It's hard to know where to begin. I grew up in an alcoholic home and I guess I've been running from that for a long time. A lot of unpleasant things happened that I try not to think about; I just try my damndest to NEVER have to move back there.
Part of this is reason for what follows. I had gotten a summer job on campus so that I wouldn't have to go home. I was in the computer lab one evening when a man in the lab started talking to me. He invited me to a movie. Since it was the 7pm movie, and it got dark late, I figured I would be safe. So we went across the street to the movie theater there and saw, of all things, 'The Unforgiven'. As the movie let out, I started to walk home; it wasn't far, I could get home in maybe 5 minutes at the most. My date insisted that I not walk through the alley I would have to walk through, alone. It wasn't safe, he insisted. Little did I know.
I got in his jeep and when he pulled out onto the road, he went the OPPOSITE direction. I asked him what he was doing. He'd needed to get something from his apartment and take it back to the computer lab, so he figured he would do that first. Alarm bells were going off, but I didn't know what to do. What was I supposed to do, jump out of a moving car? We got to his apartment and he suggested I come in, because it was going to take a minute to gather the stuff together. I did, because it was a less-than-savory neighborhood and I felt weird about sitting out in the car alone at night. He handed me a Pepsi and began showing me pictures of his home. He also at this time turned on his TV AND his stereo. I didn't think about it until later...he wanted noise coverage in case I fought.
He started nuzzling me; I pushed him away. I tried to bring his attention to the pictures by asking him questions about the people and events in them. It was no use. It was then that he pulled me into his bedroom; I hope you will forgive my being blunt and frank, but he entered me dry. I felt like I was being split in half. For part of the time I'm sure I left my body; I focused on the ceiling, anything I could but what was happening. I was terrified of what would happen should I fight more. He noticed me crying and asked why I was crying. I told him he was hurting me. It didn't seem to phase him.
After it was over he threw a towel at me and told me I could clean myself up with that. That's when I locked myself in the bathroom. I turned the shower on so he wouldn't get suspicious; even going so far as to wet my hair so he'd think I had taken a shower. I stayed in there as long as I could, but I knew I 'd have to come out eventually. When I did, I went to the living room and sat down. When he came out of the bedroom, I told him I had to go home. I'd have walked, but I had no idea where I was...this was early in my college years and I wasn't familiar with the area; for all I knew, something WORSE could happen to me if I tried to get home by myself. So he took me home, gave me his phone # and asked me to call him again. (I actually had him drop me off in front of another apartment building and didn't go to mine until I was sure he had driven away)
I slipped into the house without waking my roommates. On campus later that afternoon I talked to a friend about what happened. He got angry and I wasn't sure why...I had not yet named it rape. He was incredulous. "He didn't stop even when you were CRYING?'. Another friend later saw me and yelled at me for not seeing a doctor. I thought she was talking about the rape and started talking about it. She was flabbergasted...she was actually talking about my leaving work sick a few days before. She immediately sprung into action and took me to a campus staff member, who got me to the health center to have a rape kit done. Another friend of mine was leaving the health center (it's a small campus); she later told me that when she'd said 'hi' to me she KNEW something was wrong; she KNEW I had been raped or something equally bad, but had decided that was not the time to talk to me about it. The exam itself was painful; I was so swollen and torn internally the PAc had to use the smallest instruments they had, and even then had difficulty.
I had a therapist tell me that this wasn't rape because it happened in the man's apartment. I had a lot of self-doubt. A lot of pain. A lot of healing I had to go through.
My advice; don't let others tell you what did and did not happen. they weren't there, they were not in your situation. And whatever you did to survive was the right thing to do.
I was raped just over four years ago by my boyfriend. We had been together for 14 months, we had be in a sexual relationship for 8. He claimed to love me and want to spend the rest of his life with me. I was 16 and desperate for affection. We had planes, dreams really, of being married in the summer of 2001. I believed everything he said to me, after all 14 months was a long time.
It happened on New Years Eve going into 1997. We started the night off at his friends house where we both drank and he got high, then we went to a hotel room. We continued to drink for a while, then he started kissing me and touching me. At first it was nice, he was my boyfriend after all, but then he wanted more. I didn't want to have sex with him that night. I told him "no," I told him to stop, I said all the things you're supposed to say but nothing worked. I tried to push him off of me, but each time I did that he got more vilent. The only thing I could think of was my 14 year old friend that had been raped and murdered 3 years ago, I was sure that if I kept fighting him I would end up like her.
When it was over he rolled over and said "I told you you wanted it." He didn't even notice that I got up, went to the bathroom and cried for the rest of the night. I didn't talk to him the next day and I convinced myself that it wasn't rape. After all, you can't be raped by your boyfriend, not by the man who loves you and wants to marry you. I didn't tell any one about it until 9 months later when I was to drunk to realise what I was saying. In that time my boyfriend had been convicted of armed robbery and gone to prison, I had broken up with him, and I was dating someone else. I told a friend of mine on the way home from a party, she was shocked but didn't have much to say.
I didn't think about the fact that my new boyfriend was driving the car we were in. When we got back to his apartment he leaned me against the car and wouldn't let me go inside until I admitted that I had been raped. He knwe that I hadn't admitted it to myself yet, even though I had just told the story I hadn't said the word. He made me tell him out loud that I had been raped and then held me while I cried all night. He was very supportive and was there whenever I needed to talk.
It's been 3years and 3 months since that day, and I thought that I was over it. I believed that I had delt with what happened to me and moved on. I have spent the last 4and 1/2 hours visiting rape web pages gathering information for a speech I have to give for a college speech class and I realised that I am far from over it, I had just pushed it to the back of my mind.
When I was 17 years old I partied a lot. It was the summer before my senior year and I went out everynight I could--even if my parents didn't want me to. I'll never forget one night the first week in August.
I had gone to an apartment with my "friend" Stephanie. I say "friend" because no friend would have done what she did. His name was Mark, and he seemed nice enough. He was 27 years old.
He lived in an apartment with two brothers, and they all seemed like ok people--I had gone there before. We had a few beers and I decided it was time for me to go to bed. I went to try to sleep in the only available space that night--Mark's bed. I had slept there the last time we had drank there, and nothing had happened. Just to be on the safe side, I wrapped myself up cocoon-style in a sheet.
When he came in about 20 minutes later, I was almost asleep. That didn't seem to bother him. He started to unravle me and didn't stop when I said "no". He rolled my from my side to my back and got on top of me, after taking off my underwear and his. At least he was safe, he told me he was wearing a condom and I saw it in his trash can the next morning. I kept saying "no", in every way I could think of without getting violent. He kept going. I was to tired and a bit tipsy, so I couldn't struggle very much.
When he finished he got off of me and I found my underwear on the bed next to me. I put them on and wrapped myself back up. He went to sleep for a few hours, then got up and went to work.
I told Stephanie about what happened when we left that morning. She told me that it was my fault because I had gone into his bed, and I had been drinking. She told me I led him on.
Because of what she said I blamed myself and it took me six monthes to get up the strength to realize that it WASN'T my fault. I came out and told people, but I never reported it to the police. I never wanted to see him again, and I haven't. He left the state soon after this happened, no one really knows why or where--he just disappeared. I hope he stays that way.