Thinking about him

I can't say, type or even think about his name. I just can't do it. He was such a big part of my life for so long - from age 12 to 17 - but I can't even think about his name.

When I was growing up, he played a crucial part in my life. He shaped how I viewed men. He shaped how I thought about relationships and sex. Looking back now, I can see that he groomed me, that he sexually exploited me and that he raped me. But at the time it felt like he was my best friend and the love of my life. I was 12 and thought this man in his 30s was the love of my life. It felt like he was the only one I could trust.

Looking back now, it makes me sick to my stomach to think about what he did. I suffered for a long time afterwards - and I'm still suffering now. I'm on the road to recovery, but I've still got a long way to go.

And now I keep picturing him, sitting in that police station answering questions about me. Does he even remember me? He changed my life completely and for a long time it felt like he ruined me. He's never far from my mind, he's what haunts me. Yet most likely he's forgotten all about me. Can he even bring a picture of me to his mind?

I've had to rebuild my life from what felt like scratch. I've had to completely re-shape how I view men, relationships, sex and all three combined. Yet he probably didn't even give me a second thought - pushed me completely out of his mind while he went on living his happy life with his wife and three kids.

It's just... it's so hard to imagine that something that has affected me so badly and turned my world upside down (and not in a good way) probably didn't even register on his radar.

My friends and family are telling me not to be afraid anymore - that he can't hurt me. His days of hurting me, of using me, are over. They say that he should be afraid of me now, because I'm strong and standing up to him. This is all true. And I know that physically he can't hurt me anymore.

It's hard to explain, but by not remembering me, by not remembering the terror and the influence he's had on my life, that's a pain in itself. He changed everything to me, he changed me. Yet he most likely doesn't even remember me. I'm not even a blip on his radar.

For 5 years it felt like he was all I had. He destroyed my childhood - he took my innocence. And that night, the night he raped me, he took something else. He took this huge part of me, something which I can never get back. I can replace it with other things, but it will never be the same. I will always bear the scar of him. It might fade, but it will always be there.

That night was the worst night of my life. To him it was probably just a Friday.

I can't even begin to describe how painful that is.

And now, after all these years, I'm going to see a picture of him and identify him and start the process of taking him to trial. His face has been a thing of nightmares for so long, his face has only existed in my mind; and now I'm going to see a picture of him. A real picture - not a nightmare. And that is terrifying. It's the right thing to do, it's what I want to do. But it's painful and terrifying as well. I'm also terrified I won't recognise him... what if he's changed - what if he's put on 50 pounds, or has a beard or...

Now I just need to wait to hear back from the police and decide on a date to go to London and identify him.

In the meantime, I'm meant to continue with my life as if nothing out of the ordinary has happened, when it feels like my whole world has - yet again - been turned upside down.

Me

They've found him

I'm shaking. I'm actually shaking. I'm trying my best not to cry. I'm just completely and utterly shocked and stunned. I don't know what to think. The police have just called. They think they've found my rapist. They've arrested him. They want me to go down to London to pick him out from several pictures on a computer.

He's denying all the charges. He's said I'm making it up. I feel sick. I had hoped he would confess to being a peadophile, to abusing me, so that I wouldn't have to do anything. But he's not, he's denying everything. I suppose I'm not surprised - of course he's denying it. But I did hope.

I'm going to have to see him again. I know it's only a picture, that he won't see me, I know that. It's just a picture. But I'm terrified. I'm going to see him again. After six years. The last time I saw him was the night that he raped me. And now I'm going to see a photograph of him.

What if I don't pick him out? I'm a psychology student, I know that eye-witness testimonies are flawed and unreliable. What if I pick the wrong man? What if I don't recognise him? I close my eyes and I can see him - but what if the picture I have of him in my mind is nothing like the reality? The whole case relies on me pointing him out - if I don't pick him out, then the case is dropped.

