Many girls find ingenious ways like this to cope with their abuse. They feel trapped, and floating away or hovering above their bodies is how they survive. Dissociating helped Amber feel less “disgusting” about what happened. But it didn’t stop her pain entirely. As we see so clearly in her story, before she told anyone, she was sitting on a volcano of feelings, which led to some pretty self-destructive behaviors.
It’s worth noticing that Amber knew that Tim was bad news. She felt wrong about the encounters from the very beginning, but, like so many girls her age, she acted against her intuition. The drive for social acceptance was stronger than her will to say no. Of course, sometimes saying no doesn’t work anyway. But, in many cases of teen acquaintance abuse, the guy is also going through some kind of adolescent angst. If you tell him no, he might become scared and stop, but he also might become more insistent and threatening. It’s impossible to predict. You have to trust your gut about whether it’s safe to say no. But in all cases, it’s best to find a trusted adult and tell. If the kid who abused you goes to your school, he might be forced to go to therapy, or he might even be expelled. You can petition for a legal order of protection, which would force him to stay a certain distance from you at all times. The point is, you have options.
As we saw in Amber’s story, it took her a long time to tell anyone, and she has yet to tell her parents. She did not trust her parents to come through for her. Many girls won’t go to their parents if they think their parents won’t stand up for them. Again, you have to go with your instincts. Once Amber started talking about her abuse, she realized she was cutting her arms simply to feel something. She stopped smoking the pot to self-medicate. She received a scholarship to a college out in California and feels ready for this new chapter in her life.
JASMINE
I met Jasmine when she was sixteen years old. She started coming to our sex-abuse survivors’ group at her high school. For the first several meetings she was very quiet. I knew she was Israeli, and I wondered if there was a language barrier. But then after a few group meetings she spoke. Her English was perfect. Jasmine told the group she felt very guilty about taking up group time with her story because many of the girls had been molested by an uncle or father, and her molester was a boy back in Israel. She said she realized that most of the other girls were so much younger than their molesters and had no power but that her abuse was probably her fault because she should have known better.
Then she began to tell her story. Jasmine explained that she had been abused by her friend’s brother and felt really guilty and confused about the abuse. He had forced her to give him blow jobs when she was thirteen, and now she felt that was what she was good for and was sexually active. She judged herself as slutty because she internalized this judgment onto herself from her sexual abuse. She knew that she had a reputation for being a slut and felt like she deserved it. Sex and being taken advantage of by boys—this was familiar ground to Jasmine. But now, with the support from the other girls in the group, she was beginning to realize how much guilt and shame she carried around. With encouragement for the other girls, she felt brave enough and it was time to speak up.
JASMINE’S STORY
The Boat
I moved to the United States when I was fourteen years old. I was born in Israel and was sexually molested there by my friend’s brother when I was twelve. I already spoke some English when we moved here, so getting acclimated wasn’t really all that hard. In fact, I’ll be going to college next year—a year early.
I’d say I’ve always been pretty happy overall. I’ve always been a good student; I work part time; I have some really close friends; I’m on the track team at school. But the abuse experience is always in the back of my mind, no matter what else is going on. The whole thing is still really confusing to me.
We used to spend summers in this small town near the beach. Down the way lived my friend Izhar. I was an only child, and Izhar, who was a year younger than me, was like a little brother. He had this cool older brother, Jakob, who didn’t hang around the littler kids much, but I remember he would sometimes give us these special candies imported from the United States. Jakob was sixteen years old.
Izhar’s parents had a big house. It was much more fun than ours, so we always hung out there. The summer I turned twelve, we were playing cards at Izhar’s house one day when his brother came in and dared us to play strip poker. I was nervous but I kind of liked him, so I said yes. I was down to my bra and jeans when I said, “That’s enough!” His brother laughed at me, but he didn’t push it.
Another time I was over and waiting for Izhar to come home from his guitar lesson, and Jakob invited me into his room. All we did was sit and look through his CDs. But the next time he was alone with me, he asked if he could touch my hair, then my nose and my eyes. He said, “You are so pretty.” Then he gave me a bag of those imported candies. Stuff like this went on for a while, I guess. I was nervous, but it was okay. He told me that, even though I was five years younger than him, he really liked me.
Every girl in our town had a crush on Jakob, and I admit I loved the attention. He would be really nice to me and give me those imported candies. Then one time he kissed me and said he really liked me. Before I knew it, he put his fingers down my underwear, and I remember just kind of freaking out inside. I didn’t want to scream or anything—that would have been too embarrassing—but I stared at this one painting on the wall. It was a painting of water and a boat. He fooled around with me like this a bunch of times, and I completely memorized everything about that painting—the colors, the boat, the places where the paint got thick and lumpy. I remember wanting to be in that painting. I could imagine myself floating away on that beautiful water in that boat. It was my escape.
I didn’t say anything about what was happening with Izhar’s brother to my parents. I think I didn’t want to bother them. I was pretty close to my parents. My father had lost his job, and my mother was working two jobs to support us. I didn’t think my problems with Jakob were really all that important. So I just tried to stay away from him. But I missed Izhar.
