They Stole My Innocence

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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.