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.