I’m mad today.
Just really mad.
Because I’m visiting my home town and getting to drive past the house I was raped in, and knowing that my rapist will never acknowledge what he did to me.
I was 20, my boyfriend of a year at that time convinced me that penetrative sex was the next step in our relationship, and we loved each other, so that was the important thing. I thought I was in complete control of everything, because I knew about consent, and sex. I was a licenced peer counselor at my school. I had training. I knew how to handle it. I knew allllllll the emotional complications and how everything was supposed to work. At least I thought I knew until the day actually came, and I was vulnerable, and naked, and terrified. He was of larger than average size, which is something that our culture tells me I should be excited about (why the hell is that a thing???). Everything starts to go according to plan, and he tries to insert himself. I was tense. I was not ready, even though my logic brain wanted me to be. He pushed, a little at first, and I had never felt such an intense, tearing pain. I gritted my teeth and tears came out of my eyes “Wait no, please wait” I said, still in shock at how much it hurt. I was ignored as he pushed HARDER, and I felt a more sharp intense pain, then nothing, as he finished what he wanted to do. I of course, pretended to enjoy every minute, even though I wanted it to be over-with so badly. When I bled into my underwear for that day and the folllwing, I was too ashamed of myself and scared to tell anyone who could really help me. I texted my best friend, wanting to cry because I didn’t want to go to a hospital, but I also didn’t want to possibly die from this internal wound that would not stop dripping this fresh bright red blood. She urged me to talk to my sister in law, or my mother or anyone who had experience with this and who could talk to me, but I didn’t want my mother to know. I didn’t want anyone to know that I couldn’t protect myself.
I went on to date my rapist for nearly 6 years. I left him because I had matured beyond him, and didn’t want to waste my time anymore. We never talked about our first time beyond me saying “I was scared you know. It hurt, a lot.” And him saying “Yeah well I didn’t know what I was doing. Sorry? Why didn’t you say that?” And inside I’m screaming ‘I TOLD YOU TO WAIT. I TOLD YOU TO STOP.’ but I didn’t want to stir up trouble.
I never really enjoyed sex with my rapist. To this day, I can’t feel very much during penetration, and if I do it for too long, I start to feel pain, like bothering an old bruise. I don’t know if this is a side effect of what happened to me, maybe my wound was more severe than I’ll know, and I’ll never have a typical sexual experience because of it. My rapist, if I told him now, would NEVER belive me. He did not take our breakup well, and is deadset on labeling me as some girl who led him on with deep internalized issues. I do have issues. Maybe I’ll have them all my life! I’ll never have the justice I want, and I am coming to terms with that.
To him I would say, if he was reading this right now, for some peace of mind on my behalf “You raped me. You IGNORED MY PLEA. I BEGGED you to wait. Once. And once should have been enough. You are unworthy of women. You are unworthy of sex. You are unworthy of pleasure until you ACKNOWLEDGE your crime to me, and APOLOGIZE.”