Unburdened.
**Trigger Warning: Please see bottom before reading**
Five years. It’s been 5 years and this will be the first time I speak out publicly about my truth, but I promise you it won't be the last.
I was raped.
I was raped by a friend.
I was raped by a friend in my own home.
I invited a friend over to see my new house. I was just days out of the military. My husband at the time was deployed, but we both knew this person pretty well; well enough to trust him. We were sitting on my couch talking about work and my husbands deployment when I got up to use the restroom. I went into my room and when I came out of the bathroom, he was standing there. He coaxed me over to my bed and laid me down. I told him I didn't want to do anything. He said he remembered that I like to play hard to get. He unzipped, pulled my shorts aside, and did what he wanted. I asked him to stop. He reminded me he knew I "like it rough and enjoy playing hard to get." I froze. Tears welled in my eyes as I said NO one more time. He replied with, "just let me finish I'm almost done.” He finished and as I sat there with tears streaming, unable to look him in the eye, he asked me not to tell my husband we had sex.
Rape isn't always what's shown on tv. Your biggest threat isn’t the stranger in an alley. It's more likely to be someone you know, someone you think you trust. It's not about what you're wearing or how you're acting. My clothes (a baggy t-shirt and cotton shorts) and my actions that night weren't meant as sexual or inviting. And even if they were, that's still not consent. Nothing excuses what happened or changes the fact it was rape.
It took me almost two years to accept what happened to me even was rape. I mean I invited him in. I had been with him sexually in the past. I didn't really fight him off. I said no, but did he hear me? Maybe I wasn't forceful enough. He did say he knew I didn't mean it. We are taught that “real rape” doesn’t look like this. I didn’t have bruises. I didn’t punch or scream. Did I mean no?
Damn right I did. Damn right, I meant it. The fear in my voice meant it. My trembling hands meant it. The tears rolling down my face meant it. I wondered for a long time if he even knew what he did was rape. The casual don't tell your husband on the way out tells me he knew he did something wrong, but I still wonder if those moments haunt him the way they've haunted me.
What I do know is he doesn't know that I got pregnant that night. He doesn't know that I had a very confusing miscarriage. He doesn’t know I blamed myself or still do sometimes. He doesn't know that I have trouble trusting men. He doesn't know I've struggled to have healthy male friendships.
Should he be sheltered from the pain? Should any rapist get to continue their lives free of guilt or remorse? Should we shield anyone that forces themselves or coerces someone into a sexual act from the shame that belongs to them and them alone? NO. FUCK THAT. We can do better. We deserve better. We cannot remain silent, quietly blaming ourselves, hiding our truths in the shadows of shame that's not ours to begin with.
Over the last few months I've had a number of my friends come to me about sexual assaults. They had questions about whether or not it was assault. What should they do next? Will anyone believe them? Should they speak up? How do they heal? And I've been at a loss for words because I never spoke up about mine. I still feel guilty sometimes when I say I was raped. I feel like I’m doing something wrong by saying it out loud and I’m tired of feeling that way so I decided to share this.
Why?
Because I still feel like I need to hide it.
Because I'm still ashamed to share this experience.
Because I'm scared of people not believing me.
Because I worry what people will think of me.
See I was using drugs and abusing alcohol. I was not conducting myself like the lady my parents raised me to be. I don’t remember most of October 2011. Aside from a few lines of cocaine I vividly recall snorting in the bathroom at a halloween party. Most of the weeks following my rape are a blur, until the positive pregnancy test. A few days later, an ER trip took the last bit of rug under my feet and swept it away along with the baby. It was all too much to process let alone explain to others. Who would believe me? Who wouldn't blame me? Who could help me? I felt so alone.
The doctors assured me the miscarriage had nothing to do with my drug use. They swore it was just my body and that it would have happened either way, but I still blamed myself. I considered abortion. I considered adoption. I considered a million different things in those few days I knew I was pregnant. In the end, the universe took over and it wasn't my choice. None of this was my choice. My choices were made for me.
I’ve never let myself grieve that loss. I never felt like I had the right to. Instead, I just decided I would never attempt to have children of my own. I shut myself off the possibility because I didn’t want to have to face the emotions that another pregnancy might dredge up.
It’s been 5 years and I’m slowly healing the parts of me that day broke. It starts with saying it out loud, with owning my truth and sharing it unapologetically. I am not sorry if this makes you uncomfortable because IT SHOULD. Stories like mine should make us all uncomfortable. It's time we shine the light on the ugly truth. It's time to break the silence and make a difference. So I'm going to say it again:
I was raped.
I was raped by a friend.
I was raped by a friend in my own home.
And I’m done being the one who is ashamed.
[If you or someone you know have a sexual assault story and would like to share it, please visit http://jbt4753.wixsite.com/brokenzipperproject
A very dear friend of mine, Jade, started this project with huge hopes and a massive heart. She too wants to empower people with their own voice.]
- For more information on sexual assault and rape, please visit
**Sexual assault, rape, miscarriage, drug use**
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