We each have our own personal hells. I share mine with 1 in 6 women and approximately 92,000 men a year in the US alone. It's been a long time coming, but I've finally come clean with my past to the people I care about. It's been suggested that I write about it in an attempt to let some of it go. I feel comfortable doing it in this medium as it's likely to be found by either people I do not know, or people I want to have the opportunity to read it. So here we go and bear with me....some of this will be explicit and triggering for many people:
Almost everyday after school, I would get off the bus and walk straight to the library in my town. I'd stay until around 5pm and then begin walking back so that I would be home before my mother and father should they decide to come straight home instead of heading to the bar. On this day, I had just passed the gated retention pond and was about half way home when I heard voices off to my side. I didn't see them coming, but the next thing I knew, one of them was grabbing me by the hair and covering my mouth with his other hand while dragging me into a garage. Once inside, the taller man who was holding me shoved me to the ground and starting taking my clothes off while the shorter man kneeled down on my neck and gagged me with what looked like an old washcloth. When I tried to yell, one of slapped me across the face and it was at this point that I realized it was pretty much fruitless to try and struggle; I was outnumbered and a third of the size of these me. I eventually just laid there praying to God that they wouldn't kill me and wishing the concrete ground would just swallow me whole.
Unfortunately, it didn't. The taller man went first. I watched long enough to see him strip his pants and put on a condom. He looked me in the eyes and said, "let's do this". I closed my eyes and braced myself for the worst. Forgetting about the gag, I attempted to shriek at the pain I felt when he started; it hurt far more than I possibly could have imagined. It felt as if he had torn through every organ in my lower abdomen, and then it happened over and over again. Finally, what seemed like hours later, he seemed to finish with me and stood up and pulled up his pants. At this point I had completely given up on God and the concrete floor swallowing me up. Little did I know, they were not nearly done with me. The smaller man strode over from where he had been standing a few feet away and started undoing his belt. He got down on his knees and smirked as he pulled my arms above my head. Holding my wrists down with what seemed to be all of his weight, he started on me too. Over and over and over again. It seemed to stretch on into eternity. He pulled out and I thought they were finally done. I was wondering what they were going to do with me when the man on me sat back on his heels and looked over at the taller man who had been just standing over us, watching, and said, "toss that over here, let's have some fun". The taller man tossed him what looked like an old wooden bat from off a shelf. He caught it and pressed it into my neck saying, "if you breathe a word of this to anyone we will find you and do this again. We know where you live and that your friend lives in the house behind yours. Tell anyone and we'll do it to her too." He pulled the bat off and replaced it with his hand, choking me while he shoved the bat's handle into me over and over. It must have been an old one, as it felt like it was splintering inside of me. Eventually, the blistering pain subsided and he stood up. Tossing the bat to the side, he pulled me off the floor and held my face to him with both hands. He said, "tell anyone and we will find you, understand?" I nodded, shaking. he released me and instructed me to get dressed and get out. In disbelief, I pulled my shirt down, jammed my legs into my jeans, and fled. Sprinting down the alley, I heard a truck start up somewhere behind me. I ran even faster, the adrenaline flowing through my body. I didn't stop until I was in my bathroom behind several locked doors. Fortunately for me, no one was home yet, so it didn't look suspicious. At first I sat in the corner and just shook. Then I showered. And showered. And showered some more....I never really felt entirely clean. While I showered, I contemplated going to the police or telling my mother and father. But fear outweighed logic; fear outweighed logic for over a decade. It was around then that I realized I had left my newly-borrowed library books and sweatshirt on the concrete floor of that garage. Clearly, I had no intentions of going back for them.
For the next week or two I spent as little time as possible at my house. I didn't want them to come looking for me or my family/friends. I did a lot of research on rape survivors and their stories and how they coped. I fell into a lame pattern of stealing my parents' alcohol [not difficult to do for those of you who do not know me] and quickly figured out that it wasn't for me. I could only do it at night and at home, so I found something I could conceal and do pretty much anywhere and anytime I needed to escape. I started cutting, and it has been my vice for the last decade. I've been clean of that for the last couple of months...so I suppose that's something. I guess sometimes, when you're just not given the proper tools to love and respect yourself, when you feel more alone than you could have possibly imagined, you do desperate things. Things you cannot change, but things that make you who you are nonetheless. And I guess this is who I am. Fortunately, I've finally found people that I trust enough to tell this story to and from them I've started to accept that this is a thing that happened to me and is over. Now if only the night terrors would cease and desist.
