My Christmas Wish

Holidays are for families, so I am sure to find at least one wherever I live. Pretending they are my family sometimes is enough to help me through each holiday. Yet every holiday I have this nagging feeling of being lost, lonely and alone. More than anything, I want to belong.
This Christmas was supposed to be special. This was the first time I was going to have my own family- a family I could be proud of. A son who was given something more precious than what can be wrapped inside paper and placed under a tree. A husband that was loving and doting. One I did not have to worry about beating me or leaving when he had some selfish need to entertain. For the first time I was going to relax in the comfort of a man's arms that wanted me to be with him. Me. While I am a smart, beautiful, compassionate, cheerful and entertaining woman, I also have a history that makes most people cringe or hurt. As a person, I do not need to be fixed, but I do want to be loved in spite of the shame and pain I have lived through. What I want more than anything is to bare my soul, my scars and my fears, and still be loved in spite of all my failings. This was going to be the first Christmas I was going to experience that. For the first time in 16 years, I was going to belong.
Since I lost everything at the age of 15, the thing I have longed for most was love. That may not sound like much, but I find that so many people are ungrateful for what they do have. They miss what precious things they have because their focus is on perfection or small irritations. They get caught up in the dishes not being done, it being the other person's turn, in how a small remark that was said in innocence feels like a personal attack.
Losing everything repeatedly has changed me. Luckily I let it change me for the better. My nightmares may be horrible, but I make a choice to reach out and touch the people I know. I have hard days and rough days- not bad ones. Comforting people. Connecting with people. When I touch people I find there is so much more to life than this facade we are sold by our materialistic society.
Most people do not realize that things happen in their life- often out of their control. What we do have control of is how we react to them.
So, for me, for my Christmas wish, go home. Go to your family. Love them. Cherish them. Dont let stupid, petty issues take away from the experience you have of each other. Confront the issues while they are small- and then let them GO! Choose your battles; some things arent important in the grand scheme of things. Because looking back from the end of your life you will know then, but if you act today, you will be able to enjoy the most precious of gifts.
Love.
Its not an emotion. Its a choice. Its an act. Its an ongoing action.
Today I grieve the loss of my dreams. I grieve the loss of exciting possibilities. I grieve my son knowing what it is like to have a father. I grieve the loss of someone I love. I grieve having to let someone I love go for my greater good. I grieve the loss of that relief that I have waited my whole life for this and its here now. Its not. Someone stole it again. Someone stole much more from me than just a rape.
But dont worry for me. With how beautiful, funny, charming, compassionate, loving and intelligent I am, there will be someone that will love me, even the dirtiest part of my past. While it may be a hard road I walk, I do not walk it alone. Neither do you.
Learn to love each moment. You may never grasp at that moment how precious it is until it is gone.

