the first time i was raped

 so, if the title wasn't clear enough, this will be about rape.

if you have experienced rape, please be cautious reading this post, please protect yourself and your mental health. some of this things may be triggering or cause flashbacks if you've been through a similar experience.

your safety is the most important.

i've never told this whole story to anyone before. i've told parts of it. but stories deserve to be told in their whole. you can't acknowledge the truth without acknowledging the WHOLE truth. when you leave out or dismiss parts, say they're not as important, it makes that part stay there and hold on still waiting to be seen and heard.

so. here it is. in the whole.

the first time i was raped i was 18 or 19. i don't remember exactly when, i already had my son, but hadn't moved for college yet. it must have been late 1999, early 2000.

my brother had graduated from community college and taken a job as a sheriff deputy a few hours away from where we grew up.

one weekend he invited me to come stay with him and his roommate. a rare weekend away for me, the closest thing to a vacation a single teen mom could get.

the night i stayed, my brother ended up getting called into work, so he got his roommate to agree to take me to dinner so i wouldn't be stuck just sitting in their apartment with nothing to do.

the roommate and i drove and hour over the 4th of july pass for dinner. it was a fairly nice restaurant. i remember it was all wood walls, like, logs of wood, and maroon table cloths. any place with a table cloth was fancy to me.

i had never met my brother's roommate before this. he was a regular dude, early 20's. nothing particularly stood out about him, i don't even remember his name. his dad was the sheriff so that's how he had met my brother and they ended up roommates i guess? never really new how that happened.

the guy was super intense right from the beginning. during dinner the conversation somehow turned to his plans for marriage and how he wanted to get married and settle down right away. it was a LOT. i remember my antennae perking up and being annoyed right away. being a teen mom, i had very quickly come to recognize what i called "white knight syndrome" where guys would try to "save" me or "rescue" me from my perilous plight. it was incredibly insulting. i was in college, had my own apartment, i was raising my son. i didn't need RESCUED. i didn't need SAVED. i wasn't baby daddy hunting to get some guy to take care of me, I WAS TAKING CARE OF ME. 

it had happened a few times before and i already knew very well how angry guys could get when you have to break the news to them that you're not a damsel in distress and you're not particularly interested.

this time was just a little more tricky since we still had to drive an hour back to their apartment FOR THE WEEKEND

i knew how to be polite but not answer questions, change the subject, try to avoid the inevitable awkward conversation of "no, thank you."

by the time we got in the car to head back over the pass, the guy was saying that i was the perfect woman and i was a perfect mother and would make the perfect wife. it was so incredibly uncomfortable. i had known this guy for 2 hours: one driving, one dinner. and he was telling me i would make his perfect wife??

i was creeped the fuck out. i was so uncomfortable but had no other way to get back to my brother's apartment and no way to get home and no way to...anything. i don't even know if i had a cell phone then. or maybe did but it wouldn't have had much reception. there was no uber, no lyft, i had to ride back with this guy so i just tried to keep as quiet as possible.

on the drive back the guy "suddenly remembered" that he had promised friends that were out of town he would feed their dogs for the weekend, it was on the way.

i don't know where we were. we turned off the highway and he drove 20 minutes up a dirt road into the mountains to a cabin.

any alarm bells that had started to go off were quieted when we got to a really nice big cabin/house. lights were on, inside was very nice. very country cabin, big kitchen leading to a great room with a nice couch in front of the fireplace to the left, and a kitchen table/chairs to the right. he went right in, all the alarm bells went away, this was ok. it was a real house. these were real dogs. it was ok.

 i sat down on the couch while he fed the 2 huge dogs, shepards i think, and he offered to pour me a soda (i wasn't 21 yet). it tasted weird to me, but it was a ginger ale and i didn't like the taste anyway.

but it turned. something started to seem odd. he was too familiar with the house, moved around like he was comfortable in it. it was a regular country house. i had several friends that had grown up dirt roads in beautiful cabin homes. i was a city girl through and through. but country homes were always so beautiful and elegant to me. but he was too comfortable...it felt like...like he had home court advantage.

things get hazy from there. i remember starting to feel not right. there was a bedroom to the right of the couch and there was a bed straight ahead as you walked into the room.

i did NOT want to have sex with this guy.

