The intro

Welcome to my crazy world.  A little background - I am a woman in my 30's who grew up in a relatively small mountain community my entire life.  My childhood was fabulous.  I lived in the biggest outdoor playground.  My early years consisted of skiing, hiking, camping, fishing, rafting, rock climbing and backpacking (don't worry I still do all this now plus more!!!).  I treasure that part of my life - it is what has gotten me through all the craziness.
I was sexually assaulted at the age of 15, and then again at 23, and then again at 25...  The childhood sexual assault turned my world upside down and inside out.  I turned to drugs and alochol for my survival mode.  I was in denial about the situations as was everyone else in my life. I can finally say I am in a wonderful spot in the healing process.  I definitely suffer from PTSD and mood disorders, but am able to work through it in a healthy manner now.
This blog has a purpose.  I want to educate the public about sexual assault through my experiences.  I want to open people eyes to the horror, so that hopefully people can come together and fight for a worthy cause!!!  I hope to disspell certain myths in regards to sexual assault.  I also want to show what the world of healing for a victim consists of.  It is an ugly subject and I give you forewarning now, but if we keep pretending it doesn't exist nothing can be done...  I also plan on discussing my family life - which wasn't the worst it could be, but drugs were involved a lot.  Hopefully if any of my family ends up reading this they understand I am not critical against them.  I love my family more than anything.  I just want to show the effects sexual assault and drug addictions can have on an entire family!
I am currently going to school in the big city, moved away from home, getting a Bachelor's in Speech Communication with an emphasis on Rhetoric and Public Address and a minor in Women's Studies.  I plan on educating the public throughout my lifetime on the myths and misconceptions of rape through my life story as well as the stories of other victims.  I have done a lot of public speaking now in the past few yearsI also would like to share my work experiences.  I volunteer for the CCASA (Colorado Coalition Against Sexual Assault), and hope to start volunteering for RAINN as well as Advocates For Victims of Assault (I currently do some work for them but it is minimal).

DISCLAIMERS:
#1 - the names have been changed in this story, and I will NOT disclose them.
#2 - please do not feel I am looking for sympathy.  I prefer empathy.
#3 - if you know me or figure out who I am feel free to talk to me about the things written here - obviously my life is an open book...
#4 - if you don't want to believe me or question the things I have said, please kindly stop reading...

A quick note

Just have to say, that for some reason I can't edit my intro post, lovely site.  ANyways, I speak of being sexually assaulted on 3 occassions.  Now that I have gone through LOTS of counseling and such, I have had to admit to myself the actual number of times it occured in my lifetime, and it is much more than previously disclosed.  Eventually I will begin to write about those to, when my mind is ready.

Hi, my name is... And I am a...

Hi, I have a name.  A name I choose not to disclose in this blog at this juncture.  I am a rape survivor.  Yes, I can say it to you on the computer, or sitting on the street.  I am a rape survivor.  Something I still am learning not to be ashamed of.  Something I have had to learn has changed my life, my values, my expectations - FOREVER.  Yes, FOREVER, the only thing in my life I will say is forever.  Thats a long time, seriously.  I don't believe in forever usually.  Thats why I don't believe in marriage.  Forever is so hard to commit to.  Life changes on a daily basis, so something you might say is forever one day could drastically change the next.  Anyways, back to the rape aspect of it all.  I have been raped multiple times.  Not once, not twice, not even thrice.  It took me 27 years and more rapes than I can count on my fingers to admit I had ever been raped.  I never saw it that way.  I was a bad person.  I was a rebel.  I put myself in bad situations.  I chose the wrong friends.  I wore the wrong clothes.  I drank too much.  I was a druggie.  I was an outcast looking for acceptance.  I caused it to happen.  It was my fault - EVERYTHING was my fault.  Always.  At least when I looked at life with that viewpoint there were things I could do to change the situations.  I could change.  I could become a better person.  I could dress differently.  I could stop going out.  I could stop drinking.  I could become a goody two-shoes.  I could get new friends.  I could stop living, stop experimenting, stop learning.  Yes, thats how easy it would have been...

They Stole My Innocence

s

I remember the first time I was ever raped.  According to the police I was abducted off the bus by some random strangers.  The reality of the rape is so far from the "truth" I gave to the police.  I always wanted to tell the truth about my situation, but at the time I was an incredibly fragile teen with no real support group.

