I was raped on New Year’s Eve night, four years ago. He was a friend.
It was my first time. It haunted me for a long time that I didn’t say no. It haunted me past a little after it was over, when, shocked, he uttered that he had raped me, past the next day when he begged me to tell him I hate him and told me I could take him to the police if I wanted, past the bruises I saw as I examined my body alone back in my own dorm the next night.
It haunted me that I didn’t say no. It haunted me so much that I had panic attacks. I froze, escaped my body, went numb over and over again at random times. When I confided in my friend about what happened, she told me I was immature for having been in his room in the first place when she had already judged him as an unsafe guy from the first time she met him. She said I deserved it and shouldn’t complain.
I was fine with it at first. I accepted it and decided it was my choice. Then when it started feeling wrong, I listened to my best friend, who said that “technically, if you went to court, they wouldn’t find anything against the guy since you didn’t REALLY say no.”
I lived with it for years. The shame, the guilt, the recurring panic attacks. Crying when getting intimate with the boyfriend I dated right after this happened, who I thought loved me. But in truth, he didn’t, not well. He cheated on me with my best friend and manipulated my mind for a year and a half.
When I started college, I knew nothing about guys. The first time my first boyfriend fingered me on his bed, it hurt, and I cried secretly when he went to the bathroom. I wasn’t ready, and I would tell him, but he wanted stuff, and he would say, “If you loved me, you’d do it.” So I fell for it, because I didn’t know what love was.
My mom hit me when I was young, and my dad was away at work most of the time. I knew she loved me but knew it in my head. I never felt it in my heart. How could I have known love, when she convinced me she loved me but she abused me so much, both physically and verbally? I didn’t know it, and that’s why I think I fell for a guy like this. It felt so dirty to do what he wanted, and yet I thought I had to, to be a good girlfriend, to earn his love.
When we broke up, he spread lies to his friends that we had sex, but we didn’t. My first time was the rape, less than a year later. It must have hurt, but I didn’t know it then. I didn’t feel anything. I lay in his bed, arms tied as he sat on my legs, and didn’t even feel him hitting me. The harder he slapped my breasts, the less I felt.
I remember hearing the belt buckle clinking. And then nothing. I didn’t feel him having sex with me. I waited, until something broke inside me, and I cried and tugged on my tied wrists and tried to turn to my side. That’s when he let me go.
It was soon after the rape that I started dating the guy who ended up cheating on me with my best friend. I was really vulnerable then, and I think he must have used that fact since I confided in him about a week after it happened.
Months later, after we broke up because he cheated, I was devastated. Of course, the panic attacks and nightmares continued. I was hurting, not just because of the rape but from the cheating, too, because I considered this guy my first love, my true love. So I started drinking a lot and sleeping with guys I didn’t really care about. I decided I didn’t want to care about sex anymore, because I thought that if I made it not be important to me, then it wouldn’t matter anymore. The rape wouldn’t hurt anymore. But it still hurt. The more I slept with guys, the sluttier I felt. Often, I thought it was disgusting when we were in bed. I would just lie there and wait till it was over, though they probably didn’t even know it.
In my last year of college, my best friend (same friend who told me that legally I was at fault for not saying no two years before) took advantage of me when I was drunk one night. Though he denied it then, he admitted it to me a year later. He said he couldn’t help himself, that I was drunk and I was the one who put myself in his apartment and looked like I wanted it to happen. That he was a guy and I was a girl, and he couldn’t help himself.
After I moved to San Francisco, I met a guy. He seemed different from the others, you know, kind of a brainiac nerd. He wanted me to spend the night at his place, because we had been out late, and he said I’d be safer staying there than taking the train home alone. I decided to tell him about the rape. Surely if he knew that I’d been raped before, he wouldn’t try anything. He promised not to, said he was so sorry about what had happened to me, said that his ex-girlfriend had also been raped and he remembered how that had affected her. He promised nothing would happen if I went back.
So I did. And, once we were in his room, my secret didn’t matter anymore. We were just going to sleep he said, and, when we lay down, he got on top of me and pinned me down to his bed. He forced his mouth onto mine so hard that I couldn’t turn my head or push him away. I was wearing a strapless top under my jacket that night, so he grabbed it and pulled it down as he still held my hands over my head. I was half naked in front of what now seemed like a stranger. I was so ashamed, and I kept struggling and couldn’t get away.
I was so scared. I started to cry and begged him to stop, said please, asked over and over again why he was doing this to me. He didn’t respond. He just kept going. Touching me, licking me. I went numb because I remember how I stopped fighting as he pulled my skirt up and my pantyhose and underwear down. I kept whimpering, and he didn’t stop. And then he pulled his pants down and tried to force himself in, without a condom. I backed up a bit and kept crying, but he came forth and tried again. Then something in me snapped, and suddenly I thought, “I am NOT going to be raped again. Not unprotected.” And with a surge of superwoman strength, I kicked him and pushed him off. He sat there and pretended that nothing had happened, that he didn’t know what he had been doing. And asked, “What? What’s wrong?”
