rape – Sharing And Surviving

How Could This Happen to Me?

This arrangement is dedicated to the Survivors of Sexual Assault

“[Referring to rape] It already is bigger than everything else. It lives in front of me, behind me, next to me, inside me every single day. My schedule is dictated by it, my habits by it, my music by it.”
― Daisy Whitney, Mockingbirds

On April 10, 2003, I awoke to the sound of the shower. Where was I? Why was I naked? What happened?

How could I report “it” when I didn’t even know what “it” was. That evening I told myself that whatever happened was my fault. I had to put “it” behind me and push forward. It was time for me to focus on my Airman Leadership class; once again I would graduate as a “Honor Graduate.” And that’s what I did. I buried “it”deep down inside.

Over the next year, I felt so much anger. I was so pissed off at the world. And I found myself resenting everything about the Air Force. What happened to the overachiever? The perfectionist? Was I giving up on my dream of becoming a commissioned officer? What was wrong with me?

I volunteered for a 45-day deployment to Rhein Maine, Germany. My hope was that I would remember everything that I loved about serving our Nation. Unfortunately, the 45-day deployment turned into a 53-day, psychotic inducing series of events.

Two days into the deployment, a fellow NCO started to flirt with me. As a female in the Armed Force, it wasn’t anything new. “Boys will be boys”, right? The flirting didn’t feel harmless. And I wondered how many times I would have to deny his request to “give me a massage” in my room.

I did not realize at the time but the “harmless” flirting triggered memories I had buried the previous year. 5,300 miles away from safety, I realized that “it” had happened. I realized that “it” had a name: rape. My acknowledging of the rape was significant. Yet it would not be part of the trauma I experienced in Germany.

I am not a victim of sexual assault. I am a survivor. No amount of inner strength erases the questions that I had when I woke up to the sound of the shower. After the rape and as I endured multiple bouts of psychosis, I often wondered, “How could this happen to me?”

July

“You have too many anniversaries.”

I wish I didn’t have to fight the calendar and the memories associated with certain dates. I wish I had a delete button to erase the the trauma associated with the summer of 2004. I cannot forget.

Many times, I just need to talk it out with someone. I remain quiet out of shame and fear. I’m ashamed that I haven’t been able to forget. I’m ashamed that I still feel the anger, confusion, and the pain. I’m ashamed that I still wonder what I did wrong. The question of “why” haunts me day and night.

It is out of fear that I remain quiet as I try to hide my internal conflict. I’m afraid that I will be a burden by sharing my present struggle. I know I sound like a broken record. The past plays over and over again. How can I expect anyone else to tolerate this repetitive dialogue?

20 Minutes of “action”

Brock Turner was convicted on 3 felony charges of sexual assault on an unconscious woman. Yet his father and more importantly, Judge Aaron Persky do not feel that his actions merit the possible prison sentence of 14 years. Turner’s father has said his son should not have to go to prison for “20 minutes of action”. Judge Aaron Persky, said positive character references and a lack of a criminal record persuaded him to be more lenient. Judge Persky said, prison would have a “severe impact on him.” Turner, a convicted sexual offender, is only expected to serve 3 months of imprisonment. Yet the victim is sentenced to a life of mental imprisonment. I know the questions which will plague her FOREVER. I am a survivor of a rape which I also cannot remember. In April of 2003, I was raped by a fellow Airman attending a military training in Knoxville, Tennessee. I will never know what happened to me.

I remember fighting to stay awake as he touched me and undressed me. In my head, I was screaming “no.” Why didn’t he stop? Why was I just laying there? Why couldn’t I move?

I awakened to the sound of a shower. Where was I? Why was I naked? Who was in the shower? I grabbed the stranger’s red t-shirt to cover myself as I fled the room. Panicked and afraid, I didn’t realize that the room was next to my own assigned dormitory room. Realization of where I was, revealed the stranger’s identity. The “stranger” was my classmate, a fellow member of the US Air Force, and someone I thought was my “friend.” His identity only confused me more.