            I suppose a little bit of background is necessary to begin the horrific saga.  I had what would be considered super cool parents growing up.  They were very easy-going and discipline was not a term I was familiar with.  They smoked pot and everyone knew it since I took the courtesy of stealing it from them all the time.  I did receive a lot of loving attention in my younger years, but once the terrible teens hit something changed in my parents.

            It was very obvious I was in serious need of attention, discipline, and direction from my parents.  Once I realized that was never going to happen I started turning to some very extreme measures.  I would be considered the typical rebellious teen.  I started hanging with some very rough crowds.  I picked up my first cigarette at the age of thirteen and it's a habit I am still trying to quit being thirty.  I started experimenting with alcohol in a major way at the age of thirteen.  I started smoking pot when I was fourteen.  After that my life started going in a gigantic downward spiral.  People say marijuana is a gateway drug.  I beg to differ.   Alcohol, peer pressure, lack of discipline, no self-esteem, and not fitting in were my gateway drug.

            When I was fifteen is when things started getting terribly out of hand.  I was starving for parental attention.  There were a few suicide attempts - I never really wanted to die I just needed to get attention somehow, even if it was by grossly unhealthy means.  My attempts were obviously never successful but a few came very close.

            The group of friends I chose kept getting more and more dangerous.  The type of people one would consider evil.  I lost my virginity when I was fifteen - definitely not to the right guy.  It didn't matter - I wanted to feel loved, I wanted to feel special.  He told me he was nineteen - in all actuality I believe he was twenty-two.  Him and his group of friends were my new "besties."

            After hanging with my new crowd for awhile I became very out of control.  Maybe if my parents had previously disciplined me they would have had a clue how to handle me, but that was not the case.  My mother and I got into a fight one day, and she used physical violence on me for the first time in my life.  She strangled me trying to keep me in check.  My mom is about six inches shorter than me so I kicked her slightly to get her off and then got myself out of the house immediately.  I of course ran to my "boyfriends" house purely because I felt I had nobody else to turn to.

            This situation ended up putting me in a rehab center for being suicidal and homicidal.  I think I tried cutting my wrists with a very dull knife.  My counselor convinced everyone I tried to kill my mom.  While in rehab many rumors were started about me, the biggest being my parents were going to charge statutory rape charges on my "boyfriend."  This of course was completely untrue but that is how small towns work.  (Now I look back and wish my parents would have done that, although it probably would have made me run away or something).

            The day I was raped is a day I will never forget.  I was riding the local free bus with my "besties."  I was drinking some soda - Dr. Pepper.  I don't know if they drugged it or if I was just so lost that I no longer had control over anything.  I felt out of body - like I was watching my life on a big movie screen, and knew what the main character, myself, was doing but had no control over my actions.  (If you have ever seen the movie Garden State - this day reminds me of the one scene where the main character is just floating through his days, but has no control of his actions).

            The four guys drew numbers out of one of their ball caps.  The reason for this was choosing their number in line to have their way with me.  We got to their house and I got taken into the bedroom next to the one I had lost my virginity in.  Erik one came in first.  We always called him Chester the Child Molester - go figure.  He had his way with me.  He didn't actually force himself upon me, but seeing as I was frozen in my tracks it was pretty obvious I was not willing.  I wanted to stop the sex so bad, but I couldn't.  I was like a deer frozen in the headlights.  Maybe I felt this was the only way I would ever be loved and receive attention.  Maybe I was drugged.  Maybe I lost my mind...  Maybe, maybe, maybe.   All the maybe's run through my head to this day - and I know they will never have definite answers.

            I don't know how long Chester had his way with me, but it seemed like days, months, years...  I guess the only good thing about him was either he was not to endowed, or all the drugs he did made him smaller, but at least it wasn't physically painful.  The emotional trauma is another story though.  He eventually got off and passed me to Jack. 

            This is about the time some of my emotions finally started making their way out.  I was bawling.  He didn't care though.  I remember him looking down on me through his thick rimmed glasses.  He was looking right at me, but his glance seemed so blank, as if he was without a soul.  I was just some pathetic hole for him to stick his nasty dick in and get pleasure from.  I still do not understand how one could have sex with another when they are bawling.  I guess when you are a sexual predator pain is what gets you off.  Well he got off.  I remember the disgusting filthy look of satisfaction on his demonic face.  He wiped his sweat off and it dripped on me.  I wanted to vomit so bad - I'm surprised I didn't. 

