This was the piece that I wrote for Take Back the Night. It was my first time speaking publically about my abuse and assault. The experience was both terrifying and extremely freeing at the same time.
I remember feeling the burn of his eyes watching me when we were together. He could undress me with his stare. Penetrate me with his gaze. Silence my screams with a glance. My fear seduced him. The dark, unspoken secret between us was so gripping. No one knew what he did to me when we were alone. His power over me was unimaginable. Even in this moment, I feel his power. I hear the lies he told me, replaying in my mind, trying to silence my voice. He told me that no one would believe me and that everyone would blame me and so I am standing before you petrified that telling my story will only bring judgment and shame. Those who are close to me know that the fact that I am here, telling my story to you, is nothing short of a miracle.
I was only 8 the first time he raped me. I remember knowing something bad was going to happen the moment he closed the door to his bedroom. I don’t remember the details but I remember the pain. And I wanted to cry, I wanted to scream, I wanted to run but I couldn’t. He made it clear that crying or fighting would only make things worse. I remember him telling me “I fucked you first” when he finished. Branding me with his cold words. I felt powerless. He wasn’t a stranger, but instead a trusted family friend. Beneath the friendly, likeable exterior, he was a monster. He saw my innocence as an opportunity to for abuse. And so, over time, what initially seemed like harmless affection turned into inappropriate touching, and inappropriate touching turned into rape, and one time turned into two. And before I could find my voice, I was sworn to silence. The contract was written with violation, abuse and power signed with fear and sealed with shame and guilt. For 4 years I was molested and raped and never told a soul. I was too afraid that no one would believe me; too afraid it was fault, too ashamed of what was happening to my body, too afraid of what might happen if I took the risk. No one ever came to save me. I bore the burden alone.
For most of my life I buried this dark secret deep inside of myself. I was unaware of the ways it infiltrated almost every aspect of my life and my relationships with others. I became quiet because I had so many secrets to keep. Shy because I didn’t know how to trust. Afraid to be vulnerable because I thought it would lead to abuse. Independent because no one was there for me. A young mother because I couldn’t say no. And I always wore a smile because sometimes it is the only thing that would keep me from crying. I lived a life in denial and disconnected from my horrible past. The shackles of pain and guilt held me captive for so long that I forgot what it meant to be free. I found ways to cope and to be happy even in spite of my shameful past but I could never shake the chills up my spine every time someone touched me unexpectedly or the engrained belief that I could never be transparent. Time pulled me away from the wound but I later learned that healing would have to be intentional.
In a sick twisted turn of fate, on April 22, 2006, almost exactly 5 years ago, I found myself in a situation that was all too familiar. I went to a house party that night with a few friends, had too much to drink, and was sexually assaulted on the floor of an upstairs bathroom. It was terrifying and unimaginable to have to relive the experience of my childhood abuse in adulthood. I spent most of the night and the next morning in a hospital and I remember feeling an overwhelming sense of lack of power. The guilt and shame that I carried most of my life multiplied 100 fold. How could something so horrible happen repeatedly in my life and not be my fault? I blamed God, I blamed myself and I blamed my friends for not protecting me. I was able to live through the days following the assault with the support of only one friend. Others either didn’t know what happened or knew but didn’t know what to say. Each day, it became easier to bury the pain of the assault but I never actually dealt with it. It became another unspeakable chapter of my life that I assumed had to remain closed forever.
I’d often walked around campus wondering if anyone else could see my ugly scars. I wondered if I would be judged if other people knew. I desperately wanted to know that I wasn’t alone. I carried the shame and the guilt of my abuse and assault every single day. The memories of my perpetrator haunted me and I was embarrassed that after all these years I had not simply “gotten over it”. I began to feel as though I was living a double life–happy and pleasant on the outside but dying on the inside. I spent so much time and energy trying to escape the battle that was raging inside my mind. I decided to go to counseling where, for the first time, I was asked about my past. Over time, with the help of counselors, I struggled to find words to convey my story. Some parts of it seemed like a blur, there were often pieces missing, and at times words failed to describe my feelings. I struggled with depression, I had nightmares, my mind was flooded with memories but I also had support. And instead of running from the horrible memories and secrets that had burdened me for so long, I faced them. I began to work through them. I began to contain them. I began to overcome them.
And so, I am finally deciding to take the risk. I am tearing down the walls which at one point protected me but over time begin to trap me inside. I wasn’t able to fight him then but I am fighting now. I am finally pointing the finger of blame where it belongs. Not only for myself, but also for the countless people who have not yet found the courage to tell their own stories. I am refusing to just live with it, refusing to live within it, and refusing to own the guilt, blame and shame because it was never mine to own in the first place.
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