The next summer, when I was thirteen, Jakob, Izhar, and I played strip poker a lot. I don’t know why I could have a crush on Jakob—I basically pretended that other stuff never happened. I actually was pretty excited at seeing his naked chest. Why? Even though I thought he was cute, I tried never to be alone with him. One time when the game was over, Jakob asked Izhar to run out and get us sodas. That’s when Jakob opened his pants and took out his penis. He told me to suck him. I started to cry, and he pushed my shoulders down and put his penis in my mouth. I remember gagging and then vomiting all over the place, all over him, me, my clothes. He pushed me away and yelled at me, saying I was a stupid girl who could not do anything right. That night I went from having a crush on him, pushing away what he had done to me last summer, to being really scared of him and feeling totally disgusting.
I ran home and was sick all night. After that I stayed away from Izhar’s house for a long time. But eventually I went back again. I know it seems crazy that I would go back. Jakob apologized and said he wanted me to be his girlfriend. He said he wouldn’t do that again. I told him I didn’t want to be his girlfriend. He just shrugged and laughed.
A couple of weeks went by, and by now Jakob was ignoring me. But one day I was walking to their house through a path in the woods, and there he was. He told me he wanted me to give him a blow job. “It’s nothing,” he said. “You can do it without puking, you know.” I was really scared. The look on his face was mean.
After that he abused me regularly. I was so confused. I still kind of liked him, but I hated how far he was pushing me, and I didn’t know how to stop it. I remember how he would shove my shoulders however he wanted my head and mouth to go, and how I eventually learned to give him blow jobs and not gag. He would get me alone and make me blow him whenever he could. This went on for the rest of the summer, until I turned fourteen and we moved to the States.
&
nbsp; I was happy to move away from Israel, and I thought I’d left all that behind me. The memories started flowing back, though, when I started attending Dr. Patti’s groups. I mean, it’s not like I ever forgot what happened or anything, but I started realizing that I was still hurting a lot from it. I am so grateful that I will never have to see Jakob again. When I think about what happened to me, I still feel disbelief. In Israel no one talked about anything like this.
After coming to the group for a while, I began to connect what happened back in Israel with some of my weird behavior around boys in the States. Like, I was seeing this guy right after we moved here, and he asked me to give him a blow job. I complied but I did it in an almost robotic way. It was so weird. After that, I broke off the relationship. I was an honor student, always worried about grades, joining all the academic clubs, staying home weekends with my family, but I was not a “good girl” when it came to sex. I never had intercourse or anything, but I went a lot farther than I wanted to go. It was like I had this secret, separate, sexual life that was different from who I was in every other way.
When I was fifteen, I was with different boys. I knew they were using me, so I stopped seeing any boys for a while and spent some time alone. After I started going to the group and hearing the other girls talk, I realized that I did not have to be sexual with boys if I didn’t want to be. I really did not want to be with boys. I realized that I wasn’t to blame for what had happened with Jakob, and that just because that stuff happened didn’t mean I had to let boys push me further than I was comfortable going.
Eventually I got to know a boy from my school, and we became very close friends. After being close for a year, we started going out. We have been dating each other for six months now. We celebrated my eighteenth birthday together. It’s the first healthy relationship I’ve ever had. He is a wonderful guy. He is also Israeli and has been in the States for about five years. When we got really close, I told him about the sexual abuse, and he was so supportive and loving. He did not make me feel dirty at all. He does not pressure me to have sex, and I still don’t feel ready. He does these really sweet things for me, like on Valentine’s Day he snuck into school early and put this adorable stuffed teddy bear in my locker. He never forces anything on me, and he is very sensitive and gentle. But sometimes when he touches my shoulders I freeze.
For instance, the other night we were watching a video, and, when he came up behind me and put his arms around me, I freaked out. I started to cry hysterically. I realize I still have triggers that remind me of Jakob. Sometimes my body reacts as if it is in trauma, and my mind doesn’t even seem connected to my body. But my boyfriend is really understanding. I think what saved me during those interactions with Jakob was that painting on the wall. I really imagined myself floating away on that boat. I was floating away from his hands and his body and his abuse.
MY THOUGHTS
Jasmine is fortunate. She has worked hard to gain insight and forgive herself for the acquaintance abuse she suffered as a young girl. She has a supportive boyfriend, and over time she has learned to trust him and enjoy their closeness. When Jasmine first came into our group, she was timid and frightened. As time went on, she became a lot bolder, and now she shares things more readily. It has been really inspirational for the other girls to see her in this healthy relationship with a guy. Her boyfriend drops her off at the group and picks her up, and they seem really happy. Jasmine has brought a couple of her friends to the group, too—other young women raised in Israel who were molested as children. Jasmine has been a role model for many girls.
I knew I needed to stop him, but I just froze with my pride in my pocket.