            Now it was time for Steven - the guy I lost my virginity to.  I was still crying - although not as much.  At least Steven was familiar sexual territory to me.  That didn't matter much though.  This was the third guy I had sex with in under an hour.  I felt dirty, guilty, ashamed, slutty, and oddly enough loved.  It is really incredible how a lost soul can feel loved by such monsters.

            We were about halfway through the encounter when all of the sudden Shantel came home - someone who hated me beyond belief.  I was never sure why, but for once her hatred towards me was about to do some good, although at the time I didn't feel that way.

            "You fucking slut," she screamed.  "I thought I told you last time to get the fuck out of here and never come back.  Bitch if you don't leave I will kick your ass."

            Steven tried to talk her out of it but nothing he said made a world of difference.  He had to get off me mid-sex.  At least the bastard didn't get off.

            I got out of the bed, sobbing harder than ever now and threw my clothes on my freshly violated body.  I felt so dirty and ashamed.  I was a SLUT, a WHORE, a DIRTY BITCH.  I ran so fast out of their apartment.  At the time I wasn't running from the guys, I was running from their insane roommate.  I look back now and thank god she came in when she did.  Only three out of four got to me that day, although number four had his way with me at a later date - unfinished business I guess.  I don't really remember where I ran to - probably some remote corner by myself.  I never spoke of this day to anyone for a long time.

            Seeing as I blamed myself for the incident I decided not to tell anyone about it.  I was hurting so bad inside, so I found other ways to make myself feel better.  I started doing more drugs.  Drugs were a great escape.  They numbed me for short periods of time.  I didn't have to think, I didn't have to feel, I didn't have to blame, I didn't have to deal.  I just held everything inside and let it bottle up slowly but surely.  My life began going into a downward spiral.  I found a new crowd to hang with and began dating a 19 year old (I was still 15, so still a little age inappropriate).  

            I became more and more rebellious as the days went by.  I dropped out of high school, unbeknownst to my parental units.  (I was a straight A student).  I was a complete asshole to my parents.  I didn't care about curfew or anything like that.  It probably would have helped if my parents disciplined me, but that didn't happen.

            I remember the day everything finally built up inside of me to the point where I needed to get it out.  I was terrified.  There was part of me that knew what happened was rape, but mostly I still blamed myself for everything.  I didn't know how to talk about anything, so the easiest way for me was to not go home, and then concoct this insanely crazy story.  I was supposed to be home around ten or something, and I didn't show up until one.  My parents were pretty pissed - obviously, and were yelling at me.  So my creation began.  I told them I had just been accosted off the bus by some strangers, and that they took me out into a snowbank and raped me, and then left me for dead.  Even repeating this tremendous lie right now, I don't get how they didn't question the circumstances.

            Instead of talking to me about it - which is honestly all I EVER needed my parents to do, they took me to the police station the next morning.  I know they thought they were doing the right thing, unfortunately back in 1996 the protocol for sexual assault victims was to re-victimize them, to scare them.  I was thrown into the interrogation room all ALONE with a MALE police officer.  Let me just say - the last thing a female rape victim wants is to be alone in a room with an intimidating male figure.

            Now I honestly tried to keep this story going.  I figured if I told the wrong story about the right guys that something would at least happen to them for what they did to me.  I thought I could keep my lie going to get the point across still.  So of course, when you make one lie, it turns into two, and then into ten, and then you are in the middle of a great big web of lies.  So yes, my story to the police was full of inconsistencies - DUH.  The asshole made me tell about the rape in detail at least ten times.   What fifteen year old girl in their right mind would feel comfortable telling an unknown male in detail about any sex, consensual or not?  Really, try this on for size - sit down with a member of the opposite sex and tell them in detail about your last sexual encounter.  It's not a fun thing.  The police officer made me give them the clothing from the night of the rape to test for semen samples, knowing it happened a few days prior.  Of course I didn't know what the hell I wore that night a few months back, so I gave some random pieces of clothing that I thought I might have been wearing..

