Invisible Girls

by Patti Feuereisen

  In the past two years, my therapy has been a journey to some places I didn’t want to go. But I am finding that the more I talk about my childhood abuse at the hands of my brother and the lack of support from my parents, the more I am able to begin to stop blaming myself. As children we have little to no control over the violations of our families—verbal, sexual, or physical—yet as young women we can choose friends and lovers who do not treat us as our families did.

  I have since learned that I do have boundaries; I have since learned that it is my responsibility, and no one else’s, to make sure people respect me. As a child I could not control my destiny. I could not get my parents to see the demoralization I had suffered at the hands of my brother. But as an adult I get to choose to be around good people. I don’t have to speak with my brother. I can limit my time with my parents if they are unsupportive. Slowly but surely, I am putting the rape behind me. I am learning that I am worth more. I have begun to heal.

  MY THOUGHTS

  Iris very much wanted to share her story to help other young women avoid the mistake she made. She wants girls to know that they should not get drunk or stoned to the point they make themselves vulnerable to danger. We also learn from her story that sometimes young women don’t watch out for each other.

  As she tells us, Iris did not have high self-esteem, and, even though she was not physically molested as a child, the torment she suffered from the verbal, emotional, and physical abuse by her brother brought her to a point where she believed she deserved very little in relationships. It is no wonder Iris responded to the attention of these two males. After all those years of being told how ugly she was, just a crumb of positive attention felt great.

  You’ll recall that she knew, as she was getting drunk, that she didn’t have all her faculties, but she trusted her “friend” Ezra. In fact, she drank so much that she passed out and came in and out of consciousness during the rape. She was so ashamed, she didn’t even want to blame the rape on Ezra and Michael; it was easier to tell herself she’d been rejected by Michael.

  I’ve seen many other girls who’ve blamed themselves for date rapes. They figure they’re old enough that they should be able to keep things from getting out of hand. That’s why date rape on college campuses is such a huge problem. Within the past several years, date rape on college campuses has been identified as the number one problem, with date and acquaintance rape topping the list of violent crimes against women on college campuses. This is why the Obama/Biden team founded the “It’s on Us” program. And although in the past several years we have made some progress by bringing this crime to the forefront, it remains a huge problem.

  Many college girls are testing their new freedom; they do want to go out and get drunk and have a good time; they may even really be into the guy who takes them home. But that doesn’t mean they asked to be raped. If a girl resists or says no or tries to run and a guy overpowers her, that is rape. All the backlash in the world doesn’t change that fact.

  Ask yourself a few questions: Is Iris’s story so different from what could have happened to you on a night of partying? Do you and your friends keep each other’s backs? Do you keep an eye on your drink at all times to be sure no one tampers with it? If you are going home with a guy do you text your friends, let them know where you are, and ask them to check in on you?

  ACQUAINTANCE RAPE / GANG RAPE

  quick, call the cops

  I’ve just been cocked blocked

  Knocked out by a rock

  My body was in shock

  a flock of guys just left me alone

  coughing up a bloody song

  how could I whimper without a fight

  I was weak and the cuffs were too tight

  —an eighteen-year-old gang-rape survivor

  Amber’s experience, in Chapter 10, of being manipulated into a molestation relationship with a counselor at summer camp, we noted the difference between acquaintance sexual abuse and incest. In this chapter, we’ve been talking about some of the differences between stranger rape and date rape. But there is also a difference between acquaintance rape and date rape.

  Acquaintance rape usually refers to a situation where someone you know rapes you, but not on a date. Usually you did not choose to be out or alone with this person. You may have ended up with him after being out in a group and never had any intention of being with him alone. Of course, at some basic level rape is rape, but getting raped after choosing to be with a guy feels a lot different from being raped by a guy you never had any interest in or attraction to in the first place. The former is more confusing, and you can really begin to question your judgment. It’s upsetting in an entirely different way than when a stranger attacks you. Nevertheless, acquaintance rape can be just as traumatic.

  DAHLIA

  When Dahlia was raped by some boys from school, she didn’t even know any of their names. She’d only seen them in the halls at school. A girlfriend had brought her along to meet up with them in a park and then left her alone with these boys she didn’t know.

  Dahlia was only fourteen at the time. She grew up in San Francisco, in the upscale Pacific Heights area. Her father was very uptight, a successful banker and businessman. He made her feel worthless with his withering criticism. She was expected to get straight As and excel in sports. He also bullied her mother and younger brother. Dahlia never leaned on her mother for support; she just felt sorry for her. From a very young age, Dahlia learned to do everything she could to be perfect. She spoke softly and was always sweet and agreeable.

  When she was eleven and her brother was eight, her parents got a messy divorce. Her father jerked her mother around about money, and her mother slipped into a quiet depression. Her brother became needy and demanding of both parents, and Dahlia, being the good girl, slipped into the background. She hardly ever saw her father and mostly just threw herself into her schoolwork and the track team.

