October 4th, 2013: 22 Years Ago, A Rape Changed My Life

October is a brutal month for me. Three times, in my life, I had wedding plans that fell through for the month of October. The seasonal change for those of us in the northeast is often very tough, as we adjust to shorter days. My parents divorced in October. And the worst was October 4, 1991, when my best friend and I went out for an evening of roller-skating, and I was raped on the back seat of the bus by a casual friend while his friends cheered us on.

 

I waited 12 years to get the help I needed dealing with it- way too long. twelve years of my life, I spent broken and wounded, thinking I was a moral failure. You see, I also got pregnant from that rape. People just assumed I was not being careful with my boyfriend. I tried talking with him, and he handed me a metal coat hanger, telling me it was "my problem to deal with for sleeping with another guy." I wasn't ready to be a mother. I was barely ready to be sexually active. I had had consensual sex exactly 3 times before the rape occurred... earlier than some, but I was in a  committed relationship of 8 months at that point. Hardly unusual. he however refused to use condoms with me... and since I had no access to birth control, I did the only thing I could think of: douched with ammonia every time I had sex. I still wake up sometimes feeling the burning of my insides, remembering the shame so hot it sears hotter than the burn.

 

I was young, intelligent, vibrant, had plans for college. I was going to be a veterinarian. As I lay on the table having an abortion procedure done, fighting back the tears I felt I had I had no right to, I remember thinking to myself, "Bad girls don't get to have their dreams. Only good girls are allowed to succeed." I know now, looking back, that voice has stayed with me for all of these 22 years. That is a long time indeed to hold onto pain. Even now, I sit here, I write these words. I feel like panicking. My stomach churns. I feel my throat constricting around words that cannot be said, should not be said. The silence. I ate silence in big heaping spoonfuls with every meal for 12 years. "Don't ever tell anyone," I was advised, "They'll judge you." So I took two days off school, and hemorrhaging, went back to 10th grade, pretending nothing had ever happened.

What was robbed from me? "NO" is what was taken. My ability to set my own boundaries about what people, not just men, were and were not able to do to me. My ability for "tolerance" of bad situations skyrocketed. I could always say to myself, "I have been through worse, I can endure this." My confidence in having children was robbed from me. At age 22, I had the choice to bear a child as a single mother or finish my studies. I made the unbearable decision to remain childless rather than struggle to care for another human being at a time when I was still barely functional. The father was leaving me. It became a pattern: men leaving me when I was vulnerable.

 

Fifteen relationships later, and 10 full years post PTSD therapy I sit here and look back. I have been pushed in many ways beyond normal emotional endurance limits. My therapists talked a lot about resilience. Courage. Internalization. How I let myself believe for so long I deserved what happened, it was my fault. It set patterns for so many other things in life. Tolerance of unfulfilling relationships and dead-end jobs and abuse on both fronts. Not asking to have my needs met. Skating by with what a good friend said was "accepting a few threads from my partners when what I needed was a good warm blanket."

 

This is not a "it's all his fault that my life sucks" kind of rant. We who get caught up in these things do not do this on purpose. But yesterday's affirmations become tomorrow's reality. Trauma, I learned, takes your brain and its systems hostage. Even after therapy, it is possible to relive moments where you feel it is happening again. And again. To stop the cycles is hard work and time. Repetition, diligence. Which takes an inordinate amount of belief. Which is what rape robs from a young girl.

 

I have no answers. I do know one thing. What I felt, 22 years ago, was that I was completely and utterly alone in this world. That I was flawed to a level that no-one would ever understand me, relate to me, or want me- especially not as a life partner. Indeed, there are people in my life who judge me that way: as damaged goods. The girl from a  broken home, they say. The one who was raped... and you know that people like that can never get close to anyone again.

 

I don't want pity. I realize that what I do want is recognition that my weakest moment did not end up defining me. That by being vulnerable to admit what happened, how it influenced my decisions... I was able to break that cycle and give hope to others. And finally, I hope, that after 22 years, I have mended what was torn enough to come forward, to say, "I do deserve a fulfilling relationship, I deserve love, I deserve to be financially secure, and I have permission to ask for what I need and not settle for less." Sometimes that last part means not putting off painful decisions. Sometimes it means allowing myself to believe enough to finish a creative document and submit it.

 

I am sitting here crying again (seems to be a pattern for this year) but trying to renew my determination. I am supposed to work with my closest associate tomorrow. I am going to ask him to take me somewhere beautiful so that I can sit with my still-emerging self and let her believe she has a right to beauty. That she is beautiful. Maybe even try to believe, for the first time ever, that I am beautiful.

 

I am grateful to have people in my life who will also provide the space I need for this kind of healing. If you have been there, and need a listening ear, please feel free to contact me. I know exactly how important that is.

Reviews

[emmajoy]

There are times, too many, when tomorrows seem near impossible. But time and time again you've found strength and determination, and, come out fighting. Maybe, just maybe the fighting has to stop now and, sweet peace enter and conquer your terrible memories. It's not easy. Happens though, did for me. Carrying too heavy a load isnt always the right way to travel. Again, for me.

Sending my love and prayers and hopes and everything else we can share from such a distance, dear Rachael.

[Marie Anzalone]

Your words are much appreciated here and taken directly to heart. That load has felt damned near impossible most of this year. The brutal part is almost done, I hope, with lots of hard parts still to come but at least the mere thought of reaching out to someone does not feel like an exrcise in climbing in the Himalayas any more. We call that progress in there here parts. ;-)

[emmajoy]

Hugs, dear friend.

[emmajoy]

oops, and a few smiles for wrapping

[Marie Anzalone]

accepted in full... and hope to one day be repaid in full, as well

[emmajoy]

here's to that!

[Horizon K.]

I wish I could give you a big hug right now Marie... Feel me across the ether... I have been worried about you these past weeks/ months actually, knowing the trials you have been going through, and I have said this before... That seeing your strength through all if this is truly something I admire. You are a voice of bravery and overcoming and your demands to not be defined by these past incidents, but instead by the strength and accomplishments and dreams and everything else that allows you to rise above and be just you, and ask for nothing less than what you deserve in life and love is truly that, courageous and wise. And I'm sure your bravery will be a beacon for others who have had these or similar struggles. Even I, who have not, am encouraged by you, not to remain silent about injustices and to be strong in asking from life for the best of it.

So I can't say I understand how you feel about rape and it's toll, because I don't, but I am so so happy to know you for your friendship and what I learn from you and I hope you do find that person who recognizes and appreciates you the way you deserve.
HK

[Marie Anzalone]

Thank you. Just, thank you.