            Now of course, all they found was my boyfriends semen, and the police told me he was going to have my boyfriend arrested.  Being young and naive, this scared the shit out of me.  I knew that since  my boyfriend was of age they could have put him in jail for statutory rape.  So you know what I did - I told the cop I had lied and to please drop the case.  I got what I wanted - the case was dropped and soon forgotten about in my household.  Literally not another word was said about anything.  It took me fifteen years to figure out why this became unspoken, and I will soon get to that story.

Am I Dreaming

S

Rape unfortunately became something I became familiar with.  Some say that once you have been raped you are "prone to be raped again."  That is horrible to think.  My take on it is that a rape victim who does not seek help tends to become a victim over and over.  Until proper help is received, there is a chance of re-occurrence.  I think sexual predators can sense a person with low self-esteem.  They flock to it like a vulture flocks to dead meat.

            I had this friend of mine, Nate, that I had known for about two years.  We had been roommates at one point.  Drinking was a game we were both all too familiar with.  I was still in a numbing phase in life.  I believe I was twenty-three when the incident occurred.  I was a very heavy drinker.  The norm was at least ten shots of jagermeister mixed with about six-twelve beers or cocktails.  I blacked out a lot.  There are so many nights that I can't recall anything after a certain time.  I was also doing a lot of cocaine, I'm sure that didn't help.

            I was dating someone - although since this part of my life is such a blur I honestly can't remember who.  Probably another nice guy that I totally screwed over (I had the typical pattern of staying with the jerks and getting screwed over by them, and then dating nice guys and completely destroying any chance with them).  Nate knew my boyfriend though, and I think they were even friends.  Anyways, Nate and I went out together one night.  We got pretty wasted, although this was not a blackout night.  I remember everything.

            Nate was going to crash on my couch as we didn't leave until 2 am and he lived up the mountain and getting a taxi would take hours.  No big deal though, we had lived together before and I completely trusted my friend.

            We got to my house and I had the munchies (must not have done any cocaine that night).  I threw a pizza in the oven and Nate and I went to the couch to watch some television.  I was super tired and kept dozing out.  I am actually infamous for falling asleep in the middle of conversations, movies, dancing, whatever.  The pizza finished and I brought it back to the couch with me.

            I was nodding in and out of it, eating pizza during every waking moment.  Eventually, I was completely passed out.  When I get really intoxicated, I have some very crazy and realistic dreams.  This particular night I was having a sex dream about my boyfriend (pretty sure I was dating Dan).  I remember it clearly, because it was some of the best sex sex in my life (too bad it was only a dream).  We were getting really hot and heavy, and all of the sudden my dream was interrupted.  I couldn't wake up though, but something felt wrong.

            I was still dreaming, and the sex kept getting weirder and weirder.  I remember all of the sudden actually being able to open my eyes again.  Every time I would open my eyes I would see Nate, but every time I would close them I would see my boyfriend.  At first, I thought my mind was playing tricks on me.  Then all of the sudden I felt a weight on top of me.  I opened my eyes again, and there was Nate.  Only this time I realized I was not dreaming, and Nate was really on top of me, and we were having sex.

            I gave a startled yelp and Nate looked down at me.  "What's wrong?" he asked.

            "I was sleeping, and now you are on top of me and inside me," I slowly stuttered.  "I thought I was having sex with my boyfriend.  What the hell is going on?  How did this happen?  I don't remember asking you for sex ever.  What are you doing?  Get the hell off of me."  My tone was definitely becoming angry.  I may have been drunk, but gosh darn-it, I KNOW I am not okay with this.  This is fucked up.  Something is not right.  I must be dreaming.

            Nate looked super confused, but he did stop right away and get off of me.  He sat right next to me and looked up at me, almost in tears.  "I'm sorry.  I'm really, really sorry," he cried out.  "I, I, I don't, I don't know what I was thinking.  I don't know what I was doing.  I'm fucked up, man, I fucked up bad"

            The one thing I can say about this incident is that Nate did own up to what he did.  He never once tried to say it was my fault or I brought it on.  He KNEW he did something that was more than inappropriate.  That's probably why I never went to the police about this case.  That and the fact that the police terrified me and I was under the impression that they wanted to hurt me more than help me.