i had *just* had a baby. sex was traumatic and scary and life changing for me. i did NOT want to get pregnant again. i was also still very religious and conservative back then. i was not into casual sex with someone i had JUST met.

also, i didn't like the guy. i had no plans on ever seeing him again, ever. i just wanted to get back to hanging out with my brother for the weekend then home to my baby and work and school.

it didn't go that way though.

i told him no so many times.

i remember "just the tip" and "just a little more" and not much else.

i don't remember leaving that cabin.

i don't remember going back to my brother's apartment.

i don't remember much else of that weekend.

there was a cave in at the mine where the roommate worked and he was stuck underground the whole day, keeping me safe away from him until i left to go home.

i tried to tell my brother.

he assured me his roommate would never do that.

i somehow reasoned that the roommate breaking his leg and being stuck in a landslide was enough of a swift karmic punishment that i should just stuff it down and pretend it never happened.

because i thought i deserved it.

i mean, i was a teen mom. i was damaged goods. i had baggage. i was trash. i had sex outside of marriage before, obviously it meant i was "that way." i was LUCKY someone like him would even take me out to dinner. i was LUCKY someone "didn't mind" that i had a kid already, i was LUCKY someone didn't care that i was damaged goods.

these are the things that lived in my head. these were thing things people whispered that they thought i didn't hear. these are the things the ladies in the church said to try to be reassuring. this is the way my mom treated me. hell, my own brother didn't even believe me. he believed some roommate he'd had for a few months over me, his sister.

i was LUCKY any man was willing to sweep in and rescue me and that very thing infuriated me more than anything.

i've spent a LOT of years with those voices in my head. i was admittedly a bit quick on the eject button any time a date talked about taking care of me. being fiercely independent and PROVING i didn't need someone to take care of me became my main focus.

hell, it still is.

i've been trying to prove to everyone for 20 years that i don't need someone to take care of me. ESPECIALLY with someone who would treat me like that guy did.

well, i did not see that coming.

there's an old writing legend of the story taking a turn even the writer didn't see coming.

what do you know, that's a real thing.

i'm really struggling with control right now. it's been a month of unemployment and i've been on a few interviews but have yet to land anything.

i'm scared. i'm fucking terrified.

and i'm going to have to ask for help.

i'm going to have to say i can't do it on my own.

i knew that was going to be hard because i don't like to give up control, who does?

but it's been more than that. there's a looming sense of failure. there's a fear of needing rescued.

this feeling that saying i need help now somehow means i deserved to be raped then.

whew. that's a hefty one to unpack.

that's what happens when you stuff trauma down for 20 years. i doesn't go away. it just hangs out waiting for you.

i've been carrying that around for 20 years. that feeling of: if i fail it means i deserved it. i should have been grateful. i did need a white knight. i should have been glad someone was willing to tolerate my damaged, less than self.

whew.

but here's the thing.

it doesn't matter how "damaged" i was. it doesn't matter how much "baggage" i came with. it doesn't matter ANY of it. it doesn't matter how lucky some people thought i should feel.

I DID NOT DESERVE TO BE RAPED.

full stop.

i said no. i did NOT want to have sex.

end of discussion.

anything happening NOW, twenty years later, does not change that.

needing help now, in the middle of a global pandemic and record unemployment and record deaths and political and social unrest and unexpected unemployment does not mean i deserved to be raped then.

needing help anywhere between then and now would not have meant i deserved it.

time to let that one go.

perspective

life is a funny thing when you're in the middle of it.

have you ever watched a long running tv show like grey's anatomy where by season 15 you've forgotten everything that happened in season 1 or 2? i rewatched grey's anatomy last year from the beginning and there were so many HOLY CRAP I FORGOT ABOUT THAT CHARACTER moments. so many small story lines, all smashed together to make the big story line, but easy to forget a few years down the road. would someone just starting on season 15 even know who george was?

life can feel that way sometimes. especially right now.

people i'm just now meeting are joining this show already in progress. it can be a LOT to try to catch them up on the cliff notes of why i am the way i am.

people who meet me now will never see me in "mom mode" because that chapter has closed. people who meet me now ask about my family, a perfectly normal question, not knowing how ugly and complex and convoluted the answers can be.

i've been thinking about the cliff notes version of my life because of this...and i have to say...holy fuck man.

