“Sex
takes the consent of two, if one person is lying there not doing anything cause
they are not ready or not in the mood or simply don’t want to yet the other is
having sex with their body, it’s not love it is rape”-Rupi Kaur. It seems simple does it not? Yet
there I was saying nothing. Actually crying. Asking for him to stop and trying
my best also not to make too much noise causing anyone else in my house to wake
up, that would be rude, right? Anyway, I am going to in detail tell you the
story of probably the scariest night of my life and not because I really want
to relive it as telling it, even on paper may just as easily break me, but as I
attempt to use exposure therapy this night I will tell you of. The hope is that
by doing this I will one day realize I am as strong as those around me say that
I am. In due time, I will be able to tell this story out loud as that will mean
it has not ruined me completely as I will have overcome the shame.
“The rape will tear you
in half, but it will not end you”-Rupi Kaur. For the last few months I have
been engaging in the usual talk therapy and finally have come to the conclusion
that my PTSD is in need of something much more aggressive. I understand though,
the fear my therapist has in doing this with me as back in January, I overdosed
on a cocktail of medications and alcohol in attempt to escape the thoughts that
ran ramped, events of that night that were so real to me that my private parts
actually felt the pain. Even to this day this still happens, but thankfully not
as often. And even when it does, I am more apt to having a major temper tantrum
as oppose to hurting myself in the process.
It was week day in
October, one of those odd days in which you would forget what season we were in,
as it was warm enough to wear a pair of jeans and a light jacket. My best
friend and I decided as adults we had worked hard enough and decided to treat
ourselves to a good night of drinking and dancing. The two things we do best.
Rent the soundtrack was on deck being rewound over and over as Sarah and I sang
to each other “Take me or leave me” knowing neither one of us would ever go
anywhere. For what may have been the first ever, Sarah was ready to go home but
was more inebriated than I. So just as she had done for many times before, I
walked her home. Allowed her to lean on my frail body as we walked through
yards, cut corners, J-walked and acted as sober as possible. Finally, after a
long 25 min walk we made it to her house. Sarah decided to light up and asked
me if I wanted a drag of the blunt she had just rolled and my normal response
hadn’t changed “no thanks, I hate that shit” she seemed to convince me that
actual marijuana was much different than a vape pen and that it wouldn’t cause
me to faint like the last time. After saying no a couple times, I gave in just
to please her. I choked as inhaled more than one should. What did I know though?,
I was not an avid smoker, so I dragged on it like it was a cancer stick. I
sucked down some water and coughed until tears ran down my face and then
decided to head home.
It was not until I began
walking down the street that I realized just how drunk I was. As I swerved
towards the road and back at 11:30 at night I found my way to Urban outfitters
and stood there to make a couple calls. Who in my contacts wouldn’t kill me for
calling them this late at night to drive me home? I decided at that moment a
friend of mine whom I had known for many years would probably be willing to
come and get me. I was aware of the fact that he liked me, and at the moment,
my intoxicated self, kind of liked him too. He answered and made his way to
Urban within 15 minutes. My intuition must have been spot on that night because
I called my case manager and left her a message with his name and let her know
he was taking me home and mentioned that if anything were to happen to me
please give the police this information. I’m not quite sure if I really
believed anything bad could happen because, without hesitation I got into his
car and told him all about my night. He doesn’t drink anymore, but he did ask
if I had any weed left. Thankfully I could answer no to that one. We pulled
into my drive way and a big part of me was feeling lonely and decided having
him come up and perhaps spend the night (just to sleep) wasn’t a bad idea.
My inhibitions were
lowered and my sexual desires took over as I removed my clothes and put on my
favorite silk cheetah romper. As I sat next to him on the bed he commented on
scars from my past, stories of which he had not yet known of. I took the
liberty of explaining that numerous sexual assaults along with parents who were
uncappable of providing the love and support I so desired had caused me to
believe I was not worthy of love and attention. Being the thoughtful person I am
whom remembers most everything I asked him how he was doing with his sobriety.
