Trigger Warning: This is a #METOO story and thus I encourage you to read with caution or avoid it all together if you think it may be hard for you.
So I have been toying with the nerve to post this for some time now. My husband really struggles with it as it is obviously hard for him to think about happening to me. I’m sure it would be for anyone very close to me. He also struggles to understand why I feel the need to share it with the world.
I have my reasons as I discuss below, but I think watching this documentary on Netflix (Roll Red Roll) released in 2019. This story has really given me the courage to do so and solidifies my reasoning and need to. I do not want someone else to tell my story. Let me rephrase….I do not want someone else to have control over what is thought or known about me.
This documentary is set in 2012 in Ohio where in a high school girl is overly intoxicated at a party and a victim of gang rape. The documentary shows a multitude of party goers making comments on social media such as, “the song of the evening is Rape Me by Nirvana.” They also posted a photo of the girl being carried by her limbs captioned, “sloppy” among others. In addition, there are mounds of texts between the boys with rape jokes referring to her as a “dead body” and “we’re hittin it for real.” However, most disturbing was a 12 minute video of the boys joking about her and laughing about the assault.
This was very hard for me to watch as I too was laughed at about what happened to me. People had a misperception of what happened to me. I feel for this girl. She was silent for the most part in the documentary except for a few texts to one of the boys asking what happened to her last night. She did not speak out and she did not tell her story. I am not surprised. It is a scary thing to do. That’s why I never did. But I don’t want my story to end that way. I want to take back the narrative of my story and not allow someone else to tell it. BS 4.15.2020
As I sit here rereading my blog and making small edits, I come across “Why It Is So Hard to Talk About Abuse” which I posted in November of 2018. And yet still nothing. I am still scared. I am scared to talk about it because of the people in my life. I don’t want them to look at me differently, I don’t want to upset them.
Why do I feel the need to let this out?
A few reasons, but mostly…
I want my day in court. Not literally. But I want my side known.
I was bullied for what happened to me and it’s not fair. I was made fun of and rumors spread about me. People did not know the truth and I only think it’s fair they do.
It’s hard for me to acknowledged that I have been “raped.” I still blame myself to some extent because I “reluctantly agreed.” But when you’re in a room with someone who has a gun. The same person who has put a gun to your head and chased you with a gun on multiple occasions and hit you, that is called coercion. That is called being in fear of your life if you don’t do what this person with a gun asks of you. That is by all accounts rape. I know that in my rational mind because of my education. However, it is still hard for me to stop blaming myself.
This person with said gun was requesting of me that I allow his best friend to have sex with me. He felt his friend was so ugly that no one would ever sleep with him. As far as I know that is how he lost his virginity. To a terrified girl crying and covering her face with a pillow as his best friend stood in the corner with a gun. I was that girl. I was the girl that endured that. I was the girl that endured going to school after that and hearing the whispers and everyone talking about how I had seemingly consenting sex with this person. I was laughed at and laughed about because of “what I did.”
I’m done letting people think that was what I wanted.
Over and over I was reminded by this person that all I was was an object to him. A toy for him to punch around on and share with his friends, to make fun of, to torture, to abuse. I was 14.
I was an angry teenager. I was mean to people. I didn’t value myself. I didn’t respect myself. It took me a long time to learn where my anger was coming from, to learn my self worth, and to learn to respect myself. I still struggle with that.
Every time my husband and I get into an argument I go back to those core thoughts that were ingrained in me. I feel insecure. I feel like he is judging me. I feel like I am not good enough. I feel like I’m not enough. I feel like no matter what I do I cannot make him happy. I feel I will never be good enough. This is not his fault. I bring this baggage to the table. I have to ask myself why am I feeling this way.