when you pull the lens way back, when you telescope out, my life can look like a fucking horror story.

there's a few different versions of cliff notes you can look at:

cliff notes, version 1:
pregnant at 17
married, second baby, divorce before 23
two babies by two daddies.
oldest son dropped out of high school, spent a night in jail, has abused drugs, alcohol, girlfriends
youngest son has already been in juvenile courts, sold drugs, abused drugs and alcohol
both sons out of the house before they were 16.

oof. that's...oof.


cliff notes, version 2:
baby at 17
sexually assaulted at 18
raped at 19
baby at 22
domestic violence marriage
divorced at 23
so. much. death at 29
first child leaves home at 33
raped at 35
second child leaves home at 37

that's half a season of law and order SVU right there.
 

cliff notes, version 3:
graduated high school at 17
graduated college at 22
successful 11 year corporate job
successful second career
bought a home at 30, cash
sold a home at 36
raised 2 children as a full time single parent
successfully navigated multiple major life changes before 40

better, but still exhausting.

 
those are 3 VERY DIFFERENT cliff notes.

and somewhere, if you shuffle all three of those decks together, you get my life.

it's all about perspective. if i wanted to mope around, there's more than enough reasons to mope.

if i wanted to give up and complain about how hard life is, there's more than enough reasons to throw in the towel.

and the good lord himself knows i've done plenty of both.

but, also, i've lived it. and i'm still alive.

and that's something.


it's intimidating thinking about going forward from here. how much do you tell new people? how closed is a closed chapter? how do you go forward into a new chapter without respecting what's already happened in the books but not dwelling on it?

here's the non cliff notes version of my life:

i've made some decisions. those decisions had results, consequences, rewards, challenges. some decisions were made for me. i didn't choose to have domestic violence in my story. i didn't choose to have rape and sexual assault in my story, but there they are.

i saw a saying the other day that said "...my traumas made me who i am today. MY RESILIENCE DID THAT..."

 that was a HUGE perspective shift for me.

trauma happens to everyone. you will never meet a person who hasn't come through their version of trauma. and trauma will look different to everyone. some people take death as a natural part of life. for others, a death can be a world shattering/stopping event. for some it's world shattering but also natural- something you expect that still sucks.

some people hit a bump in the road and just sit in the ditch miserable staring a the wreck.

some people hit a bump and stop, look at the bump, see if it was a real bump, can it be moved to not cause other people to hit it? why did i hit it? how much damage did it do? what's the plan going forward after this bump?

some people hit a bump and don't even slow down (until 10 miles down the road when there's a sudden breakdown from damaged caused by the bump that was ignored).

i've hit my share of bumps, but trauma didn't make me who i am today. it's pieces of my story. it's cliff notes. it's something that happened.

but i'm resilient. i made it through the trauma. not always with grace and style and a 10 point landing that stuck, but i made it through. 

it's a matter of perspective. it's a matter of perseverance. it's a matter of resilience. i'm working on being more intentional at choosing my perspective. i'm more intentional choosing how i want to present my story, the good, the bad, the really, really ugly. perspective shifts are hard. recognizing some people weren't intentionally out to hurt you, they're just a human being dealing with their own shit too. acknowledging that life isn't out to get you, it picks on everyone. this is just your turn.

perspective matters.

do you want to be mad that life knocked you flat on your back? or do you want to take a minute to appreciate being on solid ground, getting a chance to catch your breath and look up at how far you made it and how much more infinite space there is to go higher the next time?

look at the cliff notes, a little to the left:

pregnant at 17: FACED A DIFFICULT DECISION, EARLY IN LIFE. MADE A CONSCIOUS, THOUGHT-OUT CHOICE.

married, second baby, divorce before 23: RECOGNIZED I WAS IN AN UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP. MADE THE DECISION TO LEAVE.

two babies by two daddies. TOOK CONTROL OF MY BODY, GOT STERILIZED.

oldest son dropped out of high school, spent a night in jail, has abused drugs, alcohol, girlfriends: I TAUGHT HIM. I PROVIDED TOOLS FOR HIM. WE ALL CHOOSE OUR OWN PATH, HE'S CHOSEN A DIFFICULT ONE BUT HE'S MY KID AND WE'RE TOUGH PEOPLE.
 