I can't even describe the range of emotions I'm feeling. I'm just in shock. I never thought this day would arrive. I'm glad it has, don't get me wrong, I want him caught, I want him in jail and punished for what he did, I want him stopped so that he can't hurt anyone else. But I'm terrified as well.

I never want to lay eyes on him again, but I know I have to. That he's been caught is a good thing. But now I have to see a picture of him, and then maybe face him in court. It's terrifying.

I feel sick.

I'm also craving a cigarette right now. I haven't smoked in 35 days, but right now I want nothing more.

I just can't begin to describe how I'm feeling. I can't stop shaking. My instinct is to withdraw into myself, to hide away and process it in my own time. To stew on it for a while. I just want to hide away, to escape everything. I know that's unhealthy and completely The Wrong Thing to do.

I just feel sick and can't stop shaking and I'm terrified of somehow messing up and ruining the police case.

Me

Nights

The nights are often the worst. It doesn't matter what it is that you're feeling down about, nights are always the worst. It's just you stuck with your thoughts. They go round and round in your head, making you feel even worse.

I know that part of it is probably because I was raped in a car, at night. I know it's stupid - nothing bad is going to happen to me. I am perfectly, 100%, completely safe - except from my memories and my nightmares. And my memories always seem to creep up on me when I'm alone. I find myself going through everything that happened - the grooming, the exploitation - over and over again. Thinking 'what if...' Getting even more worked up, feeling if more down, scared and angry.

And by this point I don't want to go bed and go to sleep. Because I know if I do, I'll end up having another nightmare about him. So instead I'm stuck with trying to get rid of all my memories and try and cheer myself up. But I can't, because there's nothing around to take my mind off him, nothing that I can really concentrate on.

So I end up doing something stupid that I end up regretting, just so I can have something else to think about.

Nights are very lonely and a time to think about things too much. I do end up feeling like the only person in the world, with no one else around. So I need to reach out, know that someone understands me. That I'm not alone.

This song has definitely helped me through some really bad nights. It makes me know that I'm not alone, that someone, somewhere, knows what I'm going through.

Really sit and listen to the lyrics.



Me

Asking for it

Nothing gets me more angry than hearing people say someone was 'asking for it'. I don't care if a woman (or a guy for that matter) is walking around a dangerous neighbourhood at 3am completely naked. It shouldn't matter at all where a woman is, or what she is wearing. No means no.

But of course, I forget. Women shouldn't wear clothes that show skin, as that means they're asking to be raped.

Oh my God, she's wearing a bikini at a beach. She's asking to be raped.
Oh my God, it's a hot day and she's showing her midriff. She's asking to be raped.
Oh my God, she's at a club and wearing a skirt. She's asking to be raped.

To me, the phrase 'she was asking for it', is not only insulting towards to women, but to men as well. How is it insulting towards men? To me, it says the following:

As we all know, men are completely and utterly weak - they are a victim to their biological needs and urges. If women show flesh, then men are so overcome by their natural urges that they just can't resist, they must have sex with said woman right now. We women should know better - men are too weak to resist their biological instincts, therefore we must cover ourselves up completely so that we don't seduce a man to rape us. We musn't tempt men. Silly me, how could I forget?

So, not only does a woman ask to be brutally violeted, if she decides to report it she must face going through an interview - being asked to describe in detail what happened. 'Where was his hand then?' 'What did he say to you?' 'Where did he place your hand?' 'Did he put his fingers inside your vagina?'

You are forced to relive it in excruciating detail to a complete stranger. In my case the stranger was also male. Although he was a very nice man, it did not help to put me at ease.

It doesn't end there though. After being asked to be raped and describing everything in painful detail to a stranger, then comes the trial where you are forced to defend your innocence.

Victims of rape are put on trial instead of the rapist. Victims must prove their innocence, not the rapists. And unless you were a virgin when you were raped, then it was your fault. You've had sex before? Then clearly you weren't raped, you just had sex.