the Morning my Life Changed Forever

Through my deep sleep I barely heard anything. It took a few minutes to awake from such a deep sleep and such a weird dream. Finally I noticed my dad yelling at me.
What? What? Huh?
I told you to get up already and you are still in bed- now you are going to be late for school!
What are you talking about? This is the first time I woke up.
No, You sat up in bed and said you would get up, and you never even got out of bed.
Dad, come on. You know I talk in my sleep. I seriously dont remember you waking me up and I was pretty heavily sleeping just now. It was really hard to wake up.
Stop lying. That is the stupidest thing I've heard.
No seriously dad, I've been known to sleep walk and talk over at mom's.
That is the worst lie I've ever heard!
What are you talking about? Just ask my brothers! Just because I havent lived with you for most of my life, doesnt mean it doesnt happen.
The fight went on for another few minutes. It confused me. I thought it was ridiculous, because now that I was awake, I needed to focus to get ready quickly, to make up for that lost time. Instead my dad went into my closet where the catbox was and proceeded to rant some more about the catbox needing cleaning. I lost it finally.
I'll Fucking do it!
I remember seeing his had twice as he swung at me. First he slapped me. Then he punched me right in the face. I was so surprised and shocked I just sat there gaping in horror. What could I have possibly done to deserve this?
I remember him dragging me in a headlock, me having to push with my legs because he was choking me. He dragged me into the hallway towards the living room, past his bedroom. My stepmother came out of their room and yelled at me. My father was yelling too. I couldnt hear what they were saying because I was so stunned. Everything was such a blur. Then my father dragged me back down the hallway past his room, then mine, and into the bathroom where he held me backwards over the sink. He was still choking me as he dragged me. As he held me backwards over the sink I struggled more to breathe. He was yelling in a furious rage. As he grabbed the brand new bar of soap and tried to shove it in my mouth I fought to keep it out. It was the perfect size to fit in my mouth with hardly any room. Since I was already struggling to breathe, I began to fight in what I felt like was for my life. I couldn't let that bar of soap in my mouth, I thought I would asphyxiate. My little brother had a bathroom on the other side of the wall. I knew he was in his room that morning. I begged and screamed for him to help me, but he never came to my rescue. I was all alone. My family own family was doing this to me.
Finally my father let me go. I fell to the floor gasping for breath, searching for reason why this had happened. As quickly as I could I got in the shower and under the water I began to cry. That's when I noticed the blood coming from my nose.
My own father punched me in the nose. Because I was raped?
The tension in the house had been building for over a week, but never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined the father that refused to spank us would beat me and choke me. Especially because I had admitted I was raped!
Sobbing uncontrollably, I went into survival mode.
What do I do? Where do I go?
I got ready in a hurry. When I grabbed my backpack, I pulled out all the books- and it was Full that day. Grabbing a few change of clothes and basic necessities- toothbrush and deodorant, I filled my back pack and then grabbed all my books, carrying them in my arms.
How do I do this? He will know!
So I realized that to play it off, I had to act like a bad teenager; I had to play into this perception he had of me.
This was important. Otherwise he may beat me again.
With what little reserve I had I stiffened up and put on an act.
This is do or die Maggie. He cant know.
I barely spoke to him the whole ride to school. This was partly to play into the act, partly because I was afraid my voice would crack and give me away. Instead I played the part well- grumpy teenager with an attitude who thinks she's right. It wasnt me, but I had to pull off the facade long enough to get to school. Once I was there, I was safe. I remember telling him goodbye in a rude way. I knew I would miss him. I wanted to hug him and kiss him goodbye because I knew I would probably never see him again, but I couldnt give myself away. To be sure I didn't give myself away since my voice had cracked ever so slightly, I slammed the car door behind me. He drove away with an attitude, driving off too quickly and too fast in response.
Once I heard the car get far enough away, my whole body crumpled. I walked onto the soccer field for first period marching band. My spot on the flagline was at the very front side of the band and to get to it I had to pass over a hundred people, most of whom I had known for most of my life. Many I had developed a deep personal friendship with at some time or another. I got about halfway through the field before I started sobbing. Band practiced completely stopped.
I never cried. I was always the happy, positive person, no matter what happened. I was the person people came to to be comforted and cheered up. I never even made it to my spot when a friend reached for me. I collapsed into her crying. the band director asked for the girls to help me off the field. About half the flagline- all the girls on that side of the soccer field walked me off the field. A few walked me to the counselor's office.
Stopping in the hallway outside of the band room, I pulled myself together. Just as I was pulling myself together, one of only 3 people I've ever completely disliked in my whole life walked by. She stopped to laugh at me. Shooting her a piercing glare, I put my head up and walked into the counselor's office- walking through the entire school. Every step was incredibly painful as tears burned in my eyes. I dare not cry in the hallway.
The sobs will stop more classes and I won't be able to stop. There is already enough attention on me now.
Once I made it into the counselor's office, I sat down and told her everything- the rape and the beating. The cops and Child Protective Services were called as required by the law. I sat there and waited, all in a daze.
Out of everyone in the world, why did it have to be my Dad? I thought he was going to protect me.

It was Oran, wasn't it?

After my stepbrother left the house that day he cornered me in my room, I think I called my stepmom. Not to confess anything, I did not know how to do that, or what to say, but instead to warn her about him. Believe me, I wanted to tell her, but instead I sent her an awkward warning about how he had confessed to being on a cocaine binge. You definitely cannot call someone while they are at work and tell them over the phone that you had been raped by their son. But this would get the questions started. This would begin the conversations we would have so that I could tell them. After they knew what had happened, they would take care of me. My father would comfort me and make me feel better- like I had value. Then maybe this hoorible feeling of dirtiness and shame would wash away.
The tension in the house was palpable over the next few days. My stepmother had gone looking into her son, investigating what I had told her. One night she called me into her room. She began to question me about her son. Her questions sounded accusatory, as if I was the one on drugs, not him. Then she brought up the letters I had written him in prison. I had told him I wasnt a virgin when he had demeaned me. At the time I thought that was true because when I was in Kindergarten, my friend Christina and I had been playing Barbies. After playing mommy and daddy, we had our dolls have sex. Then we got naked in her bed and pressed ourselves against each other as if we could have sex. [Looking back- she knew way too much about sex. This is an incredibly huge sign of sexual abuse.] In my innocence I thought we had had sex. I confessed this to my stepmom. She told me that that was not sex. It did not count. In my relief I said, that besides that my only sexual experience was when I had been raped.
Oh wow. The cat was out of the bag now.
Who was it?? Who Was IT? she questioned for over a half hour. I just shook my head. How could I tell her it was her son?  
Was it one of Oran's friends?
I immediately answered her, No.
Oops.The way I quickly answered her said a lot more than I intended.
It was Oran wasn't it? It was Oran? It was Oran, wasnt it? It was Oran. It was Oran!
She repeated herself for a few minutes in shock and aggressiveness. I finally caved.
Yes.
Oh no. Just like he did to his sister, she mumbled to herself.