youngest son has already been in juvenile courts, sold drugs, abused drugs and alcohol: HE'S IN A SAFE, HEALTHY ENVIRONMENT NOW WITH A CHANGE TO FINISH HIGH SCHOOL AND LEARN HOW TO MAKE BETTER DECISIONS BEFORE THEY PERMANENTLY AFFECT HIS LIFE.

both sons out of the house before they were 16: I GET TO START A WHOLE NEW CHAPTER IN MY LIFE BEFORE I'M 40. I RAISED MY FAMILY. I DID THE BEST I COULD DO. AND NOW I GET TO TRY SOMETHING NEW.


it's all how you look at it.

birth control

so. after watching the office last week and with my small spawn having a birthday the other day, i got to thinking about different funny/horrifying birth stories. if you have kids, i'm sure some of your own glorious memories will be stirred. if you don't have kids but want them some day, you may want to wait a few years before reading this post. if you don't have kids and don't want them any time soon, this should serve as pretty much the best birth control available. you're welcome. and because over-sharing is what i do...these are for you:

spawn one: so, i was 17 when my first spawn decided to make an appearance. i had no idea what child birth was supposed to be like. i had no idea what labor would entail. and i will tell you straight up: IT SUCKED. seriously. and not just in an...oh...this hurts kind of way. i mean it SUCKED as in embarrassing/terrifying/scarred for life. well, obviously not for life since i popped out another spawn...but scarring still the same.

so they had to induce my first spawn. turned out the kid had decided to it wasn't so bad having his own private swimming pool and extended his cooking time by two weeks. during july. the hottest part of the year. nice. thanks. still hold that against him. so, as much as they told me. being induced involves shoving seaweed where shouldn't be and waiting for it to so something (which it never did). i checked into the hospital for said seaweed spa treatment at 7 pm, not being allowed to eat dinner before going. so i waited all night...nothing happened. it was fab. nothing like sitting in a hospital bed all night waiting for nothing. so morning comes and i'm STARVING. i'm tired. i'm grumpy. i'm prego. you cant starve a prego for 18 hours. its just mean. i BEG to be allowed breakfast. turns out if you ever need to go into labor just eat some hospital eggs and sausage and a powdered donut. MAGIC. well. in a way. turns out the breakfast didn't like me much and requested to return from whence it came. as i stood up to go return the pity breakfast i felt a kick...or i thought it was a kick...either way it dropped me to my knees. in a puddle. and i crawled from there to the bathroom. that's how my mom found me when she came back to the room. like a deranged slug dragging a slime trail to the bathroom where i was in the process of being sick AND having a contraction AND freaking out about my water breaking all at the same time. great start. it went downhill from there...

same spawn: three hours later: STILL trying to get the dang kid out. since it's taking a while, they (the TEAM of people in the room) decided to try suction. if you're unfamiliar with this...well, it is what it is. SUCKING the kid out. with a vacuum. sounds fun, huh? well, like i said, i was 17. NONE of this made sense to me. i didn't have my contacts in or my glasses on, so i had NO CLUE what the fuck was going on. all i knew was one of the nurses has a hoover in my hoo-ha. i had read up a bit on labor before hand and unfortunately had even made it through the chapters on suction...and the risks: like sucking the brain through the skull. lovely thought (i'm sure that hasn't happened within the last 1000 years...but they put it in the damn book). so there i am...hoovered up...and all of a sudden: SLLLLLUUUURRRRRPPPP _POP_ (yes, it was that disgusting). OH.MY.FUCKING.GOD. what the fuck just happened? (or at the time, since i was young and doe eyed them...gee wally, did something go wrong?) i sat up and SCREAMED at the nurse: "DID YOU JUST RIP THE HEAD OFF MY BABY?!?!?!" turns out not so much...but they tried it again two more times with the same results. each time i freaked the fuck out. i was SURE it was going to suck his brain out or make him a cone head or something. turned out the spawn had a bunch of hair and they couldn't get a good seal. isn't childbirth glamorous? well. another hour, 2 doctors, 4 nurses, 2 labor coaches, 13 stitches and...well...a fishing expedition later i had my very own 9 pound 11 ounce spawn, brain intact, no banana head. no wonder he was stuck. gave birth to a dang toddler.

