Today in my support group session, one of the women shared her story. It set off so many things in me. I just need to get this out into the world.
Last fall I was reading the book Far from the Tree. In it, there is a chapter about rape victims. That's when I saw the statistic: women who have been raped are seven times more likely than other women to be raped again.
It had never occurred to me before then that this was the case. And then suddenly it became so real. There was the statistic.
I started feeling dread. I remember going to the gym that day or sometime around then. At the time I was learning to weight lift. I went to go pick up the weight I'd so easily done the week before and I failed. Writing this now I see how distorted the thought is, but back then, it was so real: here was proof that I was weak. I was going to get raped again.
I remember being upset and walking out the gym and into my car. I sat there staring out into the parking lot. My boyfriend afterwards came to find me. I don't really remember what happened but I do remember trying to scrunch myself into a ball and crying. "It's going to happen again. I'm going to get raped again."
A few months later, I was visiting him across the country where he'd moved. He was at work and I was wandering the city aimlessly. At this point, my symptoms had gotten worse (I hadn't been diagnosed yet but in retrospect I see this). It was dark, raining and I found myself underneath a bridge or freeway pass. I remember standing there and thinking, "This is where it happens. Places like this." And then I thought, "Please. Please, if it's going to happen again. Please just let it happen now. I can't take it any more. Please."
Of course it didn't happen then. My boyfriend called. He was done from work and wanted to see me. I told him I didn't want to see him. That this was a mistake. I shouldn't have visited. I was upset and I would not be good company. He insisted anyways. When he got to my hotel room, I remember walking into his arms and crying. "I don't know why I'm like this," I said. "I guess just have these expectations. I expect these things from you, impossible things but I expect them anyways and when you don't meet them I get upset." It was an oblique reference. How do you tell the man you love that you know you are doomed? How do you tell him you want him to protect you from it and yet that you know he cannot?
I've come a long way since then. I realize now that thoughts like those are incredibly incredibly real, that they affect what I do and say. They affect what others do and say to me. But they are not true. Yes, statistically women who have been raped are seven times as likely to be raped again. But that is not me. I will not let myself become that statistic.
Last fall I was reading the book Far from the Tree. In it, there is a chapter about rape victims. That's when I saw the statistic: women who have been raped are seven times more likely than other women to be raped again.
It had never occurred to me before then that this was the case. And then suddenly it became so real. There was the statistic.
I started feeling dread. I remember going to the gym that day or sometime around then. At the time I was learning to weight lift. I went to go pick up the weight I'd so easily done the week before and I failed. Writing this now I see how distorted the thought is, but back then, it was so real: here was proof that I was weak. I was going to get raped again.
I remember being upset and walking out the gym and into my car. I sat there staring out into the parking lot. My boyfriend afterwards came to find me. I don't really remember what happened but I do remember trying to scrunch myself into a ball and crying. "It's going to happen again. I'm going to get raped again."
A few months later, I was visiting him across the country where he'd moved. He was at work and I was wandering the city aimlessly. At this point, my symptoms had gotten worse (I hadn't been diagnosed yet but in retrospect I see this). It was dark, raining and I found myself underneath a bridge or freeway pass. I remember standing there and thinking, "This is where it happens. Places like this." And then I thought, "Please. Please, if it's going to happen again. Please just let it happen now. I can't take it any more. Please."
Of course it didn't happen then. My boyfriend called. He was done from work and wanted to see me. I told him I didn't want to see him. That this was a mistake. I shouldn't have visited. I was upset and I would not be good company. He insisted anyways. When he got to my hotel room, I remember walking into his arms and crying. "I don't know why I'm like this," I said. "I guess just have these expectations. I expect these things from you, impossible things but I expect them anyways and when you don't meet them I get upset." It was an oblique reference. How do you tell the man you love that you know you are doomed? How do you tell him you want him to protect you from it and yet that you know he cannot?
I've come a long way since then. I realize now that thoughts like those are incredibly incredibly real, that they affect what I do and say. They affect what others do and say to me. But they are not true. Yes, statistically women who have been raped are seven times as likely to be raped again. But that is not me. I will not let myself become that statistic.
