I was raped. I was actually drugged and raped. He was a pastor. We had met, become friends, and started hanging out in the evenings. One night he offered me a Coke. I drank it. I was paralyzed. I lay there unable to move as he raped me. The saddest part? He was only the second man I had ever been with. The worst part? The part that hurt my soul? I would have gladly slept with him, willingly. I liked him. He never asked me to kiss him. He never asked me to spend the night. He never hinted. We were friends hanging out. He even did Bible study with me. He was not a part of my community. He did not live in the same county as me- before anyone lets their minds run wild.
I was really confused and did not understand. I was young and I did not know about being drugged. I never knew that was a thing.The part that confounded me was that I liked him and willingly would have spent the night. I did not call it rape for a long time because I felt like maybe I would have given consent. Maybe my crush on him kept me from acknowledging how badly a violation this was. I blamed the victim. The victim was me. It took me a long time to figure out men drug women. It took me a long time to come to terms with why it happened. I did not give consent. I do not do drugs. I do not drink alcohol. I did not deserve to be violated. It took a long time to say the words.
I was more upset about him not "liking" me. I was upset that he would have me and then leave never to be seen again. I assumed we were building a real friendship. We were not. He left the next morning. He was in the middle of moving back home. Fun fact: he had a wife. I found this out years later. Yes, children, I cyber stalked my rapist. I was older and so very curious. I was still so very hurt. I don't think anger ever entered the picture. I was just hurt. Months before, I had left a marriage of pain. A marriage of anger and fear. How did I wind up being used? The hurt was unbearable. That's when I realised my real worth. That's when I let it all sink in. I was worthless. I was ugly. I was gross. I was less than nothing. Stupid. And that is where I lived for years. A psychic once told me that my parents had been good to me. She stated, "They let you live." It was the nail in my coffin. People who allow me to live are good to me. The husband was good to me. My rapist was good to me. The boys that hit me were good to me. Look at the long list of people that let me live.
I lived for a long time. Lonely, depressed, fearful.
I met someone. He looked at me. He looked me in my face. This was new. He spoke to me. On purpose....he must have a special mental disorder. Or maybe he's a serial killer. Maybe he's just making fun of me. Whatever. I ran away. I ran away so fast. Why would he even be near someone like me? He must be confused.
I met him again. And again. He was nice. He was funny. He was sarcastic. He looked at me. He looked at me one night and held my hand. He didn't stop holding my hand. In that moment I willingly chose to lie down beside of him. I willingly accepted his touch. He was so gentle. So quiet. There was no awkwardness or fear. There was no mirror reminding me that I was ugly. There was only me allowing myself to melt.
Did I cry afterward? Sure. Did I spend the next week living in fear of what I had done? No. I let myself trust a man. Completely. And nothing bad happened.
Rape convinces you that even if a man makes love to you on your terms that something bad is going to happen afterward. Rape convinces you that you will never be touched gently again. Rape convinces you that men can't just touch you, they have no reason to touch you. You are ugly. You aren't worth touching. You are worth raping.
Do I romanticize what happened that night that a man wanted me? YES. It was wonderful. And a little of my pain subsided. Not because a man found me worthy, but because I got through a whole night not thinking badly of myself. I spent a whole night allowing my body to be touched. It was mutual. I was given a choice. And I said yes. And yes...he did ask my permission.
I will probably always see myself in a poor light. I allow a mirror in the bathroom of my home, but nowhere else. I won't have one in the bedroom. I put my makeup on without a mirror. I rarely brush my hair. I don't look at myself. I don't like it. I deal with body issues. I binge eat, I throw up. I cut. I am everything that a good mom is not.
For one instant I was treated so badly. For one instant I was treated so well. I have to weigh out these things. And because one man was so willing to look at me, I got a little bit of myself back. Not because I got the approval of a man, no; but because I allowed myself to receive kindness without looking for an ulterior motive. I allowed myself to say yes. I allowed sex to be mutual.
I allowed myself the freedom not to punish a man or fear him just because of what another man had done. I allowed myself to heal a little, because I allowed myself to see myself the same way he did if only for a little while. And it was worth it. Being vulnerable, not just in the bedroom, was worth it. Rape causes very large walls to be put up. I allowed a little of myself to trust another human. What happens after that is a reemergence of this thing called emotion. Emotions are horrible wonderful hateful beautiful things.
We have a choice. We can see ourselves as our rapist sees us or as our lovers see us. Trying to navigate that is the challenge a lot of women face.
