I was 15.
I am one of that tiny 4% of survivors of stranger rape. It was just like you read about in the papers. Only my story wasn’t in the papers.
Fifteen. A sophomore in high school. It was early spring; I’d been back from London, where I’d spent the first half of that school year, for about three months. The hiatus from my suburban public school in the states made me feel out of place, and that, combined with my wild adolescent hormones and confusions about my sexuality (I was barely conscious of them, as such, but they were there), made for some emotional turbulence.
I coped with this turbulence in two ways: disordered eating, and disordered exercising. I didn’t have body image issues—it was never about how I looked. It was about how I felt. I felt utterly out of place in my body, out of control of my life. Controlling my food and my exercise felt like a way I could get things back into my own grip and start finding my way again.
And so it happened that one night, as I often did, I got up for a midnight run. Snuck out of the house after my parents were asleep to hound my sense of urgency about I-didn’t-know-what into the neighborhood sidewalks with my feet. That night, as usual, the streets were empty and I had them to myself. Except that I didn’t have them completely to myself, because suddenly I heard a car door open right behind me, a car that had been just sitting, parked, by the curb, waiting, lights off, so I had no idea at all there was anyone there, and suddenly there he was right behind me and rather than fighting or kicking or yelling or screaming when he grabbed me I froze. I closed my eyes. I dissociated. So my memory and my flashbacks aren’t of me in my body, being raped in the back of his car. They’re of me hovering somewhere in some purgatory that must be reserved for such things watching the shell of my body get raped. I watched this man from up above, and while I was sick with fear and hurt for that body down there, I also couldn’t stop thinking why is he doing this? how ill is this man that he can see this same body that I am seeing right now and not feel compassion and respect for it? And I pitied him.
But as soon as it was over and he pushed me out of his car, grunting that I should be grateful he didn’t kill me so I’d better not tell a soul, I was *snap* right back in my body and that pity and wonder I’d felt from above blew up in smoke and there I was, back in that body of mine, and I started puking and lay there on the sidewalk throwing up and bleeding and praying to the god I didn’t even believe in to help me get up on my feet because I knew that if I didn’t, I would die. Not from physical injury, but because my soul was flattened under the weight of the hurt and movement, I knew, was the only way I could coax it back to life.
***
I didn’t tell anyone that night, or the next day, or the day after. Or for thousands of days after that. No one knew. I didn’t go to the hospital. I didn’t call the police. I didn’t get a pregnancy test or a pap smear and when my period didn’t come when it was supposed to, and three weeks came and went and it still wasn’t there, I didn’t go to Planned Parenthood. I knew I wasn’t necessarily pregnant, that the sheer trauma was enough to fuck up my cycle, but I was afraid to find out, so instead I sat at the computer in the public library and searched the internet for ways to intentionally miscarry. Just in case. And I did them all. One day a few weeks later I had the worst period of my life, so much blood, so much cramping, and maybe it wasn’t actually my menstrual cycle revving its engine to start up again anew, maybe it was something else I can’t even type. I’ll never know.
***
And meanwhile, no one knew. You know why? You know why no one knew about a fifteen-year-old girl who had been raped at knifepoint on neighborhood streets, a girl who was hurting so much that she didn’t know where to put it all except to absorb it in her pores which would harden and splinter and break her into a hundred thousand pieces? You know why no one knew?
Because we live in a fucking victim-blaming society. Because the fifteen-year-old me, already emotionally fragile even before, would not have survived the brutality of being questioned, doubted, chastised, scorned, patronized, picked apart. Blamed. I’d been explicitly taught and had absorbed through cultural osmosis that women who are raped are dirty, they’re trash, they deserve it. Sluts. Bad things don’t happen to good girls. Keep your legs closed, dress modestly, don’t talk to strangers, don’t go out at night by yourself, yell and scream for help, carry pepper spray, take a self-defense class, say no loud and clear and with your body, make sure he knows you mean it. Because obviously it’s YOUR responsibility to make sure you’re saying it in a way HE understands. If you do all those things right, nothing bad can happen to you. And if something bad does happen? You did something wrong. You were out running at night on quiet streets? You were asking for it. Here, have some fucking preventive measures. Next time you’ll be better off.
Next time? What next time? Why is there a next time? (This is just Part I, after all.) There’s a next time because when you blame the victim, the perpetrator gets away. Even if he gets locked up, he still gets away. And you get laden with more responsibilities, you are given a longer list of things you need to do to prevent rape. And if you don’t do them, then next time’s your fault too.
Always be alert and aware.
Get in the habit of looking inside your car and the back seat before you get into the vehicle.
Always keep your drink in your hand.
Install adequate exterior lighting at all entrances.
Be afraid. Know your place.
*
April is Sexual Assault Awareness Month. If you aren’t fucking aware already you’d better open up your eyes and ears to the stories we’re all telling. And also, can this awareness extend beyond April? Awesome.
alphafemme, i’m so sorry to read that this horrible violation happened to you when you were fifteen. you have written a powerful piece, and so are YOU.
xo.
i’m so, so sorry this happened to you, and that things like this ever happen to anyone. it makes me so angry. our society is so broken that something like this could happen, and no one could give you the help you needed once it did happen. thank you for telling this story, you are really brave and amazing. xo.
you are so brave to share this story.
i’m so sad to hear it but i commend you for sharing.