So yeah. Here we are. That's all I have for y'all. If you just read all of this, I apologize for making your day that much suckier.
Almost everyday after school, I would get off the bus and walk straight to the library in my town. I'd stay until around 5pm and then begin walking back so that I would be home before my mother and father should they decide to come straight home instead of heading to the bar. On this day, I had just passed the gated retention pond and was about half way home when I heard voices off to my side. I didn't see them coming, but the next thing I knew, one of them was grabbing me by the hair and covering my mouth with his other hand while dragging me into a garage. Once inside, the taller man who was holding me shoved me to the ground and starting taking my clothes off while the shorter man kneeled down on my neck and gagged me with what looked like an old washcloth. When I tried to yell, one of slapped me across the face and it was at this point that I realized it was pretty much fruitless to try and struggle; I was outnumbered and a third of the size of these me. I eventually just laid there praying to God that they wouldn't kill me and wishing the concrete ground would just swallow me whole.
Unfortunately, it didn't. The taller man went first. I watched long enough to see him strip his pants and put on a condom. He looked me in the eyes and said, "let's do this". I closed my eyes and braced myself for the worst. Forgetting about the gag, I attempted to shriek at the pain I felt when he started; it hurt far more than I possibly could have imagined. It felt as if he had torn through every organ in my lower abdomen, and then it happened over and over again. Finally, what seemed like hours later, he seemed to finish with me and stood up and pulled up his pants. At this point I had completely given up on God and the concrete floor swallowing me up. Little did I know, they were not nearly done with me. The smaller man strode over from where he had been standing a few feet away and started undoing his belt. He got down on his knees and smirked as he pulled my arms above my head. Holding my wrists down with what seemed to be all of his weight, he started on me too. Over and over and over again. It seemed to stretch on into eternity. He pulled out and I thought they were finally done. I was wondering what they were going to do with me when the man on me sat back on his heels and looked over at the taller man who had been just standing over us, watching, and said, "toss that over here, let's have some fun". The taller man tossed him what looked like an old wooden bat from off a shelf. He caught it and pressed it into my neck saying, "if you breathe a word of this to anyone we will find you and do this again. We know where you live and that your friend lives in the house behind yours. Tell anyone and we'll do it to her too." He pulled the bat off and replaced it with his hand, choking me while he shoved the bat's handle into me over and over. It must have been an old one, as it felt like it was splintering inside of me. Eventually, the blistering pain subsided and he stood up. Tossing the bat to the side, he pulled me off the floor and held my face to him with both hands. He said, "tell anyone and we will find you, understand?" I nodded, shaking. he released me and instructed me to get dressed and get out. In disbelief, I pulled my shirt down, jammed my legs into my jeans, and fled. Sprinting down the alley, I heard a truck start up somewhere behind me. I ran even faster, the adrenaline flowing through my body. I didn't stop until I was in my bathroom behind several locked doors. Fortunately for me, no one was home yet, so it didn't look suspicious. At first I sat in the corner and just shook. Then I showered. And showered. And showered some more....I never really felt entirely clean. While I showered, I contemplated going to the police or telling my mother and father. But fear outweighed logic; fear outweighed logic for over a decade. It was around then that I realized I had left my newly-borrowed library books and sweatshirt on the concrete floor of that garage. Clearly, I had no intentions of going back for them.
For the next week or two I spent as little time as possible at my house. I didn't want them to come looking for me or my family/friends. I did a lot of research on rape survivors and their stories and how they coped. I fell into a lame pattern of stealing my parents' alcohol [not difficult to do for those of you who do not know me] and quickly figured out that it wasn't for me. I could only do it at night and at home, so I found something I could conceal and do pretty much anywhere and anytime I needed to escape. I started cutting, and it has been my vice for the last decade. I've been clean of that for the last couple of months...so I suppose that's something. I guess sometimes, when you're just not given the proper tools to love and respect yourself, when you feel more alone than you could have possibly imagined, you do desperate things. Things you cannot change, but things that make you who you are nonetheless. And I guess this is who I am. Fortunately, I've finally found people that I trust enough to tell this story to and from them I've started to accept that this is a thing that happened to me and is over. Now if only the night terrors would cease and desist.
So yeah. Here we are. That's all I have for y'all. If you just read all of this, I apologize for making your day that much suckier.
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