            Nate left the next morning before I got up and around.  We haven't spoken since then.  At first I saw him around town a couple of times and it was hard.  He was drunk, I was drunk, and tears were the only interaction we had.  Then I moved away, so it was easy to go without seeing him.  I heard he turned his life around.  He stopped drinking, started going to church and found his faith.  I did go to church about three years ago and saw him there with a girl and a baby that I later found out was his.  That doesn't make what happened between Nate and I any better, but it does help a little.  At least this person saw what he did was wrong, and I'd like to think it's part of the reason he made so many changes.

Bad Judgement

S

So here we go again.  This actually is the third rape (fourth sexual assault) I have been through. It is the most recent, and therefore the freshest on my mind.  You might read this and think, "That girl was asking for it," or, "Well she was doing drugs so she deserved it."  (Trust me I have heard it all before.)  Before I tell you my story I just need to give a scenario.  Two guys are in a bar drinking and playing pool together.  They are having a good time, and decide to do some cocaine as well. Throughout the night they start squabbling, at first just mean words, but then a huge blowout happens. Man number one ends up beating man number two so badly, to the point where he ends up having lifelong effects like brain damage, anxiety, post traumatic stress disorder, etc... So my question for you, "Did man number two deserve to be put in the hospital and have lifelong effects simply because he was intoxicated from drugs and alcohol?"  Think about this while reading my story.

            When I was twenty-five I was very messed up in the head.  I still had never dealt with the various rape incidents from my past, and I had no support system what-so-ever (at least that was how I felt).  Drugs and alcohol were survival mode for me.  Obviously not the healthiest way of dealing with life, but it was all I knew at that point.  It's weird to say "drugs and alcohol saved my life," but for the time being they did.  If it were not for those vices I most definitely would have successfully committed suicide.  I still always wonder how my life would have turned if the three men who raped me when I was fifteen actually got prosecuted.  But...  They didn't..

            Anyways it was fall in the mountains, a relatively slow period in my town.  It's time for everyone to go out and relax with all the other locals.  I remember one of my exes, Jo, who I remained friends with (sort of) was in town (one of the nice guys I completely screwed over although he doesn't know the extent of it).  We were supposed to meet up to catch up, but for some reason it didn't happen, and this made me sad (just got so used to the feeling of being disappointed by men over and over again).  I went to a bar across the street from my house, my pattern of drinking until you're numb.  It was pretty slow, which is just what I needed at the time being.  My friend of six years "Jay" was there. We started talking, and had quite a few drinks together, shots included.

            Eventually we decided to take the party back to my house.  Jay was also my drug dealer, so I knew it would be a perfect chance to yet again do drugs so I didn't feel anything.  That was the thing about cocaine, it made me numb.  It made me forget life.  It made me forget my past.  I later learned that it only made it all worse, but sometimes we have to go through the bad to learn the good.  Jay fronted me a gram of cocaine, and I was going to pay him the next day.  Jay may have sold drugs, but honestly he didn't really do them himself, only the small dabble on occasion.  He did know how much myself along with many other lost females in this town loved to do them, and he took full advantage of that.  It was his way of getting women to trust him.  I can look back now and think how could I ever trust some scum bag who feels okay dealing drugs...  When you are a lost soul, you pretty much will 'trust" anyone who is willing to give you attention.

            I started doing a couple of lines, and Jay did one as well.  Then it was time for foilies.  That was my method of choice.  I had done so many lines in my life at this point, that they didn't affect me as much as they used to.  I think I had managed to completely destroy the nerves on the inside of my nostrils.  Freebasing was a better option for me - chasing the dragon.  Jay definitely was not into using in that method, so he left for a little bit to go back to the bar to let his friend know he was going to stay with me.  I proceeded to do a couple more foilies, and I was feeling great, or not feeling at all, or something like that.  Whatever it was, I wasn't thinking about the bad, only nothingness.  I liked nothingness and emptiness.  It was much better than pain.

            Jay finally gets back, and we decide watching a movie sounds great.  I wanted to go down to my bedroom, as I knew I would eventually fall asleep, and my couch was so uncomfortable.  Besides Jay and I had just had a conversation about how we loved the way our relationship was, and how we never even tried to have sex with each other, and that was a great thing.  Yeah, his way of grooming or gaining more trust I suppose.  I am sure I wasn't the first female he has said those words to, and I have proof that I am not the last.  I was also a very nice person, and I had slept in beds platonic-ally with many of my male friends.