In my case, the police are still trying to find my rapist. I definitely want him to be found - but the prospect of a trial is extremely scary. I know it will be me that is put on trial, not him. They will paint me in a bad picture. It won't matter that he was my first - it will matter that I've slept with people since being raped. In the eyes of the court - I have slept with people willingly over the past few years, therefore I must have slept with my rapist willingly.

Oh wait... he started grooming you when you were 12? You must have asked for it.

This is what it would be like if the victims of every crime were blamed in the trial.

“Mr. Smith, you were held up at gunpoint on the corner of 16th and Locust?”
“Yes.”
“Did you struggle with the robber?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“He was armed.”
“Then you made a conscious decision to comply with his demands rather than to resist?”
“Yes.”
“Did you scream? Cry out?”
“No. I was afraid.”
“I see. Have you ever been held up before?”
“No.”
“Have you ever given money away?”
“Yes, of course–”
“And did you do so willingly?”
“What are you getting at?”
“Well, let’s put it like this, Mr. Smith. You’ve given away money in the past–in fact, you have quite a reputation for philanthropy. How can we be sure that you weren’t contriving to have your money taken from you by force?”
“Listen, if I wanted–”
“Never mind. What time did this holdup take place, Mr. Smith?”
“About 11 p.m.”
“You were out on the streets at 11 p.m.? Doing what?”
“Just walking.”
“Just walking? You know it’s dangerous being out on the street that late at night. Weren’t you aware that you could have been held up?”
“I hadn’t thought about it.”
“What were you wearing at the time, Mr. Smith?”
“Let’s see. A suit. Yes, a suit.”
“In other words, Mr. Smith, you were walking around the streets late at night in a clothing that practically advertised the fact that you might be a good target for some easy money, isn’t that so? I mean, if we didn’t know better, Mr. Smith, we might even think you were asking for this to happen, mightn’t we?”
“Look, can’t we talk about the past history of the guy who did this to me?”
“I’m afraid not, Mr. Smith. I don’t think you would want to violate his rights, now, would you?"

Asking for it indeed.

Me

No shame

Why have I decided to write this blog? There are several reasons. The first being that I need a place to write down and explain all my emotions. I need to be able to write about how this has affected me. I need to write about my journey so far. Why make this blog public and not private? Because I don't believe I have anything to be ashamed about. Why shouldn't I let people know what it's like trying to heal? There is nothing shameful about trying to piece your life back together after it has been brutally ripped apart.

Rape is seen as a taboo subject in our society. Yes, it's talked about. Women are constantly bombarded with messages about our safety -'don't go out alone', 'you are vulnerable', 'don't trust men'. But the aftermath is never talked about. Trying to recover from rape is seen as a taboo subject. God forbid anybody mentions their gut-wrenching self-loathing. This feeling that society has towards rape recovery - that it is something that needs to be swept under the carpet, deal with it quietly without causing a fuss - needs to be stopped.

If you mention the term 'rape victim' or 'rape survivor', immediately people treat you differently. They are afraid that if they say the wrong thing they will break you. They are embarrassed for you. They feel pity for you, and at the same time they are grateful it didn't happen to them. Some may even feel shame for feeling this way. I want to say - there should be no shame on either side, there should be no embarrassment and there should be no pity.

There is nothing shameful about fighting to regain some normality in your life. There is nothing shameful about talking about how empty, hateful and scared rape has left you. Society sees you as wounded, as someone with so much baggage that you can barely focus. Society is embarrassed about you. And that needs to be stopped - society needs it's eyes opened. Only by openly talking about rape and its effects do you make people realise that there is nothing to be ashamed about, and that it is a subject that needs talking about.

