This is probably the hardest blog I’ve actually written. Actually writing it isn’t hard, it’s the posting. I think I’m a pretty liberated, intellectual feminist but there is certain amount of shame that goes with being raped. I KNOW it wasn’t my fault but part of you feels that it is regardless of the circumstances. And to a certain degree I do sort of think it was.
But as much as I think I have recovered, even thrived after this experience I still have a few things fears and insecurities that linger. And I think it’s time I exorcised even those little demons. I’ve told MY truth in my blogs and this is part of my truth. Why do I need to tell all my business, I’m not sure to be honest? Maybe it will help someone else or maybe it will just help me.
It happened in college. I was in the process of moving between apartments. It was 2 or 3 in the morning and I was so tired I didn’t want to drive back to the old apartment. But I had friends meeting me there to help me move. I would feel terrible if I overslept and inconvenienced the people who were doing me a favor. It wasn’t only that but my intuition was screaming at me “DO NOT go back to the old place”. I’ve experienced overwhelming intuition numerous times in my life and have always ignored it at my peril.
I ignored it and went back to the old apartment and fell asleep on a mattress in the living room.
Several nights earlier my roommate’s boyfriend pretended he was breaking in the apartment and scared the hell out of us. He thought he was a real hoot. I thought he was a real jackass. In fact I was moving into my own apartment and getting rid of my crazy roommate and her dipshit boyfriend.
I was awaken by someone on top of me telling me don’t scream. Thinking it was the boyfriend, I tried to push him off me. “I’m not kidding Kevin, get off me!!! You’re pissing me off!!” The guy kept telling me I’m not Kevin. It took a couple minutes but then the blood ran cold in my veins. My brain finally recognized what was happening, this isn’t Kevin. It was also then I realized he had a knife.
Most of everything else that happened seemed like it happened to someone else. I can see it play like a movie but it’s not really me. He dragged me to the closet and raped me. When it was done he left. I waited until I heard him leave ran to the kitchen to grab my own knife and then drove to the new apartment.
Weird things stand out to me. One is he told me ‘nice tits’. To this day I can’t stand the word tits. I don’t care what you call them …boobs, breasts, knockers, cha chas, teats, tatas… but please don’t refer to them as tits.
The second is when he finished he patted me on the head and said he was sorry. How the hell can you rape someone and then tell them sorry? The thought that went through my head was you suck as a rapist. I know that makes no sense.
And although it was a horrible experience, there a still a couple of things I’m grateful for. Most simply, he didn’t kill me. I could’ve been an article in the morning paper. He also could’ve hurt me really bad or did some permanent damage. He had sex with me but he didn’t beat me or stab me or worse. It was just sex. It probably lasted no more than an hour but time sure slows down in a situation like that so to this day I’m not exactly sure how long he was there.
I think at some point during the day, I or someone left the sliding glass door open. That’s how I think he got in. I also think I know who it was. I think it was my upstairs neighbor. When I told him my roommate and her boyfriend was coming home he didn’t seem surprised. Now this is the part where I think somehow I might have contributed. One day the upstairs guys were working on their cars and we had come out the apartment talking loud and being a bit obnoxious as we got in our car and left. But I had the feeling that day that those guys thought we were talking or referring to them. Yes that’s not a reason to rape someone but to this day I think there is some kind of connection there.
There is a postscript to this story that was almost as difficult as the rape. When I got to the new apartment I called a friend / ex-boyfriend. And although he came over he was more concerned with his knew girlfriend who thought I was making the damn thing up to get him back. I sent him home and spent the rest of the night by myself until my friends came to help me move. I think I only told one person the next day. I think that taught me the most about myself. I have and do completely forgive the friend.
Did I go to the police, No. Should I have? I don’t know. I just wanted the whole experience to be behind me. Although I still have some small residual effects I think I have used the experienced to make me stronger. I don’t live in fear of people, places or experiences.
It hasn’t always been easy and I have had to make some conscious effort. I hate to even tell this part but it’s relevant to how I made myself work at letting this guy take more from me than he did. The guy who raped me was black. For the first couple of months when I smelled black hair care products I would freak out a little. We were on the Tube in London and the only seat on the train was next to the biggest black guy I ever seen. My heart started pounding and my palms sweating. I made myself go sit next to him. He was reading the paper with his elbows on the armrest. I made myself keep sitting closer and closer to him. I practically pushed his elbows into his lap. He looked my like was freaking crazy and got off and the next stop. He looked back and just shook his head. I swear I was back to normal after that. That guy doesn’t know what a favor he did me.
The whole experience sucked frankly but I have learned that there isn’t much I can’t handle. I’m pretty bad ass if I do say so myself. That’s not to say I wouldn’t have rather found that out an easier way or that I wouldn’t mind being a little less strong.
Those of you reading from Facebook. Please don’t make any remarks about your sorry or I feel terrible for you. If you do I will drop you as friend.