In the safety of my own room, I removed the only protection I had: his red t-shirt. I will never forget the smell of it. It smelled like cigarettes and him. Disgusted. I threw it into the empty closet. After shutting the closet doors, I laid down on my own bed and tried to shut off my racing mind. I couldn’t make sense of what happened. Why couldn’t I remember the minutes or hours before I woke up naked? I immediately blamed myself for whatever happened. I told myself that I must have “asked for it.” I told myself to just forget it. No one would believe me if I reported it. Why? I went to the bar with my “friend” and bought the only drink I remember consuming that night. All had was questions and unaccountable lapses of time.

Unlike my “friend,” I didn’t have the energy to take a shower. I wasn’t able to wash away my memories. All I wanted to do was and forget the few details I could remember. Forgetting, unfortunately, is impossible.

The next morning, he approached me and asked, “Did I do something wrong?” Shame filled me. I didn’t know the answer. With my head down, I replied, “It’s just me.” Why didn’t I stand up for myself? Why didn’t I ask him why he took advantage of me? Why didn’t I say, “YES! You raped me!”

For the next 6 weeks, I slept in the room next to him. I saw him every day in class. At graduation, I had to sit next to him as we were sitted alphabetically. After graduation, he introduced me to his wife. I was embarrassed as she shook my hand. Why? I didn’t do anything wrong.

Later that night, I packed and prepared to return home. The last thing I emptied was the closet that contained his t-shirt. I’ll never understand why I felt the need to return it to him, but I did. As I left the dormitory for the last time, I hung it on his door. Perhaps it was my way of saying that we both knew what happened. My “friend” had raped me.

It would take 14 months for me to tell someone what happened to me. It took me 14 months to be able to admit that I had been raped. I never reported the incident formally out of fear. I was afraid that no one would believe me. At times I regret my decision to remain quiet. I let a rapist remain aynomous and unpunished. And then cases like the Stanford Sexual Assault Case seem to only reinforce my decision. I made the decision because I felt it was the only way to survive and be safe. It was my only way of regaining control of my life and ultimately my body.

Turner will never know what it feels like to have a part of your soul shattered. He will never understand that his victim will replay that evening over and over as she desperately attempts to make sense of it. He will never know how it feels to be completely empty.

Turner destroyed his own reputation and future. He was not confused. Turner deserves to have his life “severely impacted” for his “20 minutes of action.”

My hope for Turner’s victim is that only day she will see the truth. She is not a victim anymore. She is a SURVIVOR. The memories and questions will remain; this spiritual revelation will reveal the tremendous amount of strength she possess. She is a fighter! I admire the courage and bravery needed to face her rapist.

Till It Happens To You

Survivor

Today as I got dressed for work, my mind wandered to the past. I wondered if I would be able to work safely or if I would be filled with anxiety all day.

Part of me wanted to stay home and give into the anxiety. I took my time getting ready and allowed myself to reflect on the significance of today’s date.

My life was altered forever on this date in 2003. I will never be able to remember the details of the rape due to being drugged. I will never be able to fill in the gaps of time. I will never be able to process the evening. I wonder is it better that the night is a blur or does it hinder my ability to heal.

All I know is that I didn’t do anything to provoke my colleague to take my body when I was unable to fight back. I didn’t ask to be raped. I wasn’t given a chance to fight back. I was completely helpless as he forced himself on me.

For many years, I blamed myself for drinking with strangers. I blamed myself when I couldn’t remember anything past my first drink. I blamed myself when I found my way back to safety. I blamed myself when I denied that I had just been raped. I told myself that no one would believe me. I tried to push the rape out of my mind and pretend that it never happened.

It happened. I may not recall all the details. I do remember wanting to scream as he undressed me. I do remember waking up without clothes. I do remember leaving the room and not knowing who “he” was that had just raped me.

I felt shame for not reporting the incident. At the time, it was the only way I could survive. It took years for me to admit that I was raped. It took years to realize that I wasn’t a victim. I am a survivor of rape. I am a testimony to the strength of the human spirit to overcome trauma. I am greater than my past.