Much to my surprise he was doing quite well. I then crawled over him to the
side of the bed I commonly sleep on hoping he and I would spoon. He turned me
over like a rag doll and began to kiss me. With past memories of trauma, I did
not respond, but laid there and allowed him to do as he pleased. I didn’t care
either way what happened. Alcohol had given me permission to engage in sexual
activity. He then inserted his finger inside me and although my body was saying
no, as I found it to be quite painful I allowed for this to happen. Within
minutes he began to perform orally, yet still I had no objection. But once
again I found his fingers inside me and decided that it was too painful so I got
up and find my battery-operated toy, something I had just discovered and
allowed myself to use occasionally in attempt to get to know my own body.
Within seconds I realized this was not helping and he had no desire to be a
part of this interaction. I turned over yet again with the means to go to
sleep, but really this time I was ready to go to bed.
He curled up next to me
and began to insert himself inside of me. I reached down to remove what I thought
were his fingers because I was no longer interested only to find out he had
removed his pants part way so that he could have sex with me. Now this is where
it gets blurry, I am unsure if I mentioned to him that the other stuff was fine
with me, but I did not want to have sex so I placed my hand back under my head
and closed my eyes. I then found him attempting yet again to force himself
inside of me. As quickly as I could, I said to him “please stop I don’t want to
have sex.” He ignored my request and wrapped his arms tighter around my chest
making it impossible for me to move. I began begging him to stop and asking him
what he was doing as my temple began to ache with pain as he forced himself inside.
I cried with hopes that he would understand that I really meant it, I was not
interested and wanted to be left alone. Once I realized my tears meant nothing
and my words were as empty as all trust I had ever had in men I stared at the
wall and waited for this to end. I held my legs as tightly together as possible
and due to the excruciating pain contemplated whether or not I should give up
the fight. In the past I have done that. Tonight I made myself do something
different. I fought which meant I allowed it to hurt because I refused to give
up by squeezing together my thighs. After what seemed like forever he pulled
out and turned over. I got up out of my bed and ran to the bathroom.
Staring at my reflection
in the mirror I asked “what the hell just happened? What do I do now?” I
allowed the broken girl staring back at me to cry and then washed my face only
to see a beautiful disaster. I returned back to my room and told him I really
didn’t sleep well with others in my bed and that I wanted to be alone. With
that he buckled his belt and left my room. I ran downstairs to lock the door
behind him fearing he would come back. I raced to my room and called the only
number I knew that would not judge me and could possibly help. The advocacy
center picked up and as I stood in the corner putting on new clothes and
collecting my pajamas I told her “I think I was just raped.” She called a cab
for me and offered to meet me at the hospital.
Within ten minutes the
SANE nurse explained what would occur and although it was for my own benefit I was
violated again with a metal speculum and swabs. I laid their as tears rolled
down my cheeks re-living what had just happened. Within an hour the nurse had
bagged up all the evidence she had collected and told me that I had been torn
and bruised, but that it would heal. What do I say to that? I mean yea, I’m
glad I’ll heal, but what about my heart, my mind? They would never ever be the
same. I had gone into the day a partially damaged porcelain doll with some
metaphorical bandages covering prior sexual assaults that had been pieced
together with tape, love and therapy only to walk out of the hospital bleeding
from inside out.
I returned to my home the
one place I ever felt safe only to see a young woman staring back with tears in
her eyes and an empty voice. It’s now been 8 months and I have yet to sleep in
my bed. I have given up snuggles with my cat to lay in a dark closet where my
shoes used to model the places that I have been, obstacles over- come and
progress I have made. Many days when the sun goes down I look around my room
and become an empty shell of a woman. Staring off into space with my hand
covering the area he tore with my legs held tightly together hoping the pain
will go away. And when it doesn’t, when I cannot snap out of it, I reach for
the nearest blade and watch myself bleed in attempt to feel something other
than the pain my entire body has taken on. I am here, but I am gone, you may
reach me on the phone, but my heart has taken a leave of absence and as of now
there is no return date. Just an arm of bandages caused also by absent consent.
©Kimberly Edwards
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