What?
Watching as the reality of it hit her, I saw it overwhelm her and take her energy. But then only about a minute later, she stiffened as if she had told herself no. That is when she shut down. She finished talking to me and went and used the phone. She called my stepsister in another state. They talked for over an hour. I went to bed because the emotionalism of the situation had drained me. Admitting to being raped is acknowledging that it had happened. I did not want it to be true. Saying that it is true changes everything.It makes your nightmare real and you have to relive it. Bits and pieces of the rape came back. It was overwhelming. Over and over again in my mind, he raped you, played whether I wanted it to or not. You cannot block it out sometimes. So instead I chose to sleep. There was not enough in me to listen to it any more. Sleep was the only thing that could turn it off.

Sick old men

 A couple weeks after the rape I had gone with an older (blood) brother and two of our friends to that warehouse to drink. I worried a totally different brother would rape me too, even though the idea is ludicrous. But no one noticed the way I stared into that room- the one I had been raped in. I went in there to see if the bed was still there. The stain of his cum was still visible and it upset me. But I had stuffed the rape into my subconscious; some part of me had died that night. Standing there, I couldnt drink the alcohol. The nervousness was there, but I had blocked out why I was upset. All I knew was I had an intense sense of dread while I was there and I avoided that room after only taking two steps across its threshhold. I never wanted to be in that room again.
Roughly three months had passed since it happened. When my stepbrother came by I was alone in the house. He was supposed to be able to come in and use the phone or whatever any time he wanted. Although I was always told to avoid him, my stepmother failed to mention that he was a pedophile. I was still in my pjs when I answered the door. He came in and I went back to my room to avoid him. There was little about him that I had liked; he's the type of person that gives people a bad name. As far as character of men, I always thought of him as a dog- the lowest of the lows. But he was my stepbrother. I called him my brother. You do not get to choose your family.
He knocked on my bedroom door to ask me for razorblades. Then he drew me into this long conversation about how he had binged for the last three days on cocaine. The last thing I want to talk about is a bunch of drug use with a person I have no respect for. Staying as far as I could away from him in my room, I avoided answering his questions or interrupting him because wanting him to go away was more of my prerogative. As I sat alone in my house with no brothers and no parents or stepsister, alone with this monster of a stepbrother in my room, I began to feel uncomfortable. That is when he asked me.
When do I get to stick it in again?
What?
I didnt get to stick it in all the way. When can I stick it in again?
What are you talking about?
And then I remembered. All the memories came flooding back. I turned white and started shaking. You didnt want it?
I heard my voice, but it didnt feel like mine.
It's ok. It's ok.
Truthfully I don't know who I was telling that to- whether it was him or me, but I had to get him out of my room as fast as possible. There was not anything I had to do; when I came out of my daze I noticed he was already gone. All I could think was what kind of sicko thinks a 15 year old girl wants to have sex with a 27 year old man- a disgusting one at that? I had never come on to him. I called him my brother. I disliked being around him, but I was trying for my family's sake to bond with him. I never touched him or hugged him. Before all this happened, I had only kissed a guy. Surely I did not want to have sex with this guy, even if he was not family. This same guy had a list of women that he kept- a record of who all he slept with. According to him, he had already slept with over 100. The thought turned my stomach. And then I remembered. My stepmother had asked me multiple times to write her son while he was in prison. She included an awkward picture of me when she sent it. He had shown it to me when he met me and told me how beautiful I was. In his return letters he demeaned me by saying how I was so young and I didn't know anything. So I made up some stories when I replied about how I wasnt stupid. That I had experience. That I was not just some stupid kid.
But what stuck with me was the picture. The comment he made about it. Looking back, I can only imagine what this sicko was thinking about a 12 year old awkward girl to call her beautiful in a low long way- as if enchanted.  Especially since he was a grown man.

the First Time

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Wanting to die

Since my first job as a nurse, I have always been in psychiatric nursing. My mother was what I believe to be schizoaffective, suffering from severe paranoid delusions. Growing up with my mother, I was the mother, the adult in the arguments. All this experience helped foster a natural ability to handle psychiatric issues, one that I continued with interest in my career as a nurse. Studying mental health was exciting for me.