            We go downstairs and put the movie FRIDAY in.  That used to be my favorite movie, but to this day I can't stand to even hear that title.  It makes me cringe.  It makes me throw up in my mouth some. It makes me cry.  I have a panic attack.  Flashbacks come like crazy.  Nightmares.  All from one of the funniest movies out there...  Mostly, it FUCKING PISSES ME OFF...  (I truly miss being able to watch this movie, but I guarantee I will NEVER EVER in my life be able to)

            We were laying there and laughing together.  We were both fully clothed.  Jay starts kind of poking me in the side of my thigh with his nasty dick.  I kept saying, come on, what are you doing, I don't think so.  At first, harmless so I thought ( I mean every guy at least has to try right???  FUCK THAT).  Then he starts becoming more persistent.  The poking is happening more often, and he is becoming more and more forceful.  My bed was set up so you could only get out on one side, and I was on the side next to the wall.  I remember scooting farther and farther over, eventually becoming completely cornered.  Soon, there was no more room for the scooting.  Jay was able to corner me, and he is a hell of a lot bigger than me, and I am highly intoxicated.  I keep saying, "No Jay, what are you doing?"  But he doesn't stop.  Maybe if I was sober I would have just stood up and made him leave or called the cops on him.  But I wasn't, and I was weak.  I had been partying for 10 years at this point, and my body was not strong at all.

            Finally he manages to pull my pants down far enough to where he was able to get his dick in.  I remember the second he entered like it was yesterday.  I was filled with rage, anger, sadness, depression, suicidal thoughts, homicidal thoughts, and so many more things  "No Jay, please."  I kept saying it, and I'm sure it wasn't that loud, but it felt like I was screaming at the top of my lungs.  Why wasn't he listening, we were friends?  Why wasn't he stopping, we just talked about the greatness of a nonsexual relationship?  Why wasn't he fucking listening to me, I was saying no? WHY WHY WHY???  Still to this day those questions linger...  I HATE the why's and maybe's.

            He enters, and I keep saying no and trying to stop, but I'm fucked up.  I'm crying.  Why the fuck would you want to have sex with a crying chick?  I don't get it.  Not one little bit.  I don't know how long this actually goes on for.  One second of violation seems like a lifetime.  I just remember finally being able to lean forward and grab my curtains, and use them to pull me out of the situation.  I ripped them out of my wall, but at least this bastard wasn't inside me anymore.  I ran upstairs and sat on the couch confused and crying.  He never came up after me, he just laid in my bed acting like nothing bad just happened.  I cried for awhile, and then for some crazy reason I went back downstairs to sleep. Maybe I wanted to pretend it didn't happen, maybe I felt like I did something to cause it. Once again, MAYBE MAYBE MAYBE...

            We both go to sleep and I get up in the morning to go to work.  Jay of course, acted as nice as can be, because that's what his type does.  They know if they act nice that a girl like me is going to question what happened.  I am going to put the blame on myself instead of on those who are actually to blame.  I had the convoluted thought process that I was doing drugs, so somehow I made it happen.  Sadly that is a thought process many people hold.   Still though, I knew something was amiss.  I didn't feel right.  I felt violated.  I went to work and Jay went to do whatever, probably collect all his cocaine money.

            I called up my best friend Jolie, who was also a lost soul like myself, and who also used Jay as a drug dealer.  "Jolie, he fucking raped me."  I remember spitting those words out.  Even saying them to her I doubted myself.  So I told her the whole story and cried and cried and cried.  Jolie really did care about me, but both of our minds were so screwed from all the cocaine.

            I had this stupid thought that I was not going to pay Jay for the cocaine, and I was going to let him know that he just learned a fifty dollar lesson that no means no.  That makes sense right?  Yeah not so much.  I called up Jay and he came over.  I could barely look at him, and containing my tears was hard.  I told him that I said no, and why would he do that?  He said sorry, I thought you wanted it.  Okay, so saying no means yes?  I don't get it.  I told him I wasn't going to pay him, and hope he learned his lesson (yeah I sure showed him).

            A week or so went by, and I kept hurting more and more.  I was drinking very heavily and trying to stuff my body with as many drugs as possible.  There was something inside of me, that piece of my soul that hadn't been taken away, that knew that this path was going to keep getting uglier and uglier.  So I reached out, in a very weird way.  I had a MySpace account back then (I don't anymore, but loved it back then).  I wrote this blog about what had happened, leaving all names out, but explaining the story.  I stated that I needed help in a serious way and that I didn't know where to go for it.