  Through Dahlia’s riveting story we learn how low self-image and constantly being in the background of her family can leave a girl vulnerable to rape and eating disorders.

  DAHLIA’S STORY

  I Was Scared They Would Kill Me

  When I went to therapy at twenty, I felt like such an idiot. Not only was I raped once, I was raped twice! The first time I was clueless, but when I was nineteen I should have known better. Actually, I did know better. I knew I should have stopped drinking after the fifth drink. But I am insecure and the drinking made me relax, so I kept going. A big mistake.

  I am what some kids call a “mixed breed.” Not a very nice way of saying I am half Chinese (my mom’s Chinese) and half Irish Catholic (from my dad). I am kind of light skinned for an Asian and have light brown hair. I call it mousy brown. I have always felt like kind of a freak, never really fitting in with either the Asian kids or the white kids.

  My school was very rich and white. I always felt like I stood out. I guess you could say I still have a pretty bad self-image. People are always telling me how thin I am, but I don’t agree. I think I’m much too fat. But I am trying to change those feelings. Track has always helped me to feel stronger and centered, but, when I started to run to lose weight, it took some of the joy out of running. I am working on that, too.

  I have always been a shy kid. When my parents separated when I was twelve, I was actually relieved. My father had the ability to scare the shit out of me just by entering the room. He never hit me or anything, but he was joyless, stern, and very judgmental. My mother is a sweetheart. I was really proud of her for breaking up with my father and going back to college at thirty-five. Asking for a divorce was the first time I ever saw her really stand up to my dad.

  So there I was. Twelve years old, a shy kid without a lot of friends. I spent most of my time alone, drawing in my sketchbook or writing in my journal. My seventh-grade year was mostly about helping my mom around the house and getting used to not having my father around to scare me, and my mom spent a lot of time calming my brother down. The year I entered eigh
th grade, I met another eighth-grader on the track team, a girl named Lee Ann. Lee Ann was everything I wasn’t. She was brazen, funny, self-assured, and she even hung out with boys in the tenth and eleventh grades.

  I wanted friends, I wanted to be invited along to things, so when Lee Ann asked me to go to the diner with her after track to get a sandwich, I said yes. Lee Ann then suggested that we go meet up with some guys she knew at Speedway Meadow in Golden Gate Park. Golden Gate Park is a huge park in the western part of San Francisco. It runs more than forty city blocks out toward the ocean and has lots of different areas: beautiful ponds, trails, fields, and lots of woods.

  We all met up at the meadow at dusk. At first, I was enjoying hanging out with these guys, even though I felt out of place. I had only seen them in the halls of school. They were all popular varsity football players and seemed pretty cool.

  After a while Lee Ann announced that she had to go. When I tried to leave with her, one of the boys knocked me down. Weird. I thought it was an accident, but then Lee Ann turned to look and saw me on the ground and just left me there. That’s when I got scared. As I got up, another boy grabbed me by the arm. I tried to yank myself free, I told them I was leaving, but one of the boys took off his sock and stuffed it in my mouth. I couldn’t make a sound. I think I was in shock.

  The three boys dragged me into a secluded woody area. It was dark by then. One boy pushed me down, another pulled down my pants, and the third unzipped his pants and forced his penis into me. I remember the boys laughing. Then one boy started jerking off, his sperm hitting me on my head, while the third boy took his turn with me. Even though this all probably lasted about fifteen minutes, it felt like hours.

  When they were all done, they threatened to kill me if I told. They said they’d hurt my little brother and my mother. They recited my address and phone number and told me they’d be watching me “all the time.” Then they left me with the sock stuffed in my mouth, my pants and underpants all ripped and bloody, and gunk all over my hair and face.

  I am not sure how I got myself up and got home, but I did. I was so relieved that no one was home when I got there. I headed straight for the shower, still feeling numb. In the shower I finally started realizing what had happened. I began to sob and just sat at the bottom of the shower, holding myself and rocking back and forth.

  When my mother and brother came home a little while later, my mom called up the stairs. I quickly threw on some clothes and came down to join them as if nothing had happened. My mom asked about the bruise on my forehead, but I just told her that I had fallen during track and not to worry. My mom, having no reason to suspect anything, believed me.

  I couldn’t sleep that night. I felt as if I was crawling out of my skin. I looked at my bruises and remembered them pushing and pushing until my skin was scraped bare. They’d taken all my hope and ripped it out of me. When my mom came up that night to kiss me good night, I almost jumped out of my skin in fear. I told her I felt sick.

  That night I woke up in a cold sweat. I had come down with a fever, and my mom agreed that I should stay home for a couple of days. I was terrified to go to school; I was terrified the boys would find me in the halls and torment me. I believed they would come after me again, and I was terrified that they would come after my family if I told. After the brutality of the gang rape, and their laughter, I figured they were capable of anything, even killing. What did I know? I was just a young kid.

  Even though I was scared to go back to school, I wanted to see Lee Ann and say to her, “Fuck you for leaving me alone with those assholes in the park.” I didn’t know if she knew or had even maybe set me up. I mean, the way she’d turned and looked and then ridden off on her bike. I thought she must have known they were going to do something to me.

