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When I read Michelle Solomon’s tweets after the 1in9 protests, I replied that I hoped to one day have the courage to stand up and tell the world that I am also a Rape Survivor.
I was raped just before my 16th birthday.
Like many other girls, I blamed myself. I am thankful that I now have the sense to know that there is no way it was my fault.
My mother had gone away for the weekend it happened and this is a big reason why I didn’t tell her, because I knew she would blame herself.
I was working at a fish and chip shop (of all places) with a bunch of guys who were older than me. After our shift, we would go home and meet back at a Mexican restaurant for drinks. While the guys I worked with knew my age, the barman didn’t, and so they let me drink there.
On the night in question, I had been drinking. Reason NO.1 why I blamed myself.
We left as the bar was closing and the barman said he was walking in my direction and would walk me home. Usually one of the guys I was working with would walk me, but they lived in the opposite direction, so I was thankful for the offer.
Once we got to my place, he started kissing me. Being a young nerd who hardly got any male attention, I was a little flattered. Reason NO 2 why I blamed myself.
Flashbacks
I have blocked what happened next out for so long that I don’t really remember the finer details.
He did force himself on me and he had absolutely no interest in the front of me.
I remember the burning pain and the taste of my tears. I was silent out of fear and shock.
I remember how he casually got up afterwards and had a cigarette on my balcony before showing himself out.
After my trauma
I was too young to know about going to the cops or anything (like I said I was a nerd, it was a wonder that the guys at work even let me hang out with them). I remember spending hours in the shower, trying to scrub “him” off me.
And I kept quiet, partly because I was embarrassed and felt like a slut, and partly because I had no idea what to do.
The road to recovery
Four years later, I spoke about it for the first time. I told my friends and my mom found out by accident after reading my notebook. We have never spoken about it again because I have told her that my way of dealing with it is to block it out. But truthfully, I have no idea how to talk to my mom about it.
Years later, I dated a guy who happened to work at the same Mexican restaurant. While the guy was no longer there, he was still part of a friendship circle of people who worked there. Knowing when he would be around and being able to successfully avoid him made me feel in some sick way, like I was in control.
I think what hurts more than anything is that the one or two times we have seen each other since has been in public places. He does not even know who I am. How can he not recognise the face of someone whose life he significantly altered?
While I don’t want my rape to define me, I do want to be able to live in peace with the fact that it played a huge role in shaping the person I am today.
I was raped just before my 16th birthday.
Like many other girls, I blamed myself. I am thankful that I now have the sense to know that there is no way it was my fault.
My mother had gone away for the weekend it happened and this is a big reason why I didn’t tell her, because I knew she would blame herself.
I was working at a fish and chip shop (of all places) with a bunch of guys who were older than me. After our shift, we would go home and meet back at a Mexican restaurant for drinks. While the guys I worked with knew my age, the barman didn’t, and so they let me drink there.
On the night in question, I had been drinking. Reason NO.1 why I blamed myself.
We left as the bar was closing and the barman said he was walking in my direction and would walk me home. Usually one of the guys I was working with would walk me, but they lived in the opposite direction, so I was thankful for the offer.
Once we got to my place, he started kissing me. Being a young nerd who hardly got any male attention, I was a little flattered. Reason NO 2 why I blamed myself.
Flashbacks
I have blocked what happened next out for so long that I don’t really remember the finer details.
He did force himself on me and he had absolutely no interest in the front of me.
I remember the burning pain and the taste of my tears. I was silent out of fear and shock.
I remember how he casually got up afterwards and had a cigarette on my balcony before showing himself out.
After my trauma
I was too young to know about going to the cops or anything (like I said I was a nerd, it was a wonder that the guys at work even let me hang out with them). I remember spending hours in the shower, trying to scrub “him” off me.
And I kept quiet, partly because I was embarrassed and felt like a slut, and partly because I had no idea what to do.
The road to recovery
Four years later, I spoke about it for the first time. I told my friends and my mom found out by accident after reading my notebook. We have never spoken about it again because I have told her that my way of dealing with it is to block it out. But truthfully, I have no idea how to talk to my mom about it.
Years later, I dated a guy who happened to work at the same Mexican restaurant. While the guy was no longer there, he was still part of a friendship circle of people who worked there. Knowing when he would be around and being able to successfully avoid him made me feel in some sick way, like I was in control.
I think what hurts more than anything is that the one or two times we have seen each other since has been in public places. He does not even know who I am. How can he not recognise the face of someone whose life he significantly altered?
While I don’t want my rape to define me, I do want to be able to live in peace with the fact that it played a huge role in shaping the person I am today.
