I have started this piece many, many times over the years. On past blogs, and in delayed book ideas. I’ve started it on this blog three times over the past few weeks. And, I have finally come to a sad realization.
I love telling stories. I like portraying an emotion so that others can feel it. I like exposing the thoughts that people have but can’t figure out how to put into words.
And, yet, the story of my past has become boring to me. You know why? It’s because it’s just your average, typical rape story.
Yeah. How sad is that? There’s a norm for how people are raped.
That really kills me. Here’s a situation that lifts an entire person’s life up and dumps it on it’s head. Throws their emotions onto an eternal crash course. Takes the color right out of living.
And it’s become so normal that we talk about it like we do our cars. “Oh, yeah, I had a guy like that once. He raped me. Traded it in for a better model. How about yours?”
“I had a hybrid. Physical and emotional abuse. I just decided to ride a bike; cars aren’t worth it.”
Seriously? People… come on.
So, anyways. That’s why it’s hard for me to write my story. There’s nothing outstanding about it, and that really just pisses me off.
But, I promised it. So here it is.
I was in college. I met a soccer player. He was the “reformed” type of abuser.
You know- reformed drug addict, reformed alcoholic, reformed personality. A guy who was just, “trying to be a better person, if only someone would help me…”
Yes, ladies and gentlemen, I fell for that line.
So, me having my Jesus complex, I took it upon myself to save this poor man. After all, he was just a misunderstood person who had never known love and forgiveness.
Fast forward a few weeks, and I now owe this man everything. I tutored him, so he passed his classes. Passing grades meant he could play soccer. Soccer meant he “felt like a good person”. So, now I was single-handedly responsible for his bad grades if I missed a tutoring session.
He took me out to eat when we were done studying. And he paid. When I decided I wanted to stop “seeing” him, he said he would only allow it if I paid him back for anything he had ever spent money on for me. Like I had to “buy out” of my relationship.
The sex started almost immediately. He would try, and apologize- then try again. He was just so unloved… he needed to feel loved by someone. If he were rejected… then he would fall back into old habits, and those would destroy him. I didn’t want to be the reason that happened, did I?
Well, no, I didn’t. And I was so deluded that I actually thought it would have been my fault. So, I kept on “saving” him.
Then, it got more physical. He would try something, and I would say no. He would tell me that if I resisted, he would rape me. So, him being much stronger than me, I gave in. I didn’t realize until much later that this was rape.
I asked him one time what he would do if I was pregnant. He punched me in the stomach, and told me that’s how he would handle it. So, I stopped asking.
He inspected my body once. Told me my back was ” acceptable”, but I needed to work on my abs. He told me I was lucky he even wanted me, because I still had a good ten pounds to lose. He would grope me in public, and when I asked him not to, he said I was embarrassing him. Me! Embarrassing him!
There are other details. Ones I’ve never told, and honestly don’t want to remember. If you’ve ever been in this situation, you can fill in the blanks
He constantly bragged about all the other women in his life. How he knew exactly how to manipulate them into sleeping with him. How they always thought it was their idea. And how they were all wrapped around his finger. How he would either threaten or apologize when they started to catch on, and they never saw through it.
The final straw was a night he took me to the middle of nowhere. It was after yet another apology and promise to be a better person. He told me he wanted to take me stargazing, and that he expected nothing more than good conversation.
So, we’re sitting in the bed of his truck and he makes his move. I tell him no, and he gets angry. He said something along the lines of, “It’s not fair to a man who goes out of his way to be nice to refuse giving him a reward.”
I continued to tell him no, and he got angry. He just got in the truck and locked me out. He told me he would only let me back in if I gave in. We were half an hour from campus, my cell phone was in the truck, and it was after midnight. If he left, I would have to walk twenty miles to get home.
So, I told him to go ahead and drive off. I was done being his puppet. He looked surprised.
I feel like this would be a great time to add that he had a very tiny, crooked penis. Apparently, he was just compensating for being unable to be able to satisfy anyone.
So, his bark was worse than his bite. He opened the door, let me in, and took me back.
I started studying rape and abuse. I learned that not only was I raped, but somehow other victims just poured out of the woodwork. Not his victims; just people who had been raped or abused some time in their life.
They were all self-harming. All depressed. All lost and ashamed. All just trying to be normal again.
They asked me to help them. I’m not really sure why. Maybe because once I learned that what had happened was legally wrong, I gained a new confidence in myself.
I went to talk to the student life president at my college. Now, mind you, this was a Christian college. Anyways, I explained what happened, and who it was.
She told me, and I kid you not, “Well, this sort of thing doesn’t happen to good Christians.”
That is when I lost all faith in the Christian system. She told me not to go to the police, and to forget anything had happened. My coach told me to forget it and focus on sports. The nurse told me to stop being friends with such negative people. My R.A. told me that I was no longer allowed to associate myself with other “victims” because they were sinners. You know, because they had sex.
Well, at this point I figured they could all take their bull and shove it. I went to the police and told them everything. They told me they would love to investigate, but that since it was a private college, they were not allowed on campus. I wrote a statement, but the county attorney decided not to prosecute.
The college asked the guy his side of the story. Of course, it was consentual to him. So they told him to write a note to apologize. A note! He said he was sorry that I felt something was wrong. Not that he did anything wrong, but just that I was such an idiot for interpreting things incorrectly.
Then, when I started missing class to take another friend of mine, also a victim, to an advocate, they kicked her out of school! They told her that she was being disruptive. I think it was because we were about to sue the school for not following the Clery Act.
Anyways, that was the last straw for me. I left and never looked back. He told his side of the story, and to this day, I am the crazy girl who lost it and told a bunch of lies.
This was eight years ago. Too long to bring justice for him. I have worked through a lot, and also watched my sister go through a similar situation. I have a true heart for other victims. Not just because of what they went through, but because of what society does to them afterwards.
I hope to write more on my story in the future. I am also working on a book that is a product of what I learned, but not the subject. I don’t want you to think I gave up on Christianity- quite the opposite!
I just learned that a lot of so-called Christian establishments are full of self-righteous hypocrites. It took me a long time to realize there was nothing I could have done to become a better Christian so as not to deserve what happened. I have learned a tremendous amount of compassion because of that journey.
Anyways, I hope this story helps others. This is why I am motivated to share stories, and be there for other victims. There’s a huge need for a true listening ear. That’s what I’m trying to build here.