Thank you for writing this. Like everyone reading here I’m so sorry this happened to you, and I think you are wonderfully brave. Like the other survivors reading here I am so proud of all of us for getting through it, (often alone) and surviving to tell our stories. We desperately need to stop the ‘victim blaming’ mentality – so pervasive and like a repetitive punishment by society for our supposed transgressions.
Again, thank you. Love fimg X
My respect for you just increased tenfold.
You’re brave.
And my heart breaks for that fifteen year old girl, the pain and hurt you carried all alone.
You didn’t let it crush you. Respect. And honour. And admiration.
This brought tears to my eyes. I’m so sorry this happened to you. So. sorry.
I want to hug that teenaged girl, and tell her that it’s NOT her fault and I’m so sorry and that she’s not alone.
Thank you so, so much for writing this. You are truly amazing and brave and strong. Thank you.
I, like everyone else here, am so very sorry to read about this. It wasn’t ever your fault, and the victim isn’t at fault. No one si ever asking for it, it jsut sasly happens. You are such a brave and strong woman, even then. I am so grateful you came through all that and grew to an amazing person. I’m sorry that you may never know what happened afterwards when your period started. I am so very sorry you still have those memories. I hope that you can go and speak to people about this with the rape crisis center. I think you story is very powerful and moving, and one I think every person should hear. It would make a difference to more than one person.
Thank you for sharing this with us. I don’t know what it was like for you to type this out but just know how grateful I am to you for doing it.
first time to your blog.. alpha… what a powerful post. thank you for sharing this. i too am a survivor and have discussed it a few times on my blog… we must all stand together on united front and say NO MORE. sharing is the only way to help eachother… thank you for doing that. you will never know if what you wrote helped save another girl from the same, or given her courage to fight back…. if i would have read your story when mine was going on it would have helped me….
i am so sorry it happened to you. i hope your heart and soul heals, hon… it was never your fault.. do NOT let society or anyone even fucking try to put any blame on you.
bastards..
hugs to you,
chris
Coming here from Greg’s –
I do not know you, but I love that 15 year old girl and I am in awe of the woman who can tell her story.
Thank you for sharing and for your kind words!
And in my experience the awareness can last. It may only be within a small community online, but it still makes all the difference. Sometimes it can be heartbreaking to know and listen to the stories of so many different women, but mostly it’s just empowering.
Oh, and I also wanted to say that this in an achingly beautifully written piece.
This made me cry. It’s incredibly powerful. Thank you.
Alphafemme,
Thank you for sharing the stories that too many of us are often too afraid to tell. Your bravery and strength is immense and impressive.
My partner is in that small percentage of stranger-rape, as well, and I see how it affects the lives of those affected on a daily basis. The power comes in sharing your story so we can protect all of the other women (and men) out there from a similar fate.
April is the month to BEGIN talking about this. Our respect for those who undergo sexual violence, and our desire to end that violence should extend well past this month.
Peace.
RadDyke
Thank-you for sharing your story with us, your strength is amazing. The way society deals with rape hurts my soul, it’s almost as if people deflect responsibility and instead of trying to change things they push that responsibility on the victims (or potential victims), which is a horrible thing to do. And yes every month should be awareness month; honesty like yours will ensure that such awareness is continued….thank-you.
What a deeply moving post. Just last week one of my student’s comments in class reminded me how many well-meaning people simply don’t understand the courage that it takes to survive and thrive (as you have) after a devastating assault like this. What advice would you give to girls and young women, I wonder?
You’re an inspiration.
xo
SF
I don’t even know what to say.
This made me cry. Thanks, alphafemme.
I can’t even imagine what it was like to write this post, much less go through that experience. I read it right after getting back from a PostSecret event in which we discussed sharing the things that are hard because it helps us heal, and it helps someone else in the world feel a little less alone. Needless to say, it’s had me thinking for a while.
Thank you for your courage. You’re pretty amazing.
I hate that this happened to you, and the mama bear in me is thrashing at all the harm constantly poised at women and girls like this, like you and I, and of course my own petite, who is not so far from being fifteen herself. That’s all I can manage right now, anything more crushes all the air right out of my lungs!
You’re a very brave and strong woman to have survived that, and to share it. Thank you.
As I wipe my tears, I also salute you. From one Survivor to another, there is beauty in tragedy, because out of this crazy evil that we have experienced, we have grown and blossomed and overcomed.
much love and respect to you…
I just wanted to leave a note to say…I don’t know. That I’ve read this. And that you’re not alone. Consider this the commenting equivalent of an understanding nod and a fraternal pat on the shoulder, from one with no useful words.
Well said. Having been a victum of sexual violence myself, I hear you loud and clear. I never asked for what was done to me, yet it still happened. I thought I followed all the ‘rules’ to prevent something like that from happening, sadly enough, it happened anyways.
I applaud you from writing this. Your words spoke volumes. Thank you.