I was browsing blogs when I came across this image:
It made me think about it, because it is true in my opinion. As I pondered on the image, I decided I am going to make my blog more me, and more personal again. So this post, as truly hard as it is for me to talk about it, is even harder to type. I know people will judge me for it, but you know what. I am doing my best to cope and move on. Judge me all you want, your hate comments will go unheard.
When I was growing up, my mother always taught me, never let a man control you, never let a man get you in a bad situation. When you go to parties, make your own drinks, and if you set it down and walk away from it, never come back and drink from it again. Sure my mother’s words are wise. She was only trying to protect me. She loves me after all, she is my mother.
So how does this rule apply when you trust someone? I was dating a man name Kenneth, at the time and he was away on holiday. I was 17 years old, just about to turn 18, and my friend Amar and Amber were over visiting. We decided to go to my ex’s house (who was my friend) because he was having a party. His name is Jeremiah, but we called him J.D for short.
The whole night he was trying to get me to sleep with him, but I told him no. I had waited 4 years to be with Kenneth, and I wasn’t going to be unfaithful ever. So Amar was off flirting with someone, when Amber and I were sitting on a couch talking to some people. J.D came over and asked if we wanted a drink. Since he was my friend, we accepted and they brought us some alcohol.
Thinking he was my friend, I trusted him and drank the alcohol as did my best friend Amber. The rest of the night was a huge blur. I don’t remember much. What I do remember, is waking up, to screaming. My best friend was on the floor, her face down in the carpet, as she struggled. A man was behind her, raping her, while another was holding her down.
I started to cry, and when I went to get up I remember feeling that I couldn’t. As I came back to reality, my head throbbing, I soon realized there was someone on top of me. Not only on top of me, but beneath me as well. I struggled as hard as I could, but I couldn’t get away. I screamed as loud as I could, but J.D. who was on top of me smacked me really hard. It busted my lip, and I can still remember the taste of blood in my mouth.
The man beneath me, was raping me too, and had me held to where I couldn’t fight back. I remember crying, and begging them to stop, and I was told a good slut doesn’t fight it, but enjoys it. I could still hear Amber crying, and I looked at her, as she looked at me, the fear she had in her eyes, matched my own. We didn’t know if we would live after this. The men on my friend switched positions, and the one who had been raping her, grabbed her hair and smacked her, and said if she didn’t behave he would kill her. Then he forced her to perform oral sex, while his buddy raped her.
I struggled some more, and then J.D, smacked me several times in the face, and then I gave up. I didn’t fight back anymore; I just laid there and let them hurt me. My friend Amar woke up in a chair, and he saw what was going on, and he pulled them off of us, and got his ass kicked, but the men finished us off, and then left.
Amar got us home, and snuck us inside and cleaned us up. Amber begged me every day to go to the police, but I was too ashamed. My best friend of 9 years became pregnant after that. She had an abortion, and when she asked me for the last time to go to the police with her, and I refused because I was too ashamed…I didn’t listen to my mother, and how I was dressed I must have been asking for it. How would police believe me?
That night that I refused, I lost my best friend. She got into drugs, and was never the same, and we stopped talking. For ten years, I kept it to myself. After that night the three of us stopped speaking to each other. I was, and still am ashamed for it. I could have gone to the police but I didn’t.
Now after I finally came out and told my mother about it for the first time this year, she said it answered a lot of questions she had. She said I changed my personality, my moods, and the way I dressed and acted. So, after talking to my mother, I entered into psychiatric therapy to help accept what happened to me, and to learn it wasn’t my fault.
It is a long process, and I believe one day I can get over it, and move on from it.
This brings me to a different point of the entry here. That picture above rings true. Sure my mother was teaching me to be safe, but at the same time, why teach our kids to NOT get raped, when instead we should teach people to NOT rape. Society prosecutes rapists, but at the same time, they don’t teach them not to do it. They just call it a crime like everything else.
Stop the rape, and educate people…seriously!!!!