I was able to get away and walk to the train in the middle of the night after all, but, to this day, I think that was the most inhumane thing I’ve ever experienced, worse than the first time because at least then I didn’t even say no, so I was never sure what would have happened if I had. But this was proof that even if I had said no, it might not have saved me.
It’s been over a year now since this happened. Soon after, I couldn’t take it anymore. I broke down really bad one night, and that’s when I started doing these talking sessions with a girlfriend of mine that I trusted. We went back to the beginning, and I opened up about all of it, and it helped me so much that if it wasn’t for that, I don’t think I would be writing this now. Once we talked about the rape, I realized that it wasn’t my fault. That even though I didn’t say no, I never said yes, and the guy knew that I didn’t want it. He knew it, because he knew me well. But I was vulnerable, and he took advantage of me.
It’s amazing how much strength I’ve found in me in the past year, and how much love I’ve felt again for myself after I let go of the guilt. I’ve made so much progress. In fact, I thought I was pretty much healed. But then, on Sunday, I watched a Holocaust movie. I used to have these concentration camp nightmares, but they had stopped by then. But after the movie I was in shock. I went to my friend’s place, the person that I have opened up to, and I started crying. I didn’t know why I was crying, but I let it all out. I cried and cried, and then something very strange happened: My body experienced the same exact sensations of the night of the rape. I relived it, everything that was underneath the numbness that night. This had happened before, twice, back when I first started opening up. Back then I would not be able to move. I couldn’t move my legs, especially my right one. It must be because he had been sitting on them. I couldn’t move them, even after the sensations slowly returned to the rest of my body.
This time, it was different. I went through the feelings, one by one: through the anxiety, through random pains spreading throughout my body, through the physical pain I must have felt in my vagina that night of my first time having sex, then through the quieting of senses, the letting go… and then as it ended I breathed hard. And suddenly, I cried and blurted out that I felt
so bad that I let this happen to me, that I just wanted to hug the little girl, protect her, and then I yelled louder that I wanted to forgive myself.
I was SO surprised to hear that. I didn’t even know that I wanted to “forgive myself.” I thought I had. But I think that’s why I felt it again: because I still hadn’t let go of all the shame and guilt. I still blamed myself for being there in the first place, for being unable to say no.
The next day (Monday), I found your book on my lunch hour. I read it in two days. Thank you. A lot of things you said in there really rang true for me. I feel that I’m ready to heal, in a different way now. Ready to accept that it happened to me, affected me in terrible ways, and that it wasn’t my fault. I had no support system then. I didn’t know any better.
I think that the rape led to all the rest of the situations I found myself in with guys later, repeated itself over and over again, because I believed that I deserved to be treated like that, that it was just my destiny and I couldn’t question it.
I think if you don’t feel loved when you are young, you don’t understand what love is supposed to be like, so you don’t know to filter out the bad people from the good. You don’t understand the differences, you make excuses for the clues. And you end up with a lot of bad people trying to bring you down every second they can, especially when they know you’re in your most vulnerable times. You’re prey then, and that’s what I was.
I’m happy these days. I’ve never felt as calm and happy and balanced as I do now that it’s all over. As you said in your book, we may not get to choose where we are and who protects us when we’re kids, but, as adults, we do get to choose. I agree. I choose to offer me the love I never got as a child or as a teenager. I choose to wait and be with people who really love me.
The strength of the girls who shared their stories with us in your book is incredible. Inspiring and empowering to read that you, we, are not alone in this. The resilience of the female spirit is brilliant. Thank you for sharing that with the world.
Melody
Occasionally I get a letter from a boyfriend or girlfriend of an abuse survivor. They write because they have found out about the abuse or are struggling to help their partner or want to get through intimacy issues in their relationship that seem related to the trauma of the past. These partners are trying to understand. It’s always heartening when I hear that Invisible Girls has saved a relationship or brought insight to a partner’s trauma.
A Boy from Barcelona
Dear Dr. Patti,
I have a girlfriend that I love very much. She was getting very distant and I did not know why. We live in Barcelona and we are both twenty-two years old. She left her diary open on the table, and I read that she was raped when she was sixteen. I panicked. I did not know how to help her. I found your site and your book. Actually, I found it in Spanish, El Abuso. It has been two months now since I read her opened diary. We have both read your book. I want to thank you. From a boyfriend’s perspective, it helped me to help her. She now is talking about her abuse to some of her friends and she is beginning to understand she can move on. Thank God for that book!
Gracias,
A Thankful Boyfriend
A Boyfriend’s Perspective
Dear Dr. Patti,
A few months ago, I started dating a very successful, attractive, and intelligent girl who revealed very early on in our relationship that she was the victim of sexual abuse. Although she didn’t provide details and I didn’t pressure her, I had no idea the impact this could have on someone. For example, the better I got to know her, the further apart we got emotionally. This really confused and upset me because I was in love with her and I really wanted to be close to her. The more she distanced herself, the more I pushed her to be closer to me emotionally. Within a few weeks, she broke up with me; I think now it’s because of the pressure I put on her, among many other factors that only now make so much sense. We remain, however, today as friends.
