i write to express myself, release emotions, and share my experiences for better or worse…it's raw and genuine. i have been asked several times "can i write on your site" and i wasn't sure how i felt about that until now; it's only fair that i pay it forward and allow my amazing readers a place to feel free. here is the first submission…what a brave soul. my heart is full knowing that you felt safe & comfortable enough to share your story with me and brave & strong enough to share with the world!
Please don’t get it twisted. I’m not an attention seeking chic looking for her 15 mins of fame, and I’m not a victim wanting justice for a crime committed years ago. I am simply me. I’d like to raise awareness for all the young women out there whom do not know it could happen to them. Or, for the women who have their own story to tell, yet can’t find a voice. Jacqueline’s raw journey with Endometriosis has inspired me to write my own tale. Please take a moment, read my story, (without judgement) tell the tale, or keep it to yourself…either way, 1 more person who knows, is 1 more person walking with eyes wide open.
I was 19, carefree, and strong. I thought nothing could break me down, scare me, or put me on pause. I was fearless. I came from an extremely strict household, I was never the type of girl that could go out when she felt like it, even with notice. I was in my second year of college, working retail, when the most amazing looking young hispanic man with blue green eyes came in. I was so shy. I had just lost all of my baby weight so I was looking cute, yet I never thought he would speak to me, but he did. He asked me for my number, and I didn't hesitate to give it to him. I couldn’t believe he was interested. We talked here and there. Never really went out, he visited me in the store a few times until finally….we decided to go to the movies. I felt on cloud nine.
That night plans changed from going to the movies, to watching the movie in his house. “Don't worry my mom is home.” Now, I know what you're thinking…”here we go,” but hello, his mom is home….harmless. He picked me up from work, we got to his house, and right before I step inside, he tells me to wait at the door. I was confused as to why I have to wait outside, but I never thought twice about it. I heard mumbles and suddenly the door opened, he pushed me through his house, and I’m rushed to his bedroom. He puts on 8 Mile, and tells me he is going to get us drinks. So, I wait.
He comes back into the room with 2 huge tupperware “glasses” filled with nutcracker. “One for you and one for me.” Funny, I’ve never been much of a drinker, but not even half way into the movie the delicious man was literally pouring the drink down my throat. And so, it begins. I blacked out. I remember coming in and out of consciousness. The first time I woke up, he was trying to make me give him head, when I realized what was happening, I tried to use my teeth as much as possible. Then, I blacked out. The second time I woke up he was taking off my clothes and asking me if I wanted to have sex. I said no, of course, but that didn’t change anything. I had just gotten my period that night, so sex wasn’t even in the back of my mind. I remember seeing him put on a condom, (thank god) and I remember him on top of me, inside me. I blacked out again. I guess my period was too heavy, because the next time I woke up, he was trying to lead me into the bathroom.
At this point my survival skills are trying to take over. I didn't know where I was, I didn't know how to get home, I didn't even know where my clothes or cell phone were. What I did know was that I was being forced to have sex, and that I needed to sober up as fast as possible. All I kept thinking was that I needed to get out of there. I didn't care if I ran outside naked, I just wanted to be safe. Alcohol was holding me back. I was a nursing student, and I’ve worked with doctors my whole life. I knew what could happen, I tried but I blacked out again in the tub.
The cold water on my back woke me up, I was standing. He unfortunately was behind me, and I realized that he no longer was going to let my period get in the way…he proceeded to have anal intercourse with me. My speech was slurred so badly that he couldn’t understand a word that I was saying, I couldn’t even understand what I was saying. I threw myself down in the tub, put my finger down my throat, and made myself throw up as much alcohol as possible. The asshole got upset, he started yelling at me that he was going to leave me there and he left the bathroom, slamming the door. I wouldn’t allow myself to black out again. I tried singing, talking to myself, focusing on the bathroom tiles, crying, anything that I could think of to make myself stay awake.
He came back into the bathroom after some time. Everything seemed to be going so slow. Every moment took what seemed years to complete. I tried to get out of the tub, almost killing myself by tumbling down on the hard ceramic floor. He wanted to take me back into the bedroom, and I refused. At this point, I’m starting to stable myself. My words are becoming more clear, and I’m not blacking out anymore, but I was still scared. I didn't want to be raped anymore. He pulled my arm, and I requested to use the toilet. As shameful as it sounds, he watched and waited as I pooped. (for lack of a better word) Maybe my period wasn’t going to stop him, but this will?
Devil walked me back to his room, I laid down and fell to sleep. When I woke up, he was shooting a BB gun out of his window into a nearby park. I looked for all of my clothes and cell phone. I called my friend and told her that I needed a ride home. I didn't want to get into too much detail or state that I had just been raped for fear that he would take offense and hit me or worse. I asked him to give me a ride to her house and he accepted.
As I left his house, I was trying to remember everything that I saw, his house, the street name and signs. What’s funny about being raped is that for some reason you remember everything you want to forget and forget everything you want to remember. I finally got to my friends house and broke down crying. Still to this day, I’m so grateful that she took me in. We go through our tough times, but when I look back on that warm day in August, her hospitality makes me forget everything that I could be mad at her about. She sobered me up as best she could, and she drove me home. She’s kept my secret till this day, and we don't speak about it. The next day he called me in the morning. He told me that he didn't rape me, that it would be a disgrace for me to tell the police, and that his mother was in the other room the entire time…that no one would believe me. So, I believed him. I was in pain, and all I wanted was to forget and live in denial. I never said anything to the police, or my parents.
I went from a 3.5 GPA in college, to academic probation. My GPA dropped down to a 1.3. I couldn’t work anymore. I had to quit my job, I was terrified he would show up, but he never did. The few people I confided in called me a liar, and the others didn't know what to do. So, I put myself through therapy. The icing on the cake happened a year later.
One person I confided in the most was a previous boyfriend I had. He was my first love, first everything. We no longer were together, but he always protected me and loved me. I felt safe crying on his shoulder. After a few months he wanted to rekindle our relationship, but I wasn’t ready. He called my mother one day while I was at work, and told her that I had been raped a year ago. He said that he wanted to hurt me the way I was hurting him. My mother went INSANE. Instead of supporting me, and loving me, or helping me, my mother branded me a whore. Till this day, my mother says that I wanted it and was looking for it. She even called my fiancé about a year ago, to apologize to him for raising a whore and to thank him for taking on a tainted woman. We no longer speak about that night.
It has been 9 years since I was raped, I can’t remember things about that night that I wanted to, like where the name of the street, or even the actual day in August it happened on. Yet, I have moved on and I’m in a very committed relationship. There isn’t a day that I am not reminded about what happened to me. Anything sets my memory off. The smell of alcohol, the sound of water running, even my period is a tough time. I can’t take that night away, I can't change what my family thinks, but I’ve learned to change what I think about myself. Thanks to therapy, I know it wasn’t my fault, I know that I didn't deserve that, and I got over my post traumatic stress disorder. Whether my rapist likes it or not, I’m stronger and more aware of everything. I may not be the best writer, but I hope my story sheds light on a subject that women hardly speak about. 1 in every 6 women are raped in the United States, 80% are under the age of 30, and every 2 minutes someone is sexually assaulted. This was extremely difficult to write, I’m literally shaking and in tears, but I know that it is for a good cause. If you're still reading this, thank you, you're one more person aware, one more person my voice has reached.