            This girl that was a MySpace friend, that I knew through another friend of mine responds to me. She gives me a phone number for Advocates for Victims of Assault, and strongly recommends calling them.  I was finally at a place where I wanted to make things better.  I didn't want pain any more (pain was all I felt when I wasn't numb from drugs and alcohol). I didn't want to continue my downward spiral.  I wanted help.

            I made the call.  Somehow though I was contacted with a town that has the same name as mine, but in another state.  The day for my appointment comes.  I drive around my town (that I know very well as I have lived there for 23 years at this point) and I can't find the damn address.  In fact - it doesn't exist.  This is almost enough for me to completely give up.  I have FINALLY reached out to try and get help, and I am shut down immediately.  Luckily I have this strength inside of me that isn't willing to give up.  I know this is not my plan.  I know it will get better.  I am a survivor.

            I go back home and get on the computer.  I look up advocates, and finally find the number for the chapter where I live, not in another state (I kind of thought something was weird with the phone number I dialed before due to the area code, but I figured it was somebodies cell phone).  I call them up and am answered by this amazing lady Shana  Shana says lets meet for lunch asap and we can talk. So a few hours later I meet this stranger across the street from my house at a coffee shop.  I completely break down to her.  I tell her everything about my most recent rape (I of course leave the childhood one out, because I still blame myself for it at this point).

            Shana is the first person I have dealt with since my childhood rape that fully believes everything I say.  I even told her I was doing drugs, and she didn't question or doubt me, she just received me with open arms.  She showed me more support in twenty minutes than I had been shown my entire life.  Shana quickly became my hero, the one who saved me.  We are still friends to this day, and I will forever cherish her and everything she has done for me, and really all she did was listen and believe.

            Shana lets me know that advocates will set me up with a counselor for free, and if I want to go to the police about the situation, she will be there right next to me the entire journey.  For the first time in my life I felt validation.  That is an amazing thing for a sexual assault victim.  So, for may different reasons, I make the decision that I want to go ahead and press charges on my rapist.  I think maybe part of me knew that I had to stop this man from hurting other innocent women.  Shana takes me to the local cop shop.  Now of course, I was apprehensive, especially after the last experience.  But I had someone who believed me who promised she wouldn't leave my side.  We go into the interrogation room TOGETHER (already a world of difference from my last reporting experience).  This time, instead of being greeted by a very intimidating male officer, I am welcomed by the warmest female officer in existence.

            Right away I knew this time would be different.  Here I am, in this room with two very amazing ladies who believe every word I say, and aren't judging me because I was drunk, or high on cocaine when the incident happened.  Reporting is a hard process in itself.  You have to relive your rape, in every detail you can remember (Seriously they want to know the size of his thing, how long was it in, was it forceful, was it fully hard, was he kissing you, where, what color where your sheets,etc.).  Being intoxicated makes it hard to recall everything.  I sit through and relive the nightmare.  It was hard, but Shana was right next to me the entire time holding my hand.  We had to stop a LOT as I was crying A LOT.  I get through it though.  I finally get done reporting.

            After the report was officially made I had a couple of choices.  I could open an investigation on him, and get the process going.  I could keep it where it was standing, as an open report only, but no investigation.  Or I could drop the case.  I was terrified of going to court.  After going through everything I had in my life I knew how judgmental people could be.  I knew people would question me because of my past, the drugs, promiscuity, etc.  I did not want to go through everything only to have the bastard walk free.  So I left it as an open report, but it never went into the investigation process.  The officer knew of the man I was speaking of from other prior investigations unrelated.   She told me regardless she was going to keep looking, and trying to make it so we could get a surefire conviction.

            I told my friend Jolie what was going on.  I thought she would be supportive of me.  But I forget, we are both addicts at this time.  Instead of being supportive to me, she calls up Jay and lets him know I had been to the police and made a report and I was planning on pressing charges.  Then, she tells me that she did this...  It still doesn't make sense to me five years later.  Again, the thing a lost soul will do.  After I find this information out, I decide to drop the case completely.  He knew now, so I can't be sneaky about anything.  I have no chance of a conviction (this is my thinking, not sure what my chances would have been).  I told my police officer if anyone else came forward about him I would be willing to reopen my case with theirs to help secure a conviction.