After we broke up, I came across Invisible Girls and read it cover to cover twice. As I did, so many things that happened in our relationship, and some of my friend’s characteristics, became so understandable.
I wish I had read this book as soon as she told me her story. I could have been so much more understanding and supportive. I realize from reading your book that such people don’t really want to push people away, it’s just what they have done for years to protect themselves and shouldn’t be taken personally.
This is a great book, and I highly recommend it for anyone who wants to understand the effects that sexual abuse has on people, and to hear what steps individuals can take to recover, overcome, and move forward confidently in their lives. It has given me the perspective and understanding to be unconditionally supportive, kind, loving, gentle, and understanding toward my friend, which is the very least that my awesome friend should expect from anyone in her life.
Gracias,
Manuel
I have a very specific philosophy about mothers and incest. I strongly believe that incest rarely takes place in a home with a strong, healthy, aware mother. In the vast majority of cases, the mothers in homes where abuse takes place were themselves survivors of abuse. These mothers never processed their own abuse and were blind to their daughter’s abuse. In my own clinical experience and research, and in the studies of experts like Dr. Judith Herman, we have found that when a woman has been abused—sexually, emotionally, or both—she may go into denial and keep herself unaware that her daughter is being abused (as we heard in Maria’s e-mail). I’m not suggesting that she is necessarily a bad mother—sometimes she is a deeply loving mother—only that she is damaged herself and cannot see her daughter’s pain.
I have also never met a girl who has told her mother the truth about her abuse if she thought her mother would reject her. Girls hold their secrets so deeply inside because they are terrified of their mother blaming them or not protecting them. Over the years I have gotten a few e-mails from mothers who were horrified to discover that their daughter had been sexually abused by an uncle, a coach, or a stepfather and were concerned and confused about why their daughter hadn’t told them. But after a closer look it usually turns out that, even in a loving family, at the time of the abuse there was some sort of upheaval going on at home, for example, a divorce, a parent losing a job, the death of a grandparent—some sort of chaos leaving the girl feeling that she couldn’t have her mother’s undivided attention and focus. This is all the more reason that during family crises mothers need to really stay connected with their daughters, especially high-functioning, “perfect” girls who seem to need so little that they easily slip through the cracks.
This mother was totally loving and committed to her daughter and admitted that early in her marriage she was not strong and she was not able to see what was going on. You’ll remember my client who actually went to shoot her ex-husband when she found out about the incest (see Chapter 14). There are always exceptions, as the mothers of these next letters want you to know, but girls are always very wise and intuitive and will know they are able to go to their mothers, because their mothers will protect them.
When She Was Seven Years Old
Dear Dr. Patti,
I am a mother of a beautiful fifteen-year-old daughter who just dropped a bomb on me… telling me that about seven years ago an old boyfriend of mine sexually molested her.
First of all, I am thankful for the close relationship that she and I have had all these years (I have been a single mother for the past eleven years) and that she was brave enough to finally share this information with me.
To say the least, it has devastated me! But, beginning this week, she is now in counseling. It was recommended, for homework, that she find a book to read on the subject of sexual abuse, and this evening I ran to Barnes & Noble and found your Invisible Girls. I have read nearly half of the book (my daughter is with her father this evening) and have only put it down so that I could drop you a note and thank you for this wonderful piece of
material!!!! I am sure that it will be a great tool for her in understanding and dealing with her feelings. It also has helped me in trying to forgive myself. You are right… young girls are very resilient, and parents have a difficult time in dealing with this situation.… I mean, HOW could I not have protected her from THIS!!!??? My heart hurts so much. But I wanted her to talk this out now and work it out in her head so that it doesn’t affect her relationships in the future (she has not yet started dating).
Well, back to the book. I am sure that I will be up to the wee hours finishing it—so that I can give it to her tomorrow. I now know we will get through this.
Thank you, again!
Daphney
While I Was Sleeping
Dear Dr. Patti,
I read your book and I want you to know that a loving, caring, strong mom can’t always know about incest unless her daughter decides to tell. Since the moment my daughter told me what my husband did to her, I have completely supported her and have been trying to help her (including encouraging counseling and buying her your book), but I never knew what was happening. Some offenders are extremely good at hiding it.
I never even dreamed that incest was a possibility in our house. My husband was a loving father, involved with his kids, and nothing about his behavior gave me any idea of the horror that was occurring. I don’t understand why my daughter didn’t come to me right away—I think she wanted to protect me. To make matters even more difficult, when she did tell someone at school, they reported to the police, who went to arrest my husband, and he killed himself before they could take him into custody.
I love my children more than anything in this world, and I would have killed him myself if I knew what he was doing, but I didn’t. Even in hindsight, it is hard to find clues that could/would have alerted me to what was going on.
Invisible Girls Page 30
