the
person that I am today. I’m weird and a nerd and sometimes I talk too much, but
I think God has chosen to use those traits for His service. I don’t always know
what the goal is, but I always trust that He will lead me down the right path.
If by telling my story, I’m able to help someone else in a similar situation,
then I know that it wasn’t all for naught. If God’s light can shine through me
despite the terrible things that have happened, maybe someone else can realize that
the same can happen with them. Through Him all things are possible. So I’ll
leave you with one of my favorite quotes, though I don’t know who said it
first:
“God gives us only what we can handle.
Apparently God thinks I’m a badass.”
(Of course, this isn’t true because God doesn’t put us
in these situations, but He will get us through them. I just like thinking he
thinks I’m a badass. Because I am.)
...i know this girl to be so strong and so free spirited
and in my own life i question why God "allows" these terrible things to happen to the people we love and admire the most
i wouldn't wish these events on my dear friend ever in a million years,
but i'm glad that she is who she is today
because she is pretty great
and is the reason for many of my thanks to our amazing Lord.
if you have a story,
i will give you the same advice i gave this friend:
write it all out
don't let it sit inside of you and eat you alive
you never know how God will use your healing process.
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