            A couple of months go by and I am slowly starting to heal, and my drug usage has gone WAY down.  Advocates hooked me up with the most amazing counselor, another hero of mine.  I honestly know I would be dead if it wasn't for the two amazing advocates in my life.  My police officer calls me up and asks if I can come down to the station.  She has some things to talk about, and it would be better in person.  I call up Shana and ask her to come with me, and of course she would have it no other way.

            I get to the station and the officer sits me down and tells me that someone else that I had no ties to recently came forward about my perpetrator.  She also lets me know that after some digging she was able to find that he was convicted of rape in 1994 in another state (remember this is happening in 2006/2007).  Am I willing to reopen my case?  This hit me hard - I didn't go through with my investigation, and now he has done the same thing to another woman.  I had also found out that he had done the same thing to two of my friends within weeks of my assault.  I was sickened.  This guy HAD to be stopped.  He is just going to keep doing this over and over and over until he is put in his place - prison being anally raped by BUBBA.

            I let my officer know I am more than willing to reopen.  She tells me basically they are going to wire this girl and have her go talk to Jay, and hopefully he will say on tape that he knows what he did was wrong.  Then our cases could go to court, and hopefully have the proof we need to lock him up!

I leave, and honestly have a little relapse.  I was so depressed that this monster was walking around, assaulting hundreds of women by this point, and every person in this town fucking worships the ground he walks on and thinks he is one of the most awesome people ever (I used to think that about him too, so I do understand).  IT KILLS ME.  So I need to numb myself again.  No more pain, please God, no more pain.  So back to the whack world of crack.

            Another month goes by and I am super depressed, although nobody I am encountering sees it.  I have a job that I work 60+ hours a week at.  I am a fully functioning person. I am a great actress.   I hear nothing back from the cop shop, so I give them a call.  I find out the girl got scared like I did, and dropped the case.  FUCK.   I still wasn't strong enough to bring my case to the system all by myself.  I still had doubts in my mind.  I still kept telling myself that if I didn't do drugs that night nothing would have happened.

            I ran into him a few months or so after everything had happened. I was still in my numbing phase, so highly intoxicated, and I am sure cocaine was involved too.  I definitely had done some acid this evening.  My rage took over.  I walked up behind him and punched him in the back of the head.  He turned around and I kicked him the balls (and of course I am sobbing during all of this).  He starts choking me, and my friends get me off of him and take me outside.  "I know he deserves it, but don't go to jail because of him," they kept saying to me.  There is a time and a place for everything, and that was NOT IT.

            It's now been nearly five years since Jay raped me.  I still have to see that monster on occasion.  It's a small town.  We are bound to run in to each other at the grocery store, post office, restaurants, bars, etc,  It KILLS me to see him, especially because there are always females around him.  Females that remind me of myself five years ago.  I know some of them will fall victim like I did.  I wish I could stop it.  If I mention the word rape and the name Jay in the same sentence people claim me to be a false accuser.  So I have learned to control the urges. I also finally am no longer visibly affected by him.  Like I said, it KILLS me, but he doesn't know that anymore.

PTSD & Insomnia

Plagued with sleeplessness, even with pills

The story of my life, since the day my soul was killed

I thought my problems were gone, long past

The awakening early shows me not so fast

Although feeling rested after very few hours

Wake up, seize the day, you have the power

Alive, awake, alert, and free

Maybe sleep doesn’t mean that much to me

A good five hours

For maximum power

It’s not like I feel tired

Almost as if I’m wired

Brain already going

Body already knowing

Too much to do to rest

Get it done and be your best

Take a walk or ride your bike

Maybe later a nice brief hike

I still have to wonder why I can’t sleep

I still have to ponder why it’s like this for weeks

For days, for weeks, for months, for years

I think being asleep is my biggest of fears

Sleep brings me demons and sleep brings me fears

With real sleep I awake and my face is filled with tears

No doctor gets it they think that I’m crazy

But aren’t we all just a little bit maybe

PTSD

The disease plaguing me

They say I am cured

Yet I’m not so assured

One of these days

One of these ways

I WILL SLEEP IN

I WILL GIVE IN

Until that day

Just sit and pray

Be filled with love

From the highest above