Since my fiancé was in Kuwait and would a few months into the school year, I opted to move in the summer to adjust and prepare my son for kindergarten in a new state. Since my fiancé was gone and I did not know anyone nearby, I kept to myself, awaiting his return. That left me vulnerable. There was no one to watch my son if I was to go out- no one to go with- and I was unfamiliar with the area, so I would not go alone. In the heat of summer, I developed a taste for beer. After my son went to bed, a couple times a week I would drink a beer and relax in the relative silence of the day. However, I fall asleep easily if I drink, so I rarely drank a whole beer before I fell asleep. My social experiences consisted of looking for work, meeting other parents from my son’s class, going out of town to visit my BFF from high school, walking the dog in my dog-friendly apartment complex, or meeting other neighbors while teaching my son to swim at the pool. I still had not met many friends and had yet to develop real relationships with my neighbors for the four months I had been living in San Antonio, TX. None of my fiancé’s friends would check in on me. I was alone and lonely- so I spent that time reconnecting with my son. He had not seen me much while I was in college- which was most of his life.

As I lay in my bed the day after my rape, I remembered all my training, specifically my suicide treatment and awareness. Feelings of Hopelessness and Helplessness were overpowering. I knew then, even in school, that that feeling of Hopelessness would always be there, making me statistically more likely to commit suicide. Ever since my first rape, and the fallout from that rape, I have felt helpless to change my lot in life. Not that I have not tried! I left high school in my senior year to work three jobs because my one job was not paying me enough to be independent and get a roof over my head. Struggling to get off of the streets- to no longer be homeless- has been an incredibly difficult thing for me to do. Years of homelessness and struggle have been spent working multiple jobs and hardly sleeping. I am a stubborn person. I want to be a successful person. I will do what it takes to make my dreams come true. And yet here I am again.

Again, I am having to start over with my life due to being raped. It does not end with just having the most intimate part of your heart, body and soul stolen from you, but then when you try to seek justice for your crime, you lose everything else. I have lost everything multiple times. I feel helpless to stop all my hard work and determination from crumbling around me so some guy can cum. Being valued as an object, a vehicle for someone’s desires of power and sexual dominance, is more than just that. For a victim, the crime doesn’t end with the rape.

Losing everything again became my wildest fear. My fiancé played right into it. He refused to speak to me. I felt my world crumble. In horror, I reached out to my best friend. But after that night, her phone had been lost and she was only reachable sporadically by other mediums. So then after two days I reached out on Facebook to my long time friends. Whether or not I wanted to admit it, I was creating a plan to kill myself. There is fight in me. There is strength. But it means nothing if I do not have a reason. Then as the days went by, I was fired from my job before I could even finish filling out the Family Medical Leave Act paperwork to apply for medical leave. My test results came back negative for std’s, but showed initial signs of Cervical Cancer. It was too much to tell my fiancé, so I decided to wait the two weeks for him to return before I told him. The next day however, he left me. He told me he knew I had cheated on him on purpose to get back at him. There has never been another time I have needed anyone more, and that is when he left. My worst nightmare playing out again. There I was helpless to stop any of it. You cannot make someone love you and cherish you. You cannot make someone carry your burden with you during your struggles, so I let him go. That was a horrible moment. The worst moment in my life.

All I could imagine was how to kill myself. There was so little to live for. My son had lost a second father. He was finally going to have what he always wanted. My hopes and dreams were about to be ripe for the picking. But with some man’s sick craving for rape, I lost it all. Staying alive was going to be a fight. I struggled with the most basic of motivations- Why? Why should I try again? How can I keep men from raping me? How can I stop people from ruining my life when I cannot stop them? How can I get up and try again, when at any moment someone can ruin it?

My plan was to take my son to someone’s house. Then I was going to put up plastic on the wall and floor so I would not be a lasting mess. My plan was to shoot myself- I could not stomach the thought of my head exploding, so I decided to go with the next sure thing- shooting myself in the heart. I was hoping my death would be instantaneous. That and my funeral would be open casket so my son could grieve appropriately. The idea that he could live with one of my close friends, having a mother and father, was enough of a positive, that it overrode my feelings of motherly responsibility. He WANTS a father so bad. And he just lost a second one because I could not stop this rape.

Slowly, I pulled myself from “the Dark Ocean” that was my suicidal depression. It took nearly two weeks. If it was not for my friends via FaceBook, I can guarantee I would not have had the emotional support and fortitude to make it out. If I had had friends nearby, I would have been even better.

My rapes do not define me- I define me. However, they define my nightmares. But these are not ordinary nightmares; these are nightmares I have lived. They have left a lasting impression on my life, which even with all my hard work, support, counseling, emotional fortitude, and success, I cannot escape. Rape has cost me my life, my dreams, my success, my family, my health, but as long as I live, I will fight against it.