There is also this idea that rape victims (or survivors) need to be handled with care, that we are damaged goods, that we are as fragile as an eggshell. Yes, being raped completely strips you to the core - in one instant everything you thought you knew about the world and about yourself is violently changed for good. As a friend of mine says, you are completely stripped bare. But you then build yourself back up - and again, this is a long road with many pitfalls and stumbles - and eventually you are stronger than you ever thought possible.

You find a strength inside of you that you didn't realise you possessed. We are not damaged goods. We are not weak. We do not need to be 'handled with care'. We are stronger than you could ever imagine.

It's not easy though. It has taken me years to come to this realisation. It has taken me years to build up the strength to be able to talk about it. If you can't talk about it yet, that's fine. It's taken me six years. It may take other people longer or shorter - there is no time-frame on healing. Everyone is affected differently and everyone heals differently.

So, that is why I have decided to write this blog and make it public. I am aware that I couldn't have started this blog without my amazing family and friends, and especially without Liza, who was one of the first people I told and who's own blog has helped me greatly. (There is a link to her blog in the table at the side, or you can click on the following link - http://ivebeenstrippedbythis.wordpress.com).

Also, if you hadn't guessed, I survived the 6th anniversary of my rape. In many ways it was a difficult day, as memories came flooding back, but in other ways it was also a good day - I got accepted on to a 3 day brain anatomy course (that's a good thing, honest!), I found out that I passed my level 2 British Sign Language exam, I saw a Sea Eagle and it was 28 days that I've given up smoking (today it's been exactly 1 calendar month since quitting). So, I've survived another year, and each year I'm getting stronger.

Me

Six years

It has been exactly 6 years since I was raped. Six years. It feels like it was so long ago, yet it also feels like it was only yesterday. I thought I would be 'over' it by now. Not that I think you can ever be 'over' something like this - I just thought that at least I would have learnt how to live with it. Instead, I can still hear his voice and I can still feel his touch. No matter how many showers I have, I will never be clean. No matter what I try and do to block it out, the memories will always find a way to seep into my conscious thoughts.

It started when I was 12. The grooming was a long and slow process. But bit by bit he gained more control over me. Soon I was being sexually exploited. Eventually, the abuse culminated with him raping me when I was 17.

For years I lived with this secret. It was only recently that I started telling people - including my parents, what had happened to me all those years ago. Until then, it had been a massive burden, affecting my every day life.

Although if I'm honest, it is still affecting me. This past week especially. My sleep has been plagued with nightmares, which means I've hardly been sleeping. I'm exhausted. I also have big, black circles under my eyes. I'm avoiding mirrors at the minute - I don't want to see what I look like. I also don't want to look myself in the eye, for fear of bursting in to tears. I'm trying to be strong about everything, but it feels like my walls are slowly crumbling. The last thing I want to do is cry - I fear I may never stop.

I'm on holiday with my Dad at the minute. I don't think he realises what day it is. I don't blame him - my parents know the bare facts about what happened. I don't have the strength to go in to any details with them and they don't want to push me. So they know I was groomed and raped, but that's all. I want to keep it that way - I want them to look at me and see me, not a rape victim.

But as I said - I'm on holiday with my Dad right now. It's our annual father-daughter holiday. The last thing I want to do is ruin it by breaking down. I love our holidays together, I don't want to ruin it. I know he wouldn't blame me at all, but I would blame myself. So I'm trying to keep it together.

I still can't believe it's been six years. A lot of the times, it feels like it happened just yesterday. For so long I tried to forget what happened, I buried it as deep as I could. But now I'm finally addressing it - and it's extremely difficult. Because I tried to forget for so long, I never allowed myself to heal, to try and move on from it. Only recently has the healing really started.

It's still a raw wound though - I'm nowehere near close to being healed. And days like today remind me of the fact that I have a long way to go. When I close my eyes, I see his face. I can hear those awful words he spoke. I can feel his hands.

So today is a difficult day. It's not an impossible day, but a difficult one. I survived the abuse; I will survive this day. I will overcome the pain, I will overcome my memories. I will survive.

Me