—a sixteen-year-old survivor of acquaintance abuse
Acquaintance abuse is a lot like date rape in that the girl knows the person abusing her and chooses to be with him—but she doesn’t choose to be sexual with him. Neither Jasmine nor Amber knew how to end the abuse. They were both pre-adolescent girls, and they were both vulnerable. Even though neither of them wanted the sexual attention, they both felt it made them special and were confused about whether they wanted to stop it. Amber felt special that a popular boy “wanted” her, and Jasmine felt pride that this “cool” boy paid attention to her.
I have found that girls who suffer acquaintance rape often don’t have an open dialogue in their families. They don’t feel that their parents will or can help or guide them. This was certainly the case with both Amber’s and Jasmine’s families. Jasmine’s family might have been there for her, but her concern that she was going to be a bother kept her from going to them. This is also very common. It’s hard enough for any girl to talk about sex and sexuality with her parents. Especially when a girl is confused about whether she might have “asked for it,” she can be too uncomfortable to discuss abuse with her parents.
As with all abuse, if you have suffered acquaintance abuse and are afraid to tell your parents, you can try calling a hotline or telling a trusted adult (a teacher or a friend, for example). You can also write about what happened in your journal. You might rehearse what you would say if you were to tell someone until you find the strength to say it. Even if the abuse happened years ago, writing about it and telling someone about it can make all the difference to how you feel inside. I can assure you that telling will help you feel better. Remember: Acquaintance abuse, even by a boy you like, is never, never your fault. You didn’t deserve it. What you do deserve is the support to work through it. It’s never too late to tell your story and begin to heal your wounds.
CHAPTER 11
RAPE ALWAYS HURTS
Stranger Rape/Date Rape/Gang Rape (Iris’s Story, Dahlia’s Story)
I just don’t let anyone get close. I protect myself by not allowing anyone access to the control panels.
—an eighteen-year-old rape survivor
A lot has been written about rape over the past several years or so. It’s easy to forget that it was forty years ago that the first rape crisis center opened in New York City at St. Vincent’s Hospital. Its founder, social worker Flora Colao, explains, “Rape was barely talked about then, but we kept getting women in the hospital who were being randomly raped, women so full of shame and fear that they were afraid to tell their husbands or anyone close to them.” It took the feminist movement in the 1970s to define “rape culture,” a culture that is made up of a system of beliefs that encourages male sexual aggression against females.
We have come some distance since the 1970s. Yes, the laws back then were so difficult for a woman to prove rape, considering they demanded a witness in order to prosecute! Many people, women and men, are working hard to change the laws and the courts. And once again feminists are leading the way. Women are writing books and songs and poems about rape and running rape crisis centers and hotlines, and we are grateful for all their efforts. But rape is still the most common violent crime committed against women in the United States,1 and we still have a long way to go. We must make people aware of the impact of rape on women; we must make the crime of rape seen and heard; and, finally, we must prevent it.
One wonderful example of the ways young women are making their voices heard began at Brown University. In 1990, female students at Brown started scrawling the names of their accused rapists on the walls of the women’s bathrooms. The attention this garnered drove Brown to require all first-year students to participate in a peer education program against sexual assault. Many other universities now also offer self-defense and rape awareness programs, some voluntary, some mandatory.2 By 2017 many universities had the “rapist list” on posters and scrawled throughout their campuses: Hamilton, Columbia, Brown, Vanderbilt, Tufts, Notre Dame, Penn State, to name a few.
In 2014 President Barack Obama and Vice President Joe Biden launched the “It’s on Us” awareness campaign to help end sex abuse on college campuses through education, responsibility, and consequences
In 2015 Emma Sulkowicz, a Columbia University student, picked up and carried around campus the mattress
she was raped on. She was protesting her university’s lack of handling her rape report. She didn’t know she was going to start a movement. The response on campus was monumental, with girls and guys helping her to carry her mattress. Sexual assault prevention activists spread the word, and soon there was a movement called “Carrying the Weight Together,” with students all across the United States carrying mattresses through college campuses protesting campus rape.
Tori Amos sings an extraordinary, haunting song called “I’ve Never Been to Barbados” about her rape experience. It describes the time when she was nineteen years old and took a ride with a couple of guys who had been at her concert. They pulled over to the side of the road and raped her at gunpoint. In the song, which she sings a cappella, she recounts how the thought that she had never been to Barbados kept playing in her mind while she was being raped. Barbados became her metaphor for living through the ordeal.
So many young female rape survivors approached her after her concerts, she decided she had to do something about rape in America, and that is when she cofounded the Rape, Abuse, and Incest National Network, or RAINN, the largest rape crisis hotline in the country, perhaps in the world.
Over the past twenty years, a number of women have also written memoirs about their experiences of rape. In her book After Silence: Rape and My Journey Back, Nancy Venable Raine writes about a stranger rape that took place when she was thirty. Raine was taking out the garbage and left her apartment door open. When she returned to her apartment seconds later, a man raped her at knifepoint. It took her ten years to write about it—ten years in which the rape continued to devastate her.
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