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Monday, June 8, 2009

project...

Recently a friend approached me about working on a book that is going to based upon a similar experience we have had. I want to write it. Yet, I am so afraid as well. It's not something I am sure I am ready to go back in to. She and I were raped. Our rapists weren't complete strangers, and they didn't pull us into some dark alley. We weren't beat up and they didn't run away after. We were raped by people we at that moment loved with our whole hearts. We were raped by our then boyfriends. I sit now, unable to believe that I am writing this here, but I feel compelled as of late to talk. I know talking is key to healing, but somehow this idea of the book terrifies me. I guess what has me so frightened is that recently wants to ask me questions about the relationship that this happened to me in.

I can talk about it, but only when I feel ready to. The other day, however, I was cornered by a coworker who began to interrogate me about what had happened. I gave her no particular details, but she still asked me what I was going to do to protect myself from him. I had to admit out loud again and again that there is and there was nothing I can do. I hated having to say that out loud. I hated knowing that I will never be able to find a way to protect myself from him.

He didn't hit me or leave any marks that would let you know it was rape. He just berrated me while climbing on top of me. All the while I was saying no I didn't want to, but he didn't listen and before I knew what was really going on he was inside me and he wasn't going to stop. I froze. I didn't know what to do or couldn't believe what was happening. I froze and before I knew it it was over. He got up and kissed me and told me he loved me. I wanted to throw up.
This happened again and again and I couldn't bring myself to do anything because he began to convince me that this was normal and that I was a horrible person for not wanting to have sex. He would remind me again and again. He would call, text, write notes. Saying he loved me and then he would lay me down while I was saying no and climb right on top.

Somehow in my head I convinced myself this was normal that he wasn't doing anything wrong. I gave up saying no. I let this happen for months and months. I finally ended the relationship, but not because of that. I didn't think about what had happened but he continued to harass me after we broke up. If he couldn't get to me he would get to me through mutual friends and even my sister. He had fellow team mates text him if I walked into a party and he would text and call me constantly. One day on aim we got into an argument and I yelled at him for knowingly manipulating me. He asked me if he did that in everything we did in our relationship and I said yes. He then admitted to me that he knew that he had raped me. It had not clicked until that moment in my head that that was what he had done to me.

I wanted to throw up. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to do anything but become aware that I had just become a statistic of rape. Yet, I was victim who would never have a voice, never have any means of seeking justice. Where do you go from that moment? What do you do? Who do you talk to?

What the conversation at work did was bring me back to all those awful raw moments. It made me remember, the first, second, seventh, tentch, etc times it happened with him. It reminded me that I see him almost every other day and he will never be arrested for it and I will never be able to prove that he did it. It's his word against mine. Yet, I know and I remember every day of my life that I said no. I know that he didn't care. I know that he had the nerve to get up after cumming and telling me that he loved me. I remember these things every day. Every day I am reminded that I am just another silent victim. I hate it.

1 comments:

Nels said...

Good for you for writing this much. If you decide to write more or in a different space or way, go for it.