spawn #2: no horrible stories with this one...he was stubborn enough to make them go in after him and fish him out. and i DID NOT look over the curtain. so you're spared a traumatic delivery story there. all i know is they gave me a shot, pushed on my stomach once and there was a clean, screaming, healthy baby wrapped in a towel in the bassinet. TOTALLY the way to go. 96 hours of pain, one shot, 8 staples, and DONE. BUT. you can't be completely spared, this is a horror story of a different kind. rewind to before the fishing expedition: i was sitting in the delivery room waiting in a 48 hours showdown with spawn number 2. during this time, several people stopped by to visit- my grandmother being one of them. turns out she wanted to get me something for the new baby and asked if i had any nursing bras. okay. that right there should be enough. my grandmother asking about my bras. oy. SHOULD be enough. but it wasn't. oh hell no. that was just the beginning. the tip of the iceberg that sank the titanic. she had decided that i needed a GOOD nursing bra and she was going to get one for me. oy. as it goes with bra shopping, she needed to know what size i was. well, here's the thing about pregnancy: it makes your boobs grow. and if you plan on nursing, add another cup size or two for when your milk comes in. in short: i wasn't sure what size i would need. i had a rough guess of what i was up to, but wasn't 100% sure. so i guessed. umm....i'll take a c cup for $200 alex.. oh the horror...dear god the horror. my grandmother looked at me. then looked at herself. then looked back at me. it took a moment for this to sink in. and i was wondering what the hell...and the bomb dropped: "honey...you have to be bigger than that. i'm a d cup and you're much bigger than me."

there are things i've learned over the years that i could have gone the rest of my life never knowing. little facts and tidbits that really do not need to be taking up valuable real estate. finding out/realizing that my darling grandmother was in fact a FULL d cup is one of them. my whole life shifted in that moment. my grandmother went from being this shapeless person who looked, in my mind, like a raggedy ann doll under all her sweaters and dresses to suddenly being a PERSON. WITH PARTS. LARGE PARTS. and she was sizing up mine. in comparison to hers. I HAD A BOOB-OFF WITH MY GRANDMOTHER. oh god. at least i won i guess. after that, the c section was nothing. i think i was still so in shock they didn't even have to drug me (that's a lie. they drugged me. A LOT.)

and finally: me: yes, that's right. wonderful stories about my own infancy have been passed on over the years. all i can say is: my poor mother. turns out *shock* i wasnt the easiest of babies. i mean the basics were easy: i was fat. in baby speak that generally means good natured and healthy. from what i've heard i wasn't too demanding or colicy or horrible. but i did get sick. not really sick, but i had a rash. and it led to a great story. which is good enough for me. so. like most babies, i was born. and soon after birth i was hungry (i know...go figure with me, right?). my mother being a good and wholesome mother decided to nurse me. best start to life. turns out i didn't do so well with it. i guess at a few days old i developed thrush which is basically a yeast infection in the mouth. important note: this can be a common infection in infants who are bottle fed. remember that. so. my mother goes to the pharmacy to see if there's anything she can do to help this infection go away. she chats with the pharmacist a bit, explains what's wrong with me (well, at that particular time anyway...would be a whole saga now), and asks for any advice. the pharmacist, more than willing to help, did what he could. he told her: "the best way to help clear up thrush is to boil the nipples."

***S.I.L.E.N.C.E.***

as the story goes, it took a few moments for the pharmacist to notice the COMPLETE SILENCE in response to his suggestion. one can only guess the look of sheer horror he saw on my mother's face when he finally looked up. typical infection in BOTTLE FEEDING. typical solution for bottle feeding. NOT a typical infection in breast feeding. HORRIFYING solution for breast feeding. my mom, 27 YEARS LATER still had a horrified look on her face when she told me the story. she said she was standing there in those few moments of silence trying desperately to figure out what and why and how before the pharmacist caught on. "you are bottle feeding, right?" what's that saying about assuming? something about making a complete and total ass out of you? she said she barely whispered no and then the pharmacist fully realized what he'd just suggested. can you imagine? boil the nipples. now i know some people are into some pretty extreme things now days...piercings and what not. but this is one particular trend i have yet to hear about. ow. damn.

so. there you have it. a bit of trauma, just for you,. if you weren't already, my darling few readers, you should be completely good to go now on birth control for...well...forever. you're welcome.