He may have taken my body, but he will never get Me

My first sexual experience was that first rape. Many people would have been broken, turning the idea of sex into something cheap, but I luckily did not. To me, sex was an intimate thing. Rape was mechanical. My perpetrator may have taken my body, but I did not give myself to him- the ultimate gift a person can give to another person. He would never get that from me. Yet some days it is hard to be beautiful. It is hard to know that I attract men’s attention, even when I do not want it. Unfortunately, I usually do not attract the sweet, kind guys. They are far too intimidated to talk to me. The dog of the group is usually the only guy that talks to me- the only one with enough guts to hit on me. I hate that. I want to be enjoyed. To have a friendly chastising conversation and then laugh. I want to be enjoyed for more than my vagina. There is so much more to me than what I am in bed. Sex is an important part of people’s lives, especially when you are of reproductive age. I try to have balance in every area in my life, sexuality being one of them. Giving myself to someone is more than just getting off. To me it is a connection. I am having an intimate emotional experience, and considering how I do not trust just anyone with my emotional frailty, I do not have many sexual partners historically. Many things from that first rape have changed how I view emotional connections. Physical attraction is incredibly important since, I was raped by one of the most disgusting men I can think of. My stomach used to turn at his stories he told me of his sexual conquests. He disgusted me to my core. But he was my stepbrother, so I just felt sorry for any one he had sex with. After the rape, I felt disgusting. Being raped by a filthy crackhead was how I thought about it. Now, when I have sex, I am not having sex. I am giving an emotional part of myself. I have never been able to just have casual sex. Sex to me transcends mechanics. It is incredibly important to me. Giving myself to a man is the ultimate gift I can give. Taking down my walls and showing my weaknesses. My fears. My desires in a cruel, heartless world that if they found them out, could possibly keep me from them. Rape has changed me. It has made me afraid. It has made me struggle and desperate. However, all that fear and struggle I chose to change into a way to build character in me. My rapist stole my body, my family, my dreams, my safety, and so much more- but he did not get me. He will never get me.

Some days are easier than others

Some days are easier than others. Some are much harder. After my fiancé left me, I struggled with the motivation to get up and try again. To look for someone that cared about me. This is not the first rape I have had. Sadly, it is the third rape I have endured. The first rape was so incredibly devastating. I lost everything at 15. All of my family disowned me, some even violently attacking me. I love family. Family is incredibly important to me. I went to school because that and my friends was all I had left. After over two years of struggling in school- not with learning, with doing homework, having a safe place to sleep, getting to and from school, avoiding the harassment of my assistant principal (who made it his moral obligation to punish me as often as possible because of the story he had been fed by my father, who had believed my rapist when he was trying to cover his tracks), avoiding the condemnation of parents and staff, and avoiding the harassment of the cops. My life is an endless stream of people I have affected in a positive way. Strength, courage, honesty, and compassion are the words people use to describe me. My friends have seen me in my worst times, and they have always known me to be strong, kind and to act with integrity. My life has been a cruel struggle, the worst of which has been not because I made wrong decisions, but because I was raped by a pedophile my family let live with us- in the very next room from me. After the rape, I was wandering in a cruel, heartless world alone and scared. Being smart and beautiful and extroverted can be a blessing, but when you are scared every day to be raped again for how beautiful you are, you develop coping mechanisms that are unique to rape victims. I did not take care of myself. I was afraid to look beautiful, but I wanted to. The worst thing that happens after such a traumatic event is that in essence, you become like an animal. Knowing that at any moment I could be raped or killed is traumatic enough, but to have to live on the streets and be forced to live with older friends (mostly male), takes that fear to a completely different level. That is how I have lived since my first rape. Until my fiancé. He made me feel comfortable. He took away this fear. He was the first person to love and protect me. Even when he was overseas, I tried to tell him how much I appreciated it. He could never understand how deeply what he did- the simple things he did- how they affected me. For the first time I was safe enough to confront the trauma of my first rape. You cannot tell someone you love about the panic attacks and the nightmares when they are overseas. The deep longing for their physical comfort that only they can give.  That is too much pressure and despair to give to one person who cannot do anything to change it. It is torture for that person, so instead I waited for him. He was the only person I have ever trusted or depended on whole heartedly. As a man, I had the ultimate respect for him. Anything he wanted from me, I would give him, and more. And then history repeated itself. I was drugged and raped. And he left me. I always fantasized that had he been there from the first rape, he would have been the one person to stay. The only person I ever allowed myself to think would be there for me no matter what- he left me when I needed him most. So some days I keep myself busy. Some days, it hits me. Hard. But I want to believe, I chose to believe that there is someone out there who is strong enough to be here when I need them most.

I hear it everywhere I go

There is a certain effect I know I have on people. When speaking with people, they naturally open up to me. I hear some terrible stories. I am also a licensed nurse. I usually end up in psychiatric nursing because I am a natural at it.
My first rape happened at the age of 15. As I blog I will go into more details of it, but for now the relevant part is that I spoke with a lot of people while I tried to cope with it and the fallout from the rape. It has always bothered me, so I bring it up in conversations at times. I am always shocked when I do. Every time I have that discussion, I either am speaking to someone that is a victim of rape, or has a very close person they know who was also raped. To that effect- nearly all of my female friends have admitted to being raped. It's almost as if I have opened the door and find a secret society of people who have been raped. A lot of them have only told a few people. I can account for nearly 3/4s of my female friends admitting to being raped.
That's the funny thing about rape- it is incredibly under reported. They can only estimate how much of the population has been raped because so few rapes are reported and so few victims will admit to a survey so that the statistics can be calculated. How many of those who report they have not been raped are in denial? There is so much of it that remains quietly ignored.
Of the statistics, they calculate, depending on the study, that false allegations of rape account for 2-8% of reported rape. Sadly, a lot of that false allegation is also skewed due to recanting of rape- not that it didnt occur, but that a victim chose to not go through with a rape allegation. How many victims were scoffed at by police? How many realized that reporting rape came with its own additional traumas? How many victims were threatened by their perpetrators? Or threatened with loss of a job?
To some people this may seem ludicrous, but I have been raped three completely different times- and the only time that ended well for me was the one I didnt report. I have never received justice for any of those rapes. I have the identities of each rapist. One was a family member- a known pedophile at that. One was a result of date rape. One was the result of a drugging.
Everywhere I go, I hear the same stories. Every once in a while I have a male admit to being molested or raped, too. Most of my female friends have admitted To AT LEAST ONE rape- some multiple times, multiple perpetrators. My purpose with this blog is to bring this issue out- to create a forum. To change the way rape is perceived. But mainly to change the way a rape victim is received. We have to support those who struggle with the shame of being raped. We have to do better.

Being What a Victim Needs

More than anything with this blog, along with the other media I am setting up, my goal is to reach out to the family and friends of rape survivors and help them learn how to help the victim through the trauma.

In my experience, a lot of people do not know how to handle the rape of someone they know and care about. Men can be cruel with how they blame the victim, even passively. Women can be downright hostile, going to such lengths as to dragging the rape victim's character through the mud in open social situations. There can even be well meaning confidants who quickly make a note of behavior that led up to the event, which only devastates the victim and closes them off to getting the help they need.

How would you feel if someone violated you and you could not stop them, and then you come to someone to be comforted, only for them to tell you it was your fault? Or worse, that you chose it?

Being raped is a horrible feeling, but when friends and family, coworkers and strangers are insensitive- or down right rude- the effects can be overwhelming. Having control taken over your body for someone else's pleasure, and against your will, in the most intimate of places is enough hardship for one person to endure. It never goes away. It only is managed with time. Please learn how to talk with a victim. How to console a victim. Be a listener for them when they need it and know how to give them space. This is a crime that happens in secret- so dont distrust a victim. The courage it takes to admit to this kind of abuse is immense. The shame alone can be enough to keep a person from admitting the rape to themselves, so when they say it out loud to another person, they are sharing something immensely intimate and horrifying. Don't judge them. Current estimates place 2-3% of all reported rapes to be a false allegation. However, before you consider that number, think about how few are even reported. Of those that are false, many are recanted out of fear, or in some other cases, even alleged against the wrong person- but still a reported factual rape. Most of all of my female friends, and even some of my male friends will admit to being raped. How many more have been, and havent told anyone? Food for thought.

Support rape victims. You'll be surprised how close they are to you and how many you have in your life.

How It Feels

Oh. This has been hard. I've never been so traumatized. After losing everything for the second time in a row, I am devastated. I have worked so hard to get to where I am- I have spent many sleepless nights going to college and waking up the next morning to go to work. There has been so many days where I have not seen my son- and he was not with family. I have given up my son's early childhood to get to where I am at. I want to take care of him. My nightmare of a life has been so horrible, that is the one thing that I had hoped never to let my son experience: the homelessness. I never want him to know the fear that I have known. The desperation that comes from not knowing if you will eat- because you have already missed a few meals. And the worst part is why- because I was raped. I have come from nothing- literally nothing. I was raped as a child. I was 15. After the incident, I was disowned by my family and left with only my schizoaffective mother as support. And she scared me. I never knew when she was going to freak out and get violent. Who knew a rape could lead to so much devastation? When I went to school- It was my one place to escape the horror of what I was going through; It was the one place that I could pretend I was worth more than what people were valuing me as. And yet..... I was harassed constantly by my principal. I came from noting to get to where I am at. To avoid being raped and losing everything. And yet- here I am. Again. I was raped and I lost everything that was important to me- the feeling of safety, my fiance, my son's safety, my value and my job. So now my goal is to reach other rape survivors. I want to help other rape survivors tell the world how they feel, And when they do tell the world how they feel and what happened to them- and when they do- I will be there to embrace them in their pain and their desperation. I understand. I was there. And I want to stand in the face of adversity and let other rape survivors know that I am there to care, That I understand. That I am there when everyone else pushes them away. Call on me if you need it. Talk to me if you have no one else to care. Tell me how you feel. I will care, I understand. And I want to hear your stories. There is healing in admitting the shame- believe me, I know.

the Hospital

After speaking with my friend's parents, I finally had all my stuff together and drove home. Admitting to her parents that I believed I was drugged had begun to make the idea stick in my mind. The denial was still heavy. I still had trouble understanding the gravity of the situation. I was confused, but mentioning the drugging and saying it out loud made things start to click in my mind. Unfortunately, my thoughts were still moving so slowly.

As I hit the highway, I had driven the route barely enough to begin to remember to do it without being guided solely from my GPS and so I was driving numbly. I couldn't get the thoughts out of my head that I had to have been drugged. The night before- every detail I could remember- played over and over in my mind. No matter how hard I tried I couldn't get that one piece to fix the puzzle. That missing memory wasn't there, and I couldn't figure out what happened.

As I played the scenario over and over in my mind, I contacted the one nurse I could think of- my fiance's best friend was dating a nurse. I hit her up on Facebook. I had a lady I called mom that was closer by and also a nurse, but I didn't think she would know anything about what to do for a rape or a drugging.

Hey..... I think I got drugged last night. Should I go to my primary care physician or the emergency room?

Ummm ER probably. So that they can drug test you

That's what I was thinking. I gotta pee so bad- but I don't want to lose evidence.

Yeah I don't blame you

Yup. I ended up blacking out after I was sobering up. And I didn't drink much- got a slight buzz. It's weird. I didn't enjoy the way I woke up either......

Uh oh.

Yup!

Yea I would go so you know exactly what's in your system especially for work so u have evidence ya know

Exactly. Plus I'd better be careful. I'm good now, but I pass meds in the am.What if I start having issues tomorrow? I don't want to get anyone hurt

Yea that's why you should go now

Yup. I'm leaving ASAP. Waiting on the daycare lady and I'm gone.

That way you know what to expect

[My fiance] is pissed. Fuck. I don't blame him

Yes never good to drink too much without your significant other around

I was with my BFF. So I thought we were good. But I don't remember anything after about 7, lost her and her fiancé, and no one remembers seeing me drinking after the last drink I remember. I wasn't acting like I do when I get buzzed and I didn't drink enough to get drunk. Even if I had, after all that dancing I did I would have sobered up. Something's up. And I'm not hungover either. I'd be hung over and would've woken up still drunk

That is weird

Yup.....

But don't u feel weird after you're drugged

I was walking on sunshine this am. And I missed three doses of my meds, so I shouldn't be!!

The whole drive I could hardly hold me pee, but I knew it was important. I didn't dare drink any water even though I was parched. I could barely talk my mouth was so dry. The only reason I even drove home was to meet with the babysitter because she was going to work for me in the morning but she was about to go to her other job for the night. It was the only time. Luckily it was a quick meeting. Except when I got to my house, she wasn't even there. She was bugging me to be early and I Told her I was on the way to the hospital, yet she made me wait a half hour. Finally I spoke with her, gave her the tour of my house, told her a few details of what happened and left immediately with my son to the closest emergency room.

Since I moved to San Antonio, TX in July, I had yet to visit the emergency room. While I was looking for jobs as a nurse I realized that there were a few hospitals extremely close to my house. It took me longer than I expected to get to the closest ER, but it was still only about 10 minutes. My healthcare had yet to kick in from my job, so the medicaid was all I had. As soon as I walked in to the Emergency Department, the first thing I checked was whether or not they would see me. In large type against the triage reception wall was a sign laying out the laws of the State of Texas- That I had to be seen for an emergency, that I had to be stabilized or transferred to the closest hospital for my care, and that I could not be refused care regardless of whether or not I could pay. Still I asked if they accepted my insurance. (It is at this moment I want to let the readers know that it took me months to have my nursing licensed transferred from state to state and that is why I was on it- I left a great paying job with fantastic health benefits to move to be with my fiance) When the admitting secretary said that they do in fact accept my insurance, I immediately told her succinctly-

I was out last night. I started drinking midday, but sobered up by dinner time. However I don't remember anything after 7pm- but I wasn't drinking then. I was sober. I woke up naked this morning with no memory after 7pm and I think I was drugged. I need to have my urine and blood tested and I need to have an exam done. And I haven't peed in hours, even though I need to go really badly, but I don't want to lose the evidence.

They gave me a urine cup right away, even before I met with the triage nurse. OH MAN! Was I relieved!! I went immediately and provided a "sample" and as I brought it back to the counter, they were already calling me back to the triage nurse. After repeating identifying myself as a fellow nurse and repeating my story, they took my vitals and sent me back to the waiting room. No sooner had I sat down and gotten comfortable then they were calling me back to be seen. A long walk to my room- yes no wheelchair, at this point I was walking ok and I was really happy and relieved  to be seen so quickly. As I walked into the room I saw the hospital gown. The nurse was giving me a rundown of what was going to happen and mentioned that they brought the gown just in case they needed to do an exam.