  I lay there in bed thinking about their sick smiles and laughter, the spitting, the jerking off, and I just cried and cried.

  Meanwhile my mother was crying herself to sleep every night. It’s a really shameful thing in Asian culture to get divorced, and my mother’s family had shunned her and actually taken my father’s side. I certainly wasn’t going to burden my mom with my problems. I believed I was her lifeline.

  On Friday I finally went to school. I saw Lee Ann in the halls, and she said hi really nonchalantly. I couldn’t believe it. I was practically shaking the whole time, but I did draw up the courage to ask her why she had left me alone with those assholes in the park. She said, “Oh, they said they had a great time with you!” That froze me. I just avoided Lee Ann from then on. I didn’t know whom I could trust.

  I spent months being petrified that these guys would do something to me or to my family if I told. I retreated into my own little hell. I never spoke to Lee Ann, but I avoided everyone, really. I always looked over my shoulder for those asshole boys, and I tried to always leave my classes with classmates and to never walk alone in the halls.

  The boys did see me a couple of times. Once they even followed me home, jeering and whispering, “Better not tell, bitch.” One time they cornered me at my locker when the halls were deserted. They pushed me up against the locker and threatened me again, saying they were watching me and my little brother and that I should watch my back. After school ended for the year they seemed to leave me alone. Who knows? Maybe they’d raped another girl by then. But I was still frightened all the time.

  I felt out of control. Now running track was not enough. I needed to control something else, and about the only other thing I could control was my eating. So I started to count every calorie of everything I put into my mouth, and then I would vomit after almost every meal. I bought cookbooks and read the calorie content of all foods; I figured out ways to pretend I had eaten what was on my plate by putting food in napkins at the dinner table. And I think this little bit of control saved me from going totally crazy.

  Meanwhile, my mother was pretty clueless. My father was always away on business, so I barely saw him, and my brother was having a lot of trouble in school, so nobody was really paying attention to me. I used to cover up my body with double layers of T-shirts and everything, so I guess nobody really knew how thin I had become. No one knew, either, that I would puke after every meal. I know it sounds awful, but the vomiting felt like getting rid of all the bad stuff that had been building up inside me.

  I was scared and tormented by the rape, but I never told anyone what had happened to me. I continued to do well in school, avoided most kids, and finished eighth grade.

  The next fall, I started ninth grade, and about thirty new kids entered our public school from the next town over. I made the varsity track team and actually started to become friends with a couple of new girls at school. I would still see the boys who raped me in the halls at school from time to time—they were seniors now and they thought they ruled the school—but they had stopped paying any attention to me. I was still scared to death inside, but I found great comfort in being obsessed with food and weight and calories.

  Ninth grade was when my body started to betray me. Even though my period had started when I was twelve, it stopped with my eating problem. But now my breasts had started growing and boys were checking me out. This made me totally anxious. Whenever a guy would look at me or try to hang out with me, I would panic. I tried never to walk the halls alone. I always tried to be with one of the new kids. My reputation at school was that I was some guy-hating weirdo. Some kids even started rumors that I was gay. That didn’t bother me so much, but the stares from guys did, so I ate even less. Still, nobody noticed. My mother was busy with college, and most of my friends were almost as obsessed with calories as I was.

  My little world at the time revolved around eating and purging, around counting calories and checking for pinchable flesh. I was determined never to have any flesh that could be pinched. I figured that if I didn’t look like a woman, if I had no curves, no breasts, no flesh, maybe I wouldn’t be rape-able, maybe I wouldn’t be sexual. Maybe I would disappear.

  Finally, my mother became concer
ned. She finally noticed that I had become reclusive and frail and less and less communicative. She tried to talk to me, tried to get me to eat. But I would get defensive, and my mom and I started fighting a lot. She was doing better, and I was pissed. I was pissed if she tried to tell me what to eat and what not to eat. I hated her commenting on my body and felt invaded when she said anything about my looks.

  Then one day at track practice, I passed out on the field and had to be taken to the emergency room of our local hospital. I weighed just eighty-seven pounds. I was immediately given an IV and came in and out of consciousness. I think they were sedating me, and the IV was making me nauseous. After two days they transferred me, or I should say my mother committed me, to a psychiatric hospital. I hated that place. I had to go to group therapy with boys, kids were hooking up on the unit while the staff wasn’t looking, and girls were vomiting and taking enemas to keep their weight down and then drinking gallons of water and not peeing for weigh-in. Wow, I was learning all kinds of tricks in the hospital.

  I really wanted to get out. The social worker kept asking me over and over why I was so depressed, why I was anorexic and bulimic, why, why, why. I hated her. Finally, one day in a family therapy session I blurted it all out about the rape. It was me and my mother and the social worker. My mother leapt from her chair and grabbed hold of me. It felt really good to finally let out the secret, but I made them promise it wouldn’t go past that room.