This is the story I have written to submit to my unis student magazine. I haven't been able to read back over it yet. So there are prolly mistakes, typos and such. But I wanted to know what people think. Is it good? Is it bad? Have I included things I shouldn't? Is there something important I have missed. Any input would be appreciated thanks.
The R Word
Rape. A word no one is meant to say except perhaps in passing, in jest. Those of us, like myself, who have experienced this act are meant to keep our silence, in consideration of the comfort levels of others. This forced silence compounds the shame and guilt already felt by victim. It is my desire to speak out against this silence imposed by society, by the stigma, and by the many misconceptions about rape. In doing so I will discuss the direct emotional effects of rape itself and of the consequent suppression.
Firstly I think it is important to state that the psychological effects of rape in my opinion, are permanent. Sure with therapy and supportive friends, the effects can be lessened over time. But the memory will remain with the victim forever. At least for me I can never imagine a time when this wont have some impact on my life. All I can do is explain to you the impact it has had on my life over the past two years. I won’t go into too much detail, but I will try to give you an accurate picture, without shocking you completely.
When my rape first occurred, I was in total shock, I was hysterical, but that stage passed quickly and I was soon lodged firmly in denial, where I would reside firmly for the next two years. It was only recently that I started admitting to myself that it happened. And all the questions started running through my mind. I was drunk, do I remember it right?’. He wouldn’t do that to me, would he? Why would someone want to do that to me? Am I so horrible? What did I do to deserve it? And so on. Slowly driving myself insane with anxiety and stress, leaving the days when I attended class long behind me.
However in admitting what happened, came a greater understanding of myself. I finally understood my outbursts of anger, my bouts of depression, my constant anxiety, the days and nights where I couldn’t sleep at all and the days and nights where I could do nothing except sleep. All the time spent pacing around my house in agitation, of driving in aimless circles. Rarely being able to let a man touch me without being filled with fear and revulsion.
And my drinking, the nights when I just kept drinking to beyond intoxication to drown out my thoughts, to continue to deny what was trying to surge up into the surface of my mind. Hurting and upsetting the people I cared most about, through my frustration and inability to let myself see that people could care about me. Realising that I valued myself so little. Despising myself for being so weak as to let it effect me. Never being able to have a healthy sex life. And always, always looking to regain the control and power that had been taken from me. And finally letting myself think about it, the fact that somebody I loved and trusted violated me in that way
At this point in the story you might think in understanding myself, in admitting to myself what happened, in realising why I was the way I was, that I could change it, fix it. But then came the shame and the guilt I had been ignoring for so long. Flooding into my consciousness. I wanted to speak to someone, but I couldn’t force the words out of my mouth, such is the shame that is associated with rape. And so the questions in my mind began a fresh.
Would they look at me the same again? Would they see me as a weak defenceless female? Would they think I was pathetic for letting myself get into that situation? Would they even believe me? And if they did, Would they want to listen? Would they care? Would they think it wasn’t a big deal? Would they be too overwhelmed to be able to speak to me again? Would they ever be comfortable around me again? Would they still make their immature sexual jokes around me? Would they look at me and see me or just what has happened to me? Now I have realised, I owe it to all the people in my situation too ashamed and afraid to speak up, to break the silence, regardless of consequence and hope any feedback I receive is positive.
At this point I would like to attempt to explain to you why females (and males too) find it so difficult to talk about this. Basic human psychology is at work here. People who have never experienced rape, don’t want to admit that it could happen to them too. So they convince themselves that the victim is somehow to blame. Well I would never wear a short skirt. I would never get so drunk I passed out. I would never leave my drink unattended. This creates the delusion that it would never happen to them and allows them to live on in comfort and security. So because of this mindset the victims of this crime who should be blaming the assaulter, instead waste time blaming themselves.
Still living in a time when the word “rape” conjures up the image in a lot of peoples minds of a masked assailant dragging a kicking screaming female into a dark alley at knifepoint, is horrifying to me. Statistically anywhere you look it will become evident that the vast majority of crimes involving rape and sexual abuse are committed by someone known and close to the victim. And more horrifying still is that half the assaults are committed in the victims home.
The worst misconception in my mind however is the belief that women constantly lie about being raped to avoid responsibility for their sexual activities. People don’t lie about this anymore then they lie about anything else. So why is it too often peoples first response to such a revelation is disbelief and rejection, further shaming and conflicting the victim. It has taken a long time to get to the point where I can say those three little words without as much shame as they formerly held for me. All I can do now is look forward to the day I can say “I was raped” and be proud I recovered from it, rather then ashamed it happened in the first place.