OH NO. We will definitely be doing an exam. I don't know what it looks like down there. I just woke up naked with someone I don't know. It could be ripped to shreds. I don't even know what happened. You will definitely be doing an exam. I need you to do one of those pelvics to makes sure I'm ok. Plus i need to be checked for STD's. I don't think I was Rape raped, but I definitely didn't consent to sex. Plus my mouth was bleeding this morning when I woke up. I don't know what happened. You have to do The exam.
Well did you call the cops?
No! I was always taught that if you get raped, you go straight to the hospital for an exam, even before the cops so that evidence can be collected. I came straight here as soon as I could right after I realized what happened. I didn't even realize it for most of the morning. But you can go ahead and call the cops. I need to call them, but I wont be able to from my phone now that I'm here. They need to come get my report. Will you call them for me?
Ok. Well we'll be back shortly to check on you. When we need to do your exam, you can change then.
Oh no. You Will be doing my exam. I will change immediately. I will wait. I'm not leaving until I get one. I don't know what happened last night, but I woke up naked with a stranger and my last memory is me being sober. You Have to do an exam on me. You know- one of those exams [motioning to my vagina]. 
Would you like something to eat or drink?
You know I feel pretty disgusting, so maybe I can get some crackers, but could you also bring me a drink for my son and a water for me, now that I have already given you a urine sample?
You've already provided a urine sample?
Yes. I left it on the triage counter top with the receptionist. She knows whose it is.
Ok. I'll be back shortly.

I changed immediately. I hadn't taken off the clothes since I got dressed that morning, so I was still in the filth of my rape. I was in the hospital room with my son. He had heard all of my conversations that whole day- I had no one to watch him, so he went with me. He played on my phone and my Kindle while I waited for the doctor. I laid there for only a second when the nurse came back with refreshments. After she left, I slipped in and out of sleep. I remember shaking as if more violently than being cold in sporadic bursts. I couldn't hardly stay awake, not necessarily because I was tired, but mainly because the gravity of the situation was hitting me.

I was DRUGGED. I was RAPED.

My son was digging through my purse and pulling out everything. I tried to stay awake and watch him, but I was in and out of consciousness. An hour passed and I had yet to be visited by a doctor- or anyone else for that matter. I hit the call button. A few minutes later my nurse returned.

You hit the call button. Is there something I can help you with?
Yeah, I've been here for an hour- what's going on? Why haven't I seen anyone? I'm kinda freaking out here. 
Oh. I thought they had already seen you.
No. No one has been by since the last time you were here.
Oh. Ok I'll go check to see whats going on.
Thank you.

A short time later a different person, who I am assuming was either a different nurse or a doctor came in and spoke to me.

Hello- So you are here today to be seen for a possible drugging?
Yes.
Ok well we are going to get a sample of your urine.
I already gave you a sample of my urine.
Oh. We already have a sample?
Yes I gave it to you guys even before I was seen in triage.
Oh ok. Let me go check on that.
Ok...??

Two hours passed and still nothing- but I was mostly out unconscious, so I didn't notice the passage of time- and when I woke up, I never woke up long enough for a complete thought- press the call button. But I remember my shaking when I went through the lighter periods of consciousness. If the shaking got violent (it mostly was), it would disturb my rest. Then I finally heard voices close enough to my room for me to know they were finally here to see me.

Ok. You've been discharged.
WHAT?
You are free to go home.
BUT, BUT...
You can go home now.
But no one ever looked at me- I haven't gotten my exam yet.
Oh they think you are fine.
But I never even got the results of the drug test.
What? They didn't give you the results of the test?
No. I never got the results! You guys haven't done the exam yet. You guys haven't taken my blood.
Well the results are all negative.
Well what did you test for? I don't know what happened to me, but I woke up naked. If you didn't test for the right things, it wouldn't matter if the results were negative. What did you test for? It's important!
Oh I'm sorry, but I cant print them out for you.
Well how do I get them?
Well you'll have to come back and request them. You'll also have to follow up with you primary care physician.
what? [at this point all my fight had been knocked out of me- I had no energy. My voice became weak. I couldn't think. I was devastated. I went into pure survival mode. I felt like a zombie.]
Yes ma'am, it's time to leave.
But you didn't even do the exam. You didn't even look at my body or look at my gums.
Let me walk you out.

I changed slowly. I had tried arguing, but the words wouldn't even come. The devastation was hitting me, compressing me, choking me. I couldn't think. they had handed me discharge instructions entitled possible drugging and to which it only said follow up with primary care physician. I held my sons hand. Left the discharge paperwork in disgust and walked out